#because those are the people that loved her no matter what and kept her safe and taken care of and fed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nouvxllev · 3 months

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closed-door policy || p2

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were more than friends but less than lovers. Where does that put the both of you in the spectrum? You were friends-with-benefits, sure, you guys are anyway, but a part of you wanted something real.

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: light smut

a/n: so sorry for very late update! i got caught up in work and school. its kicking my ass. but anyway, here it is.

part 3 || masterlist.

Love.

Oh, how Wednesday loved to hate it.

A meaning that only rang true to those who were foolish enough to commit to another's heart. To those who were foolish enough to cling to the elusive hope of happy endings, to those who were foolish enough to believe in the existence of soulmates, and to those who depend their happiness on someone's mercurial heart.

It was odd. How she hated love. She grew from a family destined to fall in love with their other half or they'd simply perish from a broken heart and their own woe, the people who showed their love to another in such unique ways others can't even fathom. However, she does have the characteristics.

Loyal? She'd forever be clung to a typewriter than a phone in the 21st century. Committed? She'd stop her heart if she ever needed to elaborate on it for her novel. Devoted? She spares at least an hour or two every day for her literature. Loving? Maybe not so. She'd rather drink a gallon of caramel drizzled with honey and sweet chocolate out of someone's eyesockets before having a committed relationship with someone.

Wednesday closed off everyone from her life, built walls hard to tear down even if she met another version of herself, and kept everything locked in a safe where no one knew the code. Her heart will forever be closed, and her soul will forever be overgrown with thorns with curses and cries from those desperate enough to fall for her.

But then you came along.

Ever since then, she hated love even more.

But most importantly, she hated you.

The way you entered her life in more ways than one, the way you smiled everytime you looked at her knowing you'd just receive a glare back, the way you were considered as that one girl who always got into trouble because you just couldn't accept losing, the way you run your hands through your hair, the way it just falls back gracefully down to your shoulders, the way your nose scrunches up when you find something funny, the way your eyes shimmer in the sun, the way your face looks in the moonlight, the way you laugh, the way everytime Wednesday looks at you she's reminded that she has a beating fucking heart that she knew she closed off.

Wednesday hated all of it.

She often pitied those who willingly fell in love with her more than those who pleaded for mercy.

She often pitied those who fell in love in general.

So, why did she feel pity for herself when she met you?

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"We're friends."

No, you couldn't say that. You'd be lying to yourself.

Friends don't look into their friend's eyes as if they created a whole galaxy for them in their hands. Friends don't kiss each other behind closed doors, friends don't have this weird feeling to outright propose to them, and friends definitely don't dream of absolutely ravaging the fuck out of another.

But lovers don't wake up the morning after pretending that nothing happened either.

So, what were you to Wednesday?

You were more than friends but less than lovers. Where does that put the both of you in the spectrum? You were friends-with-benefits, sure, you guys are anyway, but a part of you wanted something real.

A tired sigh escaped your lips. The cold breeze and the familiar setting of being awake at 5:00 finally hits you. You didn't even notice you were sitting up, the creak of the bed echoing in the silent room alongside your breath. The headboard pressed against your back and that stupid pain in your chest that never seemed to go away no matter how much you yelled at your body to just stop. Or maybe that wasn't much of a treatment.

As you looked towards your left, you found yourself sighing yet again, but out of relief. Wednesday.

A calming sight, you'd think. You always found it endearing when you first saw Wednesday sleep with her arms crossed around her chest as if she's inside a coffin. Okay, maybe at first, you were creeped out and you were debating if you should wake her up. But now, it felt like even if you took a hundred photos of her, it still wouldn't be enough to capture her at peace.

After a few minutes, you found yourself in the bathroom. The sound of water running filled the closed room as you splashed your face, trying to wake yourself up.

Leaning against the sink, the cold material seeping against your skin, you stared at your reflection. Your hands going up to cup your face, your fingers tracing the marks and the scars you carried.

You were always known for being that one girl who got into trouble, it didn't matter whether it may be from your actions or the actions that were caused by others, who thought it'd be funny to put the blame on you and the explanation would be your reputation. But it didn't matter, you think, atleast you were known for something.

You loved Wednesday. But you truly couldn't.

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The room felt smaller. Smaller than it ever did.

"I just can't fucking deal with your bullshit anymore." They spat out, you yourself standing across from them with eyes that cried for nights. "It's like you expect me to bear it with you, why can't you just stop putting me in your own damn mistakes!?"

Your eyes mirrored hurt, but your body reflected with anger, replacing it as a shield for the shouts that were shooting to kill. "I'm—I'm not expecting you to bear anything," you stuttered, "I just need you to understand, to be there for me I—"

They let out a bitter laugh, "Understand what, y/n? Who would want to be burdened by your constant need to be loved?" They got closer to you, backing you into a wall, "You're unlovable, y/n. I can't keep fucking pretending that I can fix you or some shit. Why can't you get the simplest things through your head?"

"I thought we loved eachother."

"We didn't!" They shouted, "we never loved eachother, I never loved you, no one fucking did."

"But I loved you."

They stepped back to you, going over to their own place to pack up. "But I didn't alright? I never did, and I never will."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, just please don't leave me—" You reached out, desperation in your touch before they pushed you away.

"I can't give you what you deserve, y/n. You don't even deserve half of it."

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Each time your gaze hovered over a mirror, the memory played over and over again, to the point you couldn't even tell what was real in that scene or not. You warped it into something you fear, into something you'd use as an excuse if you ever found yourself getting attached to another.

It came back to haunt you, it always did, but now, it didn't fear you as much as it did.

Maybe you were numb to it at this point, you'd think, but a part of you wanted to think that it was because of Wednesday. That she was the one, the one that would never be a relapse of the memory. The one that would erase it.

You let out a sigh—probably the 100th one all week—with the immense tiredness you were having overthinking. But it was fine, you'd say to yourself, you loved her.

"Y/n."

"Y/n!"

You didn't realize you were daydreaming a daydream until someone shouted your name across the sea of people, your body slumped over a wall holding whatever your friends poured you into a plastic cup, the bass-boosted music meeting your ears.

"Y/n! You okay?" You looked up, almost wanting it to be Wednesday calling out for you, but why would Wednesday be at a party in the first place? You'd have better luck escaping this party unscathed.

Your mind snapped back, took a while, and you managed a weak smile. "Yeah—" you hic, "Yeah, I'm fine." You wiped your mouth with the side of your hand, squinting your eyes to figure out who was talking to you with a fucked up brain.

She offered you a smile—actually, you didn't know at this point. You were too zoned out. "So sorry, who are you again?" you slurred, your free hand roaming around your pockets to make sure your phone was still intact.

The girl laughed, a sound that your thoughts didn't pick up at something familiar. Or Wednesday. "I'm Kary. I'm in your class; biology." She offered you a handshake, which she voluntarily lowered when you offered to toast instead.

The two of you were never close, not even spending two years together couldn't be enough for a friendship to start. You always seemed to notice that Kary was quiet in class, never really speaking to anybody. Even the teachers don't pick her even if she sits in front of the board; you on the other hand was always called to recite, leading you to believe you were the opposite of a teacher's pet.

Ever since transferring to Nevermore, you were always the number one attendee at parties, even if you admitted they were not your style. You always told her how they're "filled with hormones", "a competition to see who gets knocked out passed out on the cold floor first," or just "simply for teenagers to drink their troubles away."

Despite your critiques on the matter, you were always there.

The night went on, and your mind was starting to feel hazy. More cloudy than it should be with the alcohol you're drinking. Kary's touched lingered longer on your arm, her body getting closer to yours, and she looks at you with half-lidded eyes.

She leaned in close to you, her lips almost going to yours if you hadn't slightly backed away. "Where's Wednesday? I thought she'd be here after that whole thing happened."

The mention of Wednesday definitely caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat while the empty drink in your hands kept fumbling in your grip as you stuttered over your words. "Wednesday—She's… She isn't really that fond of parties. You know the gist." You laughed, awkwardly, your hands trying to push her away from undoing your belt.

"Kary, I don't—" was all you could say before you were interrupted, "Don't what, Y/n? It's a party, enjoy it a little—"

"Kary, please, I said I don't—"

"I must say, y/n would rather be entertained by pigsty doing acrobatics to save their souls." A sharp voice cutting through the haze you were so desperately pleading your body to get rid of it.

Kary's hands withdrew from your belt almost immediately, her eyes widening in surprise. You turned to see Wednesday there, arms crossed as her gaze pierced through yours. But more on Karys. The party lights illuminating her presence.

"Wednesday! Why—Why are you here?"

"You've left me a string of incoherent messages that I would not like to decipher if not for Thing becoming a translator." She reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone that had a dozen of text messages—most if not all of it from your contact—flooding her homescreen begging for her to come to the party.

"I assume you needed my company."

"I didn't expect you'd, you know, come." You fumbled, your hand almost crushing the cup that was offered to you.

Before you could even respond, Kary interjected, "We were just having some fun, Addams." She spoke, for you. "Y/n was getting plenty of company."

"I assure you, having at least a dozen men falling under your belt should be much company for you. Not if you keep it hidden, I suppose," Wednesday stated, her tone cool and composed, but her fists were clenched under her arms and her jaw was locked.

You didn't know Wednesday was even calling your name out for the last 40 seconds, the alcohol finally taking a toll on your body as you just looked at the both of them.

Before anyone could say another word, Wednesday took your arm, her grip firm, tugging on you as if to call you back. "We're leaving. Now."

You stumbled alongside her, wondering where the hell did she even get all that strength to push you around. You shot a glance back at Kary, looking at you with crossed arms. You could almost feel sorry for the girl, you feel sorry for anyone who Wednesday decided to darken their footsteps. But you couldn't think of anything. Not when Wednesday had the most tight grip on your heart at the very moment.

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You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Wednesday pushed your back firmly against the door, her cold hands lingering on your chest, the click echoing through the room. Her eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense.

You couldn't hear a thing, every sound that entered your ear was distorted and meshed. "Did you even see the way she looked at you?" Wednesday's voice was low, a hint of possessiveness in her tone, her hands going to your throat.

Your breath hitched, your mind wandering through places as your hands sought freedom in her hips, your fingers gently sliding into her waistband. "I never pegged you to be the jealous type, Wednesday." You teased. A smile appeared across your lips, your eyes taunting Wednesday's serious ones, blinking. A falter in her gaze, you noticed.

Wednesday's grip on your throat tightened just enough to send a shiver down your spine, your mouth opening to let air out as she let her hands roam up to your face, her thumb grazing your lips. "Because I never am," she whispered, you whimpered.

Your smile turned into a foolish smirk, slightly laughing, "Then is there another reason why you're tearing my shirt apart?" you asked, your gaze drifting down to where Wednesday's free hand was frantically unbuttoning the blouse you had.

Her eyes followed yours, a faint red tint painting her cheeks as she huffed a puff of air, stopping her actions. "...That would never change my desire to slit her throat in half."

"Oh, aren't you a romantic?"

"Some would call it demented, I'd say effective."

She grabbed you by your collar, feeling your lifeless body obediently following her every move, staggering as you do so.

Soon enough, Wednesday let go of your collar and pressed you against the bed, your body fell and she followed suit. You feel dizzy, zoned out even, your hands going up to cup her face as she looms over you.

"You know, romantic or demented, it doesn't matter," you breathed, your voice rasped as you brought her face closer to yours as you allowed her fingers to unbutton your blouse, "it still won't help the fact I want you to fuck me."

Wednesday pulled back, a raise in her eyebrows, you couldn't see it if not for her messy fringe and hot breath on yours.

Her fingers, now paused onto the last button of your clothing, she traced a tantalizing trail on the edges without continuing, waiting for something.

You almost rolled your eyes, if not for the pleasure building inside you.

"God—fuck, please, Wednesday." You whimpered, pleaded out of desperation, running out of patience.

"Wasn't hard, was it?" She pulled you into a kiss, her tongue slipping into your mouth. Fuck, how she was so addictive. Her fingers roam freely around your chest of your body, letting your blouse fall open, while your hands wander down her back, caressing her curves as she perfectly arches her body against yours.

Every touch brought you to ecstasy, every silent whimper Wednesday gave brought you to heaven, everything about Wednesday made you feel as if you weren't alive.

You break the kiss, letting your lips fall to her neck. You let out a moan as you feel her body shudder against you, your chest rising and falling against hers while your hand slid through her hair, your fingers wrapping against her messy strands.

"I never thought you were into this." You look up to her, smirking.

"And I never thought you'd be attracted to someone like her." She fumed as if her name was taboo.

You sit up, an eyebrow arched in amusement. "You're still onto that?"

"I'll take it to my grave."

"Jealousy fits you, baby." You teased, a smirk playing on your lips as you pulled up your thigh, tracing lines against her clothed clit.

"It's—It's horrid." she stammered, her breath hitching as she shut her eyes and shuddered at the endearment, her jaw clenched to prevent anything from coming out of her.

You couldn't retort back, a sly comment was about to escape your lips until Wednesday took both of your wrists and pinned them together, her body adjusting and going up to your chest.

"Behave."

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a/n: damn i realized i do not know how to write atleast a tiny bit of smut to save my life. also probably going in more about how Wednesday feels about their rs next chap!

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x y/n #wednesday addams x female reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 month

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Super Soft!Simon Riley x reader - You're terrified that Simon's not making safe choices when he's on deployment, so he comforts you. (fluff, allusion to future smut (barely), drunk johnny, cod inaccuracies)

Johnny recounts the tale of their hard-earned achievement—a victory, as they have deemed it—with a number of beers in his system that you’ve long stopped counting. As he sits at your kitchen table, he is looser, giddier, freer with his words, and spares no detail of your boyfriend’s selfless acts of bravery during their last deployment. Acts that got him shot at; one of those bullets finding their home.

You’d be proud of him, if not for the fear that built up over months from recurring nightmares and an overactive imagination—all of which had you losing the love of your life. But that’s not out of character. You think about yourself, you think about your boyfriend, before you think about the lives he saves when he’s away from you. Maybe it’s wrong, or unfair, but you can’t help it.

While Simon’s work is not something he ever kept secret, you don’t need the reminder that the preservation of his life is not always his priority. It can't be. There are other factors that dictate his future. He has a team, people who depend on him. He has responsibilities and orders to follow. Control is often snatched from his fingertips. And so, what does that mean for the two of you?

You don’t care to think about it. Not tonight. Not at midnight from a friend who should have passed out on your couch hours ago. So you stretch, yawn, and excuse yourself for bed before your brain implodes from any more of Johnny’s ramblings.

Simon knows. He spent the night squeezing your hip each time you tensed in his lap at Johnny’s words, and now, as you stand to head to the bedroom, he holds onto your hand until your fingers slip from his. Deep brown eyes are filled with guilt and apology and all you can offer in return is a slight upturn of the lips that barely qualifies as a smile.

Away from the men, you cry in your and Simon’s shared bed, waiting for him to encourage Johnny to the couch. There's a few more loud laughs, a whine when Simon cuts off his friend's alcohol supply, and then a final groan of acceptance as you hear the springs of your couch squeak under the weight of a muscled body. It’s only when the animated snores of your drunk friend reach your ears that the door to your room creaks on its hinges.

Simon’s footsteps are thumps muffled by carpeting. From your peripherals you see him shed his clothes as he moves to you. Shoes, then t-shirt, then jeans, until he's in his underwear and settling onto the mattress behind you.

His arm slips under yours around your waist and he tugs your back to his chest, into the cocoon of warmth.

“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asks, gruff and thick. His voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your spine as his breath brushes your ear. “That my life is over.

“Everything I want, everything I need—none of it matters anymore. All because of one look at a woman who was too busy with her friends to notice me,” he says. “I thought, I'm ruined now. If you leave this bar right this second, I won't be able to forget you. And if you don't leave, I can't ever let you go. I didn't know your name and you had me ready to change my whole world for you.”

You sniffle but don't bother to wipe away the tear that escapes. “That's insane, Si,” you whisper.

“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss just under your ear. “But it happened. I let you in and you latched on to my entire existence like this beautiful, little parasite. Just like I wanted you to. My life ended and it became our life.

“I don't take a single step without considering you. Not here and not there. So if you think I don't try to be careful when I'm gone, you're wrong,” he tells you. “I try for you. I try for us.”

Yet, ‘trying’ means he still gets injured; he gets another circular scar to add to the healed knife slashes and the burned patch on his upper arm. ‘Trying’ is not always about picking the safer of two options, but about optimizing luck, which is rare enough as it is. And that terrifies you.

“What if you step wrong not knowing that it's wrong?” you ask. “What if you think it's right and then you're gone? You can't tell me that will never happen.”

Simon sighs. “No, I can't. But you trust me, don't you?”

Turning in his arms—your nose nearly nudging his—you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Of course I do.”

“Then don't mourn me while I'm still here, love,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod, because you’d do anything for him.

“Good girl.” Simon smiles lightly and slides his palm from your back down the length of your arm. He squeezes your fingers, then moves further, tucking his hand into the front of your underwear. “My girl,” he whispers and presses his lips to yours.

A/N: i dont usually write different stuff but i felt like it so i did

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #call of duty #simon riley x you #cod ghost #johnny soap mactavish

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updownlately · 6 months

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if you’re gonna waste my time (let’s waste it right)

| leah williamson x reader | hurt/comfort | 3.3k | disclaimer: mentions of anxiety, self loathing, negative thoughts, and depression -this delves into some slightly heavy topics so please read at your own discretion! | a/n: got this ask a while back and an idea struck to me while driving! first fic in a while that i've written in one sitting so let's see how this goes! honestly started off really strong but then idk where we went. anyways, not proofread as usual, but happy reading! take care amigos! and just know that each of you are loved, cared for, and cherished by those around you, even if you don't know it! 🫶

~~~

Fight, flight, or freeze.

They say that every human has these three survival instincts built in.

Instincts meant to protect, to escape, but most importantly, to survive.

Responses meant to make sure that one would make it out of harm’s way, preferably unscathed.

Fight, the mechanism that evoked adrenaline. That helped you battle your way through the toughest of encounters.

That did its best to make sure you were well equipped to tackle any scuffle, minor or major, to the best of your ability.

Flight, the mechanism that helped you run- escape before you couldn’t anymore.

The one that ensured that you got out before you could be attacked- before you could be hurt.

And then of course, freeze.

Rooted to your spot, immobile as harm directed itself towards you, one only praying that you could be so still that harm skipped right past you, practically avoiding you as you let it pass.

Freeze, that left you with a pounding heart, blood rushing in your ears.

Freeze that meant you couldn’t move, body rigid, feet planted, mind stopped in time.

Freeze that kept you stuck. stuck in an endless loop of agony, of shaky breaths, of paralyzing fear.

Freeze, considered the weakest of the three.

So as you stood there, eyes wide, muscles tense, body frozen, you cursed your mind and body with all that you could, wondering why of the three instincts, freeze was what you had done in order to try and survive.

~~~

There’s something terrifying about the voices that ring in your head.

How they so scarily sound similar to the people in your life, past and present.

Voices reminding you how you aren’t good enough. How you’ve let them down. How maybe if you weren’t there, the world would be okay. That it would move on without a hitch, without a second thought, because when it came to it, at the end of the day, maybe, just maybe, you didn’t really matter anyways.

Voices that sounded like your mother, reminding you of dark nights of you hidden in your room, the harsh words ringing in the four walls of your bedroom, what was supposed to be your safe haven, now tainted with feelings of regret, of disappointment, of outright disgust.

It’d be better if you didn’t exist.

Voices that sounded like your father, angry yells late into the night, enough smashed dishes that left your hands littered with scars that’d never cease to remind you, enough nights spent under your covers silently wiping tears as you prayed that you were quiet enough.

What a waste of air.

Voices that sounded like past coaches and management that knocked you back with each word spoken, each push forward sending you feet yards back, support that felt like hindrance more than anything.

You’d be lucky if you got to play past the little leagues. It’d be a miracle that’s for sure.

Voices that sounded like fans- people that were meant to support you- but you couldn’t force them to. Hundreds if not thousands of comments left, each asking for you to be traded. Hell, they’d take a sack of potatoes if nothing else.

I can’t believe that we wasted our money on this. Can’t we just, I don’t know, get rid of her? She’s the reason we suck. Maybe if she was half a decent player we’d actually be somewhere in the league.

Comments that repeated your worth. Ingrained it into your mind. Over and over and over again.

You weren’t good enough.

Sentences that etched themselves into the forefront of your thoughts, always ready to haunt you at the slightest notice.

You weren’t good enough.

Not now, not ever.

Not for your own mother or father, never mind your siblings.

Not for your teammates, nor the fans.

It was a miracle you were even playing professionally in the first place.

God if they took one good look at you maybe they realized how poorly they fucked up by signing you.

You weren’t a good footballer, barely even a decent one. How you managed to play for this long was a miracle.

They’d notice soon enough though. They had to. They always did.

They’d notice soon enough that you weren’t good enough.

And then?

Then you’d be left with nothing, as you always were.

~~~

You didn’t know when you were led inside to the locker rooms- when that absolutely terrifying moment of being in front of the opposing team’s stands had gone from you taking a corner to being absolutely pelted by random junk.

From empty bottles (plastic thankfully), to empty food containers, balled-up programs, signs, merch, all being hurled your way, never mind the onslaught of assaults- the stands only repeating everything your mind ever told you, every, single, day.

You didn’t hear when the ref blew their whistle, nor when the rest of the girls dressed in red crowded you, some chastising the fans along with the away team, others wrapping around you protectively, quickly leading you towards the benches.

You weren’t there as you were subbed off, your mind still frozen, much like the rest of your body.

All you knew right now was that you could smell the familiar scent of your girlfriend’s perfume as the heel of your palms pressed harshly into your eyes in an attempt to cease the uproar in your head.

Breaths getting heavy, you tried your best to calm yourself down.

You weren’t a stranger to panic attacks, and even in your hazed state, you could very well recognize the oncoming situation.

Bringing your arms to wrap around your own stomach in a futile attempt to bring yourself some sort of comfort, you felt your breathing pick up as the sharp lights of the room seemed to get darker.

Room spinning, the voices in your head louder, you could only bring your knees up to your head, body now practically in fetal position as you rode out the attack.

Even with the hundreds you’d had by now, you hadn’t been able to come up with an effective method to deal with them.

So you sat there, huddled into a ball, body shaking, mind louder than ever as Leah stood above and watched helplessly.

The blonde had been there in the stands to watch you get abused, immediately making her way down to the pitch because ACL and league rules be damned, that was her girlfriend for fuck’s sake.

She stood by the sidelines, ready to receive you as the obvious substitution occurred, an arm coming to wrap around you as she led your ghost of a body to the locker rooms.

She watched as you mindlessly sat in front of your locker, not a single word uttered from you, not a single response to the quiet comforting words the blonde had whispered to you gently in an attempt to rouse you from your clearly distressed state.

She itched to reach out and touch you as she saw you slowly curl into a ball, you getting ever so smaller as she could only helplessly watch, you unknowingly flinching the second she touched your shoulders in an attempt to comfort you.

It was only when your heavy breathing died down every so slightly, nearly fifteen minutes later if the blonde’s perception was right, that she tried again, slowly coming to sit beside you as she gauged your reaction.

Seeing your shaking start to slow as well, she slowly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, her own body tense as she watched you stiffen up before you relaxed slightly, letting her pull you into her side as her other hand came to hold your left one.

And long after you had buried yourself into her side, body defeated with the rollercoaster of emotions you’d just experienced, too tired to think of any of the consequences of your actions, you let Leah led you- helping your pull on a hoodie and your jacket and change out of your cleats as she gathered the rest of your gear.

Helpless except able to nod in agreement as the blonde suggested you leave early from the game, you followed her quietly, not a word said from you, as she led you out of the ground and to her car, where you fell asleep within seconds.

It was only when the car pulled up to her house, a place you’d been to many times, your relationship long past new to the both of you, did you rouse, mind still not present and following the blonde.

Leah was good. You trusted Leah. Leah was safe.

The words repeating in your head, you believing they were true like all the other words that crossed your mind, you let yourself sleepily be led up the stairs and up to the ensuite.

Standing there awkwardly as you slowly came to the situation, the lights in the washroom waking you up, your shoulders sunk as the embarrassment from earlier set in.

God you were an embarrassment. First a panic attack in front of the English skipper, and now this- you stood helplessly in her bathroom like you were broken, waiting to be fixed.

You watched in dread as the blonde flitted around the joint closet, quickly gathering a change of clothes for you before she stacked them neatly on the countertop, handing you a towel and starting the shower, not meeting your eyes.

What you didn’t know was that she didn’t want to scare you off, intimidate you as her heart ached at the shameful look in your eyes.

“Take a warm shower, yeah? We’ll get you some food after, and then how about a nap?”

Unable to do anything but nod in response, your fear of upsetting the blonde, of anyone really, making itself known, you followed her instructions, locking the door as she left and starting to remove your sweat covered kit.

~~~

It’s nearly twenty minutes later when you emerge from the shower, your dirty clothes held precariously in your hands, your eyes wide as you see Leah sprawled across her bed, scrolling aimlessly on her phone.

A small smile unknowingly escapes you as you watch her nearly throw her phone, very much caught off-guard at your appearance.

Smile tightening quickly as you realized it rested on your face, your eyes met the ground, ears sharp as you noted the footsteps headed towards you.

Before you knew it, the mess of dirty clothes was swiftly taken from your hands, your gaze snapping up as you watched Leah take your dirty kit and toss it into her own hamper before turning to you.

“Alright. I’d rather you eat, but I’m not going to force you to, yeah? We can take a nap, maybe just reset, or if you wanna sit down and watch a movie or a show we can do that too…how’s that sound?”

Feeling your eyes water at the blonde’s gentle tone, feelings still overwhelming from earlier, your sights met the ground again as you meekly nodded.

Blood rushing in your ears, you felt the vibrations as Leah stepped towards you again, her hands gently taking yours.

“Nap?”

Taking her chances at guessing which you preferred, the tender tone in her voice had you easily nodding again, tears you’d been trying to hold back now escaping.

And as the blonde led you to her bed, you winced as the voices in your head picked up once again, mind baffled at why someone was treating you with this much kindness, this much care.

Choosing to ignore them for now, you smiled shyly at the sight in front of you, Leah having rounded the bed to go on ‘her’ side, the skipper tucked into the sheets, arms wide open as she shot you a soft grin, eyes sparkling with glee as she waited for you to join her.

Gingerly approaching the bed, you hesitantly pulled back the covers, eyes meeting Leah’s every few seconds to make sure you were okay, before entering, unsure of whether you were allowed to hug the blonde (even if a part of you so desperately wanted to do so).

Your question was answered for you, however, Leah was unable to see you lying down in such a stiff manner, taking matters into her own hands and hooking an arms around your waist and pulling you into her.

And as you slowly got comfortable, moving millimetres every minute until you finally found yourself resting with your head on her chest, arm wrapped around her midsection as her hand came to wrap around your waist, one running through your hair, you let yourself sink into her hold, brain quietening every so slightly as the familiar presence and scent had you relaxing.

It was only when you were on the verge of sleep, minutes later, did you hear Leah’s voice whisper into the air between you two, her lips pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as an apology as she realized her mistake of rousing you from your sleepy state.

“There’s a lot that goes on up there,” with a small nod towards the top of your head, she continued, “but it doesn’t have to stay there y’know?”

Holding her breath as she felt you shift slightly, you turning your body to listen better, she spoke again.

“I’d be more than happy to stay here and listen to you when you need it. Really, any of us would. All of the girls love you and care for you, and despite whatever people might say, you add to the team, yeah?”

Feeling you nod hesitantly at the words, Leah waited as she sensed your jaw move, anticipation killing her as you sounded out the words silently before they left your mouth- and even then, you winced slightly.

“I don’t want to be a burden…don’t wanna waste your time…”

There was something in the way the words quietly rolled off your tongue, no doubt said many times before, the sincerity behind them proving you meant them wholeheartedly- that you believed you were an inconvenience, that broke Leah’s heart.

You weren’t a burden. You weren’t.

She wondered if you’d ever seen yourself the way other’s saw you. If that coloured glass that you saw yourself through was tainted any other colour than black. Whether it was ever yellow so you’d see just how much of a ray of sunshine you were on the stormiest of days, often cheering up your shared teammates with just a single smile as you’d skip into the change rooms.

Or if you ever looked at yourself through the rose coloured glass, the same hue that would coat your cheeks as you’d interact with fans post-game, giving each and every one your undivided attention, making them feel special, and loved, and cared for.

Or whether you ever saw yourself through green, breathing life to even the dullest moments, standing tall, unwavering, as players would try to take you down on the pitch over and over again, you getting back up each time, a force to be reckoned with, one that not even the rainiest of days nor Mother nature could defy.

You weren’t a burden, and the blonde needed you to believe it, because it was the truth and nothing but the wholehearted, honest-to-god truth.

It’s why her honest admission just tumbles out, the words spilling before the defender could stop them.

“If I could hold you all night and all day, I would, without a single doubt or any hesitation.”

Her grip tightening on you as the words are spoken clearly and strongly, her placing a gentle kiss to your temple before continuing.

“If you think you’re gonna waste my time by talking to me when you aren’t doing well, then just know, that listening to you as I try and comfort you and get the chance to hold you in my arms? It’s the best waste of time I’ll ever have in my life. It’s one I’ll cherish till the end of time, because it’s never, and I mean never, a waste.”

Taking a deep breath in, the blonde felt you nod at her words, your own grip tightening around the blonde as you pulled yourself closer into her, closing your eyes in an attempt to believe her the best you could.

Leah could sense your struggle though, not ignorant to the way a small, trembling breath escaped you, frustration clear.

“You don’t have to believe me now, or any time soon really, but just know, it’s the wholehearted truth- and I’ll spend as long as you need reminding you, because you’re good enough. You’re more than good enough, and worthy of love, and a good life, and good things. You deserve love, even though your brain tries to tell you otherwise, yeah?”

When you didn’t say anything, it clear to the blonde that you were silently taking in her words, contemplating them, doing your best to believe them, she let you be, revelling in the silence as took in the feel of you being in her arms, one of her favourite feelings in the world.

The blonde could almost feel you turning her words over in your head, examining them from top to bottom as you inspected them for any indication of a lie, surprised when there wasn’t one.

Content with the way you hadn’t spoken out yet in disagreement, Leah decided to take her chances and bite the bullet.

Proposing her next idea, the blonde held her breath in anticipation, heartbeat slowing dramatically as she hoped you’d agree to her words.

“I’ll always be here to hold you, but I think it might just help if we see a professional, yeah? You and me, both of us, we’ll go, and just give it a crack?”

Feeling your hesitancy this time, the blonde pulled you closer to her gently, turning onto her side as her eyes met yours.

One hand now carefully resting on your cheek, she placed a loving kiss on your forehead, then your nose before continuing.

“Three sessions is all I ask. If you don’t want to go after that, then I won’t ask again, ever. But, just give me three sessions, and I’ll be there for each one if you want, and if nothing changes, then you’re off the hook, deal?”

There was an audible sigh of relief that escaped Leah’s lips as you hesitantly nodded in agreement.

Deciding that that was good enough for the time being, Leah smiled softly to herself, more than happy with any baby steps of progress being made.

“Just want you to love yourself the way the rest of us love you. The way I love you…”

The words were punctuated with another gentle kiss on your head, this time her lips lingering as you both basked in the touch, the blonde well aware that physical touch was your love language.

Nodding to yourself as your girlfriend’s arms wrapped around you at the end of her sentence, heart feeling just a tad bit lighter as her embrace sucked you in, you let out a sigh of relief at the quiet in your mind and warmth in your chest.

Snuggling further into Leah’s hold, you let out a shaky breath as the emotions of the day filtered out of you, you weren’t going to lie, you were terrified for the future- absolutely scared shitless for what it held. But, with Leah by your side, on your team, cheering you on, a spark of hope nestled quietly inside you, filling you with a refreshing breath, a new goal to work towards.

Not now, not soon, but slowly and surely, you’d work your way through this. You wanted to. for your sake and hers.

After all, with your girlfriend to remind you that you were human, someone that could live and not just survive, maybe you could finally teach yourself it too.

#not proofread as usual #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso community #woso #my writing #fic #fic req #hurt/comfort #iygwmt

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samkerrworshipper · 7 months

Text

togetherness

matilda’s x reader

this one’s a long one so rip

also pls keep sending request lol i need ideas

your a rookie on the squad, struggling to find your footing in a team that you don’t think you fit into. what happens when a certain conflict arises between you and one of your teammates?

angst, little bit of fluff, 5k+ words

I couldn’t really give you a timeline on when I started to space out, when I started to check out. I knew chronologically it would have had to be a few weeks ago, after the world cup had started, just after my whole life had become a shit storm. It was a process, checking out of your own life, it took time, I think that’s why I couldn’t tell you the one moment that I started to, because there wasn’t an exact moment. Slowly the days just all start to smudge into one big mess, you can’t tell people what day it is anymore or when your last meal was. Which sounds stupid, because those are just mundane things. When you check out of life though those things stop mattering, for me I either sleep obtusely or I don’t sleep at all, I don’t eat, I forget how to look after myself. I try to be discreet about it for as long as I can, but eventually people catch on, especially when you are playing professional sport, because you are surrounded by doctors and athletes that know the signs of burnout.

At around two weeks, I think, I could tell my team was catching onto my behaviour. I was a mess, I came to breakfast in the morning with puffy red eyes from crying at night, I didn’t really talk to anyone unless I had to, I was always tired, I kept to myself a little bit too much. It was a matter of time until I was approached, probably told off for having a shitty attitude. I had predicted that, expected it. What I hadn’t expected was to be pretty much cornered in my locker before training by our team captain, Sam Kerr.

As one of the youngest on the team it was safe to say that I was pretty much terrified of our skipper. Not that Sam was a scary person, she was lovely, considerate to a fault. But she was terrifying in a sense that we all knew heading into the world cup she had one ambition and that was to win at home, at all costs. That’s a little bit intimidating, especially when you know that she is prepared to hand you your ass on a silver platter if you do absolutely anything to jeopardise that ambition.

I’d been sitting in my cubby, lacing my cleats up. Both of my airpods in, hoodie on, tracksuit on, puffer jacket hood on. If I didn’t scream unapproachable I don’t know what did. I’d been sitting there a little bit too long I think, staring at my shoe lace for a little bit long, long enough for someone to point me out to Sam. I’d gotten the fright of my life when Sam’s hand had very gently connected with my shoulder. I’d flinched back almost immediately, before turning around and realising where the contact had come from. Sam looked a little bit offended by my sudden reaction to her touch, but the concern left her facial expression fairly quickly.

“Are you okay kid?”

I hated that question. Three words that drove me insane. I don’t think anyone ever answered that question honestly, because it was so blunt. How were you supposed to honestly answer a person you didn’t trust with the answer to the question.

I pulled my airpods out of my ears purely out of respect, even though I could hear Sam perfectly clear.

“Fine, Cap.”

I thought my words would have been enough of an indicator that I didn’t want to talk to her but she’d taken it as an invitation instead to sit down on the bench beside me.

“You don’t look fine.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, hard enough to draw blood, and focused on completing the task of lacing up my cleats.

“Well I am.”

My answers were short and snappy, closed off. They didn’t leave room for imagination or interpretation. I was a blunt person, I spoke bluntly, I reacted to things bluntly. I’d always been that way and I was pretty sure I’d never change.

“Do you want to talk about it? Because I’m here for you.”

I gulped and finished tying up my first cleat, moving on to pulling the second one over my sock covered left foot. I always put the left one on first, it had become routine for me, that was how I’d tied them before I’d won my first game and I’d stuck with it, it was a superstition that I’d never been able to break and I didn’t see why I should break it now.

“I don’t have anything I need to talk to you about.”

My voice was betraying me, my voice and my eyes. I knew Sam would pick up on my aversion to looking at her in the eyes. I could blame it on focusing on tying up my shoes but she was also sitting directly above them and every time I lifted my eyes I just happened to focus on the wall behind her instead.

“Doesn’t seem that way, Ellie told me that she’s heard you crying in your ensuite at night, she says you don’t sleep very much, which I think your under eyes are enough supporting evidence.”

I let my eyes drift over to Ellie, she was standing on the complete opposite side of the locker rooms, talking anxiously to Kyra and Hailey. As soon as she looked up and met my eyes I could tell that Sam’s approach to me had been driven by her, the anxious look in her eyes was enough of a giveaway.

“Ellie doesn’t know what she’s talking about, the girl talks in her sleep most of the time or she’s on the phone to her girlfriend, I don’t think she’d be able to recall my night time activities.”

I focused back in on my cleats, knotting them furiously with my hands that I had now realised were shaking.

“She seemed to have a pretty good idea, we’ve all seen you’ve been checked out recently. I get if you don’t want to talk about it now around the girls. You seem to be having a bad day. So how about you get yourself through training and then you and I have a chat in private?”

It was phrased as a question but nothing about how she’d said the words came out as a proposition, it was an order. I would have tried to object but I knew it would be useless, Sam had made her mind up and once Sam had made up her mind there was no changing it.

“Sounds good skipper.”

My voice was nothing but dripping with sarcasm, it was my only way of pushing out my very clear distaste with the idea of having to talk to Sam after training. As soon as Sam stood up and I’d checked that both of my cleats were on properly I marched right over to Ellie, pulling her away from the conversation she was in and back over to my locker.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are but telling on me to cap isn’t going to get you fucking brownie points with me, we aren’t friends Ellie, we’re not sleepover buddies. I am working tooth and nail here to be fucking respected and I just got a proper emotional dressing down from Kerr that was pretty much just her telling me that I needed to get my act together. If that doesn’t scream out not fucking respected than I don’t know what does.”

I watched all of the colour drain from Ellie’s face as she slowly became far more uncomfortable in the conversation. She wasn’t backing down though.

“I don’t know what fucking planet you are on y/n/n but we are just looking out for you. I hear you at night in the bathroom, sobbing and balling your eyes out. That doesn’t scream out okay to me. Sam wasn’t giving you a dressing down she was asking you if you were fucking okay, something that we’ve all wanted to do for a few weeks now, we were just all scared to because we thought you were going to rip our heads off, like you are doing to me right now. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about you right now because how you’ve been behaving as of late isn’t fucking normal and anybody in there right mind would be worried about you.”

Ellie and I’s argument had escalated enough that I could tell most of the locker room's attention had fallen to our heated conversation, neither of us were ready to back down though and that much was evident in how strong both of our glares at each other held.

“Fuck you, you aren’t the person who gets to decide whether or not I’m okay or not. So what if I’ve been keeping to myself? Maybe I needed some down time away from this fucking extroverted team that never gives me a fucking break.”

It was a personal dig, one that I had said far too loudly in a crowded room of girls that I actually really loved, it had been like word vomit though, getting thrown out in me and Ellie’s fight.

“That’s not fair and you know it, all anybody here has done is be nice to you and you’ve been a fucking dick to everyone for the last few weeks, it’s not normal. You were so happy at training camp but ever since we’ve gotten here you’ve lost your shit and it’s fucking pathetic because we are your team and family and you should trust us more than anybody else but you don’t you don’t give two shits about anybody here besides yourself and we can all see it. It’s embarrassing having your represent us in your current condition. Your a wreck. You didn’t deserve to be brought up from the under 20’s. Maybe if you spent less time in our bathroom at nighttime crying about how hard your sorry ass life was you’d realise there are people and things on earth that are more fucking important than you are.”

Ellie’s words had taken the air out of my lungs, it wasn’t what I’d expected and even her facial expression reflected that she was a little bit taken aback by her own words. They were personal, really personal. I blinked a few times, trying to get a footing in the conversation but I couldn’t, because what was I supposed to say to a person accusing me of being a selfish heartless team mate? Me and Ellie stood stock still, just staring at each other, both of us obviously waiting for the other to keep talking but neither of us could.

“Ellie Madison Carpenter, out on the field, right now.”

Steph’s voice echoed against the walls of the changerooms, everyone else was standing completely silent and still in the room. I looked around the locker rooms, aware that literally everyone besides Sam who had left the locker rooms after her talk to me had just heard Ellie’s speech. I was too shocked to do anything besides plaster my hand against my mouth and run directly into the bathroom that connected to the change rooms. I did my best to not let any tears fall until I’d locked the disabled bathroom door behind me and I’d slid down onto the floor. Was that actually what the team thought of me? That I was a selfish, useless, coldhearted bitch who was just here for herself? Ellie’s words had hurt my heart and soul, because I didn’t play for myself, I hadn’t ever.

I consciously could hear the frantic knocking on the bathroom door but my subconscious was doing its best to tune it out.

“Y/n, open the door, please.”

“Fucking Ellie, that kid has no fucking filter.”

“How are we supposed to explain to Cap that she locked herself in the bathroom?”

“Fuck we were supposed to be on the field five minutes ago, Tony is going to have a field day giving us fucking suicide sprints.”

Those were a few of the sentences that I made out through the door. They were enough to tell me that I needed to get my shit together, because one thing I couldn’t handle on top of the team thinking I was all of those things was the team thinking I was the fucking emotional mess that everyone seemed to think I was. So after letting whatever tears I had left fall, I flushed the toilet, in an attempt to try and disguise the sound of me furiously washing the redness off of my face then I walked towards the door, took a deep breath and unlocked it. Hailey and Macka were both waiting outside and were very clearly surprised by my exit from the bathroom.

“Alanna, don’t worry about getting skip, she’s out.”

I bit the inside of my mouth again, satisfied with the irony taste of my own blood filling my mouth.

“Sorry, just feeling a little bit sick.”

It was very clear none of them believed my excuse. I tried to push past them though, trying my hardest to avoid whatever awkward confrontation that I was apparently bound to, because both Ras and Mackenzie stopped me before I could take a step.

“Y/n. What Ellie said wasn’t true and it’s okay for you to feel emotions about that, she let the heat of the moment get to her.”

I gulped, swallowing the mixture of blood and sweat that was resonating in my mouth.

“I told you, I feel sick. I don’t give a shit what Ellie has to say, she’s very welcome to her own opinions, this is a free country, she has an issue I’d rather her say it to my face.”

My words were faulty, untrustworthy, like ice that was slowly cracking.

“You are allowed to be upset at her for saying that about you, it was mean and she was trying to get to you. It’s okay for you to have emotions about that.”

I pursed my lips, I hated confrontation. Confrontation was terrifying.

“I told you I just felt sick, I still do. I need to go talk to Tony, can I leave or am I being held hostage until I talk about emotions that I don’t have or feel right now?”

Hayley and Mackenzie both looked between each other, trying to think up another plan of attack but clearly not finding anything telepathically between themselves.

“You are free to go, we’re here for you if you need to talk.”

I rolled my eyes at the two of them.

“Thanks, I’ll keep a mental note next time I need a therapist to talk about my nonexistent selfish feelings with.”

The sarcasm rolled off of my tongue too easily as I walked out of the locker rooms and into the tunnel, slowly making my way out onto the field. It was night training, so the ground was cold and the bright white fluorescent lights were blaring down across the pitch. I looked out across the ground, the girls had already started running whatever drills they’d been instructed to start with which led me to ask myself the question of how long had I actually locked myself in that bathroom for?

I made my way straight over to Tony who was looking at me in that way he tended to when he was thinking about something.

“Ms y/l/n.”

He smiled at me, a little bit too kindly for my liking.

“Coach, I’m feeling a bit sick, I think I might have eaten something funny this morning, probably that granola that looked like it had been sitting out for a little bit to long, I think I should probably just rest for tonight, unless you want a granola vomit mess to deal with.”

Tony’s eyes studied me, my body language, silently assessing my every move.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with what happened between you and Ms Carpenter?”

Fuck, that was me exposed. I looked down to my cleats, by default, because I couldn’t look into his eyes knowing that he knew I was lying straight to his face.

“She approached me, told me that she’d said some things to a teammate before coming out for warm ups that she was sorry for, that I should sit her out for a game because of it. Wouldn’t tell me who she’d spoken to, which made me think it must have been pretty serious.”

I gulped anxiously, fuck. Fuck Ellie for making this whole night a flaming hot pile of shit.

“It wasn’t anything bad, I feel sick, it’s got nothing to do with Ellie, I’m a big girl, I can handle my own problems, she shouldn’t sit out for a week, we need her.”

I let my eyes cross the field, to where Ellie was, her whole complexion had paled dramatically and she looked like she’d just been on a really high rollercoaster.

“We also need to look out for the safety of our players. I'm going to ask you this once and I want you to tell me the complete truth. Did Ellie personally attack you in the change rooms before training tonight? Don’t lie to me, I’ll ask one of your team mates if you do and I don’t want to hear that their answers were any different to yours.”

I bit down hard on my mouth tissue, there was a part of me that wanted to lie for Ellie, even though it would probably land us in more trouble, there was also a part of me that wanted to hand her in, even though in my eyes she hadn’t really done anything wrong, she’d said her peace.

“We were both giving it to each other, she gave as much as she got. I deserve to sit out a week just as much as she does if we’re referencing words said to each other, we were both rude, we got stuck up in the heat of the moment. I promise you, with every bone in my body that it won’t ever happen again, I swear to you.”

One thing that my brother told me when we were growing up was how to effectively lie. There was an art to the practice of lying. The first rule was body language, everyone had a tell, it was about identifying yours and then figuring out how to stop it or disguise it. For example, my youngest brother would always tap his left foot when he was lying. Rule number two is eye contact. You need to make some, but not so much that it’s creepy. People can tell when you refuse to make eye contact with them, so you need to occasionally. Third is your voice, it needs to be steady, your pitch and tone need to be consistent, one of the easiest tells is a raised voice when you lie. The fourth rule is physical change, this one is probably the hardest, because there isn’t anything you can do to stop yourself if you get clammy hands when you are lying, you just have to disguise it. The fifth and final rule is words, you need to use enough that your sentences are coherent but don’t over-sell yourself, summarise what needs to be said, instead of reading off a whole backstory.

I’d broken number five and two whilst talking to Tony and I could tell that he was picking up on it. He looked between me and the field before calling over one of my teammates.

“Mary, can I have you for a second.”

I gulped down the lump that was forming in the back of my throat when Fowler finished off the drill she was doing and ran over to the sideline to stand beside the coach and I.

“What can I do for you, coach?”

He smiled at her, I’d very quickly noticed that Mary was one of his favourites, rightfully so. She was a hard worker but she was also kind, Matilda’s captain material for the future.

“Can you give me a run down of what happened in the lockers before training between Ellie and y/n, from my understanding there was a small altercation, but both of them aren’t telling me the whole story and I don’t have time for beating around the bush.”

I looked at Mary, silently praying for her to downplay it, maybe she hadn’t heard much of it. She was the one to pick if you wanted an honest answer, she couldn’t lie for the life of her, I knew that much. She bit her lip subtly, thinking thoroughly before she said anything.

“None of us heard how it started, we all knew that y/n/n was the one to drag Ellie over to her locker after Cap spoke to her. They were arguing, it seemed harmless. Until Ellie was yelling in y/n/n’s face.”

Tony nodded at her inquisitively, clearly very invested in what she had to say.

“Did you hear what Ms Carpenter was saying to Ms y/l/n?”

I gulped, shaking my head as subtly as I could at Mary, this whole encounter was a headache.

“Look, it’s not really something I’m comfortable with repeating.”

I knew Mary was trying to be helpful but I also knew that statement was going to backfire on her because it made the whole situation sound a lot worse than it was.

“Mary, if you don’t tell me I will get someone else too, please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

Mary herself gulped anxiously, her eyes frantically darting between Tony and myself. I nodded at her, clearly seeing her distress and just giving her the permission to say her peace, because apparently it was going to get said anyways.

“She was yelling at y/n/n about how y/n/n was selfish and didn’t give a shit about anybody beside herself. I heard her using something about y/n crying in their bathroom at night against her, saying that she was too worried or self obsessed to care about anyone else on the team. I wasn’t close enough though to tell you exactly what either of them said. I was on the other side of the room, Steph was the closest, if you want information I’d be asking her, not me.”

I could feel my hands shaking in my pockets, this whole situation was giving me anxiety.

“Okay then, thank you, can you go fetch Steph for me, just tell her to come over here.”

Mary nodded at coach, before sending me a silent sorry smile before running back out onto the pitch.

Coach pointed to the bench that was on the sidelines a few feet behind us, silently motioning for me to follow him and take a seat down on it.

“Based on what I’ve just been told, I think that Ellie should sit out for a week, her behaviour towards you was unacceptable and she needs to understand there are repercussions for those kinds of situations. Y/n I know that you’ve struggled to find your footing in the team, I’ve seen you struggling with your mental health. I’m here for you if you ever need to talk about it or if you need help. If those struggles mean that you need to separate yourself from the team then that is what you do, regardless of the decisions you make you are a valued member on this team and you don’t deserve to be verbally assaulted because Ellie has a problem with you.”

I pursed my lips, I didn’t think I’d been verbally assaulted, if anything I’d started it.

“Coach, I started it with Ellie. She didn’t even mean what she said, we need her this week, it’s an important game that we can’t afford to have her miss. I don’t want to be the reason we lose this week just because me and Ellie had a minor altercation, it was nothing.”

I couldn’t ignore the deep frown on his face, it was a mixture of concern and disappointment and it went straight to my heart.

“Coach? Mary said you need to speak to me?”

Both of our heads snapped up at the sudden sound of Steph’s voice. She was standing about a foot away from us, her brow furrowed in my direction.

“Steph, yes, I’m just having some trouble understanding the altercation that went down before warm ups with Ms Carpenter and Ms y/l/n. Ms y/l/n is trying to take the whole blame for it and I don’t really believe the whole story that she’s giving me, so if you could please give me some insight it would be much appreciated, as I am taking this very seriously.”

Steph’s eyes went straight to mine, she was my fellow Arsenal team mate, probably the only person on our Matilda’s squad who I could actually call my friend. She was frowning at me deeply, trying to study my facial expression.

“Y/l/n started it, she pulled Ellie up after having a chat with skipper, but from what I heard she was more just annoyed that Ellie had told skipper about some of her more concerning habits. Ellie was mad about being pulled up on it, typical Ellie fashion she took it to heart and she made it personal. I do recall her calling saying something along the lines of if y/n spent less time in their bathroom at nighttime crying about how ‘hard’ her sorry ass life was then she’d realise there were people and things on earth that are more fucking important than you she was, Ellie also made a lot of comments about y/n/n being a selfish person who didn’t give a shit about any of the people around her. Y/n/n might have technically started it but in her defence she didn’t say anything personal or wrong to Ellie, she was just voicing her annoyance about Ellie telling on her to Sam, Ellie was trying to voice her concerns over Y/n/n but it came out wrong and she was trying to make light of a situation that was not hers to talk about in a public space, it was unprofessional and distasteful behaviour from both of them but Ellie was the one who escalated it and made it worse. All y/n really did was tell Ellie to leave her alone and stop pushing, when Ellie did push too far y/n rushed to the bathroom and locked herself in there. Ellie’s behaviour was unacceptable to say the least and I’ve told her, I’m sure Sam will as well once I talk to her about it. I’ve told Ellie she has to apologise to y/n/n and that kind of behaviour won’t be tolerated towards anybody let alone her own teammate.”

Steph’s rundown of the situation was more factual and foolproof then any of the other versions Gustavsson had received and I knew that he was going to believe everything she’d told him.

“Okay, thank you, I really appreciate your transparency on the situation. I made the right call making you interim captain whilst Sam was out. That’s all I should need for now, feel free to go back to what you were doing, I’ll be out there in a minute.”

Once Steph was out of earshot Tony turned to me, clearly a little bit taken aback by all of the information he’d just absorbed.

“You are going to sit out tonight, call it sickness or whatever you please. I want you to stay and watch though, you should be here and you deserve to be here. I’m going to talk to Ellie after training, and just because you don’t seem to want her sitting out I’ll see how remorseful she is and make my roster decision for this weekend based off of that. I know she’s your teammate and you feel like you are taking one for the team by enabling her behaviour towards you and maybe it was a one off, just a heat in the moment thing as you called it. Maybe it wasn’t though, I’m not going to take chances. I want you to think about your own actions as well, think about how you could have dealt with that situation more effectively. Once training’s over you are going to head back to the hotel with the girls and you are going to spend time with them, proper bonding time.”

I nodded at coach, I didn’t have it in me to argue with him.

“Coach, I’m rooming with her.”

It was my main concern, not that Ellie scared me, I’d pretty much ignored her the whole tournament, not that she spent a lot of time in our room anyways, she spent all of her free time until curfew in other teammates rooms.

“Talk to Kerr about it, get her to switch them around, I’m sure it’s not that difficult. Switch rooms, relax for the night, get some sleep, be back here tomorrow. I don’t care whether or not you feel up to training, just be here. This team is your family and whether or not it feels like it they care a lot about you, they are here to support you if you let them. Sometimes you just need to take the leap of faith.”

I nodded at coach. He was a gentle soul, a good one. He reached over to me, offering me a hug and I took it, letting him wrap his arms around my shoulders. It was nice, it didn’t last long but it felt nice. Once he was done giving me a hug he stood up and followed Steph out onto the field.

I found myself gravitating to a spot directly on the sideline, where our team manager was stationed. She didn’t ask any questions as I sat down on the frosty grass beside her station, I was grateful for that much. I hadn’t talked to her much but she seemed lovely and in the very little interactions I had had with her she had gone above and beyond to make me comfortable in whatever we were doing.

I spent my training, sitting on the grass, watching the team as they ran through a few drills and plays before moving into a full scrimmage. I kept my body tucked in, my knees to my chest, my puffer jacket and hoodie wrapped tightly around my legs and torso to pull my knees even further into my chest. It was a blessing that they’d designed waterproof sweatpants, because I would have probably had a cold and wet ass if they hadn’t. Somewhere along the way our team manager offered me a packet of gummy bears and I couldn’t find it in me to decline her offer, so I snacked on the gelatinous pieces of sugar whilst I watched the training slowly come to an end.

They finished with PK’s and then concluded the session. I stayed seated in my little spot, I hoped that no one had spotted me and maybe if I waited for everyone to slip off the field and into the locker rooms I would just be able to hop onto the bus without being detected. My plan pretty much backfired immediately when a certain captain beelined directly towards me, clearly I hadn’t gone unnoticed to her. I grimaced as she got closer to my spot, my spot that my head had deemed as a safe spot from the rest of my teammates.

Sam didn’t even acknowledge me to begin with, instead turning her attention to our team manager, making pretty common conversation with her. She spoke to her for a few minutes, it was afternoon tea talk, just bullshit. Sam’s specialty. Eventually when she finished up she looked down at me, an eyebrow raised. She motioned for me to stand up and follow her, so stupidly, like a puppy, I did. My muscles were cold and I’d be lying if I said that getting up from the ground hadn’t been a little bit harder than I’d predicted. I managed though and caught up to Sam, following after her as she walked back down the tunnel but instead of turning into the locker rooms we kept walking down the corridor until we came to the video review room. It was pretty much just a conference room, one big room with a bunch of tables and chairs that we used to scout and review our own games. Sam closed the blinds to the room, so no bye passers could see in and turned the lights on.

She seated herself at one of the tables, gesturing for me to do the same, so I did. The first thing Sam did was pull out her phone and start typing something or another before looking up at me.

“Steph told me about what happened between you and Ellie.”

I gulped, biting my lip as I tried my hardest to maintain my eye contact with Sam, I wasn’t going to break, not again. I watched as Sam’s finger made its way to her mouth and she bit down on her nail in a questioning kind of way that I couldn’t explain even if I tried.

“I started it, I was pissed off at her for ratting on me to you.”

My honesty would be appreciated, I knew that Sam valued honesty above anything else.

“I don’t really care who started it, I care about togetherness, you know that. This team needs one thing, cohesion. I don’t care who started it, I care about who the problem was and in that situation it was Ellie, she said things that she had no business saying, with the intention of hurting you. That’s enough to tell me that in that situation she was prepared to jeopardise our team just so she could tear down one of our own. I’ve recommended to Tony that she sits out this week. He told me you were apprehensive about it, I wanted to know why.”

There was a simple answer, and a more complex answer, a part of me knew which one Sam wanted.

“Short answer, Ellie is a crucial part of our team, we need her. Long answer, I don’t think she did anything wrong.”

Sam looked up at me, a little bit shocked.

“Look y/n, it’s clear there's been a lot on your mind recently. A lot that you clearly aren’t prepared to share, and that's okay. I saw on the sideline tonight, you looked like you were mentally in a different place, like you were really worried thinking about something and you’ve been like that for a few weeks. I know that you have trust issues, that you are finding it hard to slot into this team because you are scared to be vulnerable. I am here for you, I won’t judge you, I will help you with whatever you need help with, because I can tell there is something and until you do seek out help for it it is only going to destroy you further.”

Sam’s words receded in me, because she was so right that I couldn’t even try to deny it.

“Am I a selfish player and teammate?”

The words felt so raw coming out of my throat, it was something that Ellie had said that had stuck with me.

“No, I can honestly tell you you aren’t. You play football with so much grace and kindness that sometimes it drives me up the wall watching you help up your opponents who have tripped over. You aren’t a selfish person either, you are more reserved, that doesn’t make you selfish, it just makes you self aware, there is a big difference.”

I nodded at Sam, not sure what else there was for me to do. Her words were full of so much wisdom, so much insight. I still couldn’t find it in me to believe them fully though, my self deprecating brain not welcome to accepting any kind of form of praise.

“Look, change is hard. You are young, inexperienced. Staying somewhere that you’ve outgrown though is only going to destroy you. I know this is a big jump, I wouldn’t have reccomended for you to be here though if I didn’t think it was the right fit. You are a world class player, and a genuinely good person. When you smile, it lights up a room. Your laugh is contagious. It’s clear that you’ve never been cared for properly, never let yourself. You have a family now though y/n. You have people that you can go to when you are having a bad day, people that are going to love you no matter what. Use that, take advantage of it. A team doesn’t function without trust.”

There was something about Sams words that told me she actually understood what I was going through, she was dancing on a line of relating to me and giving me advice, the line was a little bit blurred though.

“Do you trust me?”

I let Sam’s words hang in the air for a few seconds, it took me a little while to formulate a reponse.

“I don’t trust anyone, not even myself.”

Sam’s eyes, those brown orbs spoke to me, more than any words ever could to me.

“You don’t think people care for you.”

“Why would people care for me?”

There was so much insecurity behind the words, years of it all built up.

“I care, I’ll always care. Everyone should have somebody to care for them.”

“You have to care, your my captain.”

It was the last bit of defiance leaving my body, the last of my barriers being used.

“Partly, yes. It’s sort of my job. But I save it for the ones who need it and you seem to be in need.”

I rolled my eyes, another defence mechanism that I used to deflect, to avoid my emotions.

“I don’t need help.”

“Maybe not, but when you’re born in a burning house you think the whole world is on fire until someone shows you it isn’t.”

I didn’t fully understand her cryptic but I got the general idea.

“You implying I was born in a burning house?”

Sam’s head tilted, like she wasn’t denying my statement but also didn’t agree with it fully.

“I’m implying that you are here for a reason. That we are all here for different reasons, different driving factors. The difference between you and some of the other girls is that you are letting your past define you, when it doesn’t. The best part of being here is that when you are out on the pitch nobody cares about anything else, nobody could care less about what’s happened in your personal life. Use that, use that to be happy, to find your motivation. Trust me? Let me show you that this team isn’t just a group of girls, it can be your family if you want it to be.”

I looked at Sam flatly trying to figure out how serious she was, when he face didn’t falter I realised how serious she was and that scared me a little bit. I didn’t know if I was ready for that, ready for a family, ready to feel loved and appreciated. It wasn’t soemthing I’d ever really experienced.

“Y’know that it shouldn’t seem remarkable to you that people who love and care for you actually want to treat you well.”

Those words were the straw that broke my back. I couldn’t help but feel the tears well up in my eyes.

“y/n,” Sam’s voice drew my eyes up to her own “You are allowed to cry.”

I shook my head at her, bringing the sleeve of my jumper up to my eyes to rub at the tears escaping my eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you though?”

It was the amount of questioning behind her face that threw me off, I knew she didn’t believe me but the amount of concern laced into her facial expression hit some place in my heart I didn’t know I had.

“You know that it’s okay to not be fine all the time. You are allowed to have feelings, to feel things other than numb. Look, feeling hurts. Life is pain, life is suffering. Being alive hurts, it’s horror and it sucks. But you are alive and it’s spectacular and brilliant because instead of just living you are alive.”

I continued rubbing at my eyes, trying my best to stop any of the tears running down my face.

“I’ll think about it cap, I think it’s about time for me to head back to the hotel.”

Before I could get up and completely leave the room Sam got in her final words.

“There are poeple around that would miss you y/n/n, people who would be gutted if anything ever happened to you. Just think about that.”

#woso #marry me rn #sam kerr #woso community #sam kerr x reader #matildas #matildas x reader #angst #little bit of fluff #auswnt #ellie carpenter #tony gustavsson #steph catley #wrote this instead of sleeping #all nighter #i’m crying #i’m so tired

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echoingalaxies · 1 month

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cw: hospital/medical stuff mentions, unspecified illness or injury

“You wanna pick up some food on the way?” Caretaker asked, steering her car out of the parking garage and to the intersection.

Whumpee, sitting under a blanket on the passenger seat, watched the hospital disappear as they drove away on the mostly empty highway. He rubbed the pit of his elbow where a small bandage remained to stop the slight bleeding from a cannula.

It had been a long day. New bottles of medicine rattled in the pockets of his jacket when he shifted into a more comfortable position and leaned their head against the headrest. They had sat in the waiting room the whole evening before finally being admitted, and discharged only a couple of hours after. Caretaker hadn’t even tried to argue with the staff anymore. It always ended like this. Not enough beds and not enough people to take care of the ones lying on them.

Whumpee knew he was lucky. He knew he’d be safe going home with Caretaker. But it didn’t mean he didn’t keep dreaming about the day he’d be taken seriously. He’d receive proper care. Otherwise he’d just have to keep going back, over and over again. More pills, more bills, more wasted hours.

“Hello?”

“Oh, uh,” Whumpee blinked, realizing he hadn’t actually given Caretaker a response. “No, I… we should just head home. You’ve got work in the morning, and it’s already way past midnight.”

His stomach let out a loud rumbling sound just then, and Caretaker gave him a quiet look, which Whumpee pretended to not see. He could fix himself a bowl of yogurt at home. Caretaker needed sleep. She deserved it, after putting aside her own responsibilities just to stay with him again.

“What if I told you I already took tomorrow off?”

"What?" Whumpee turned to her, shaking his head. “Caretaker, no. You shouldn’t have.”

Caretaker shrugged. “It’s Friday, we get to have a head start for the weekend. Won’t that be fun?” Her smile faltered slightly and her voice shifted lower, to more serious. “The nurse said someone should keep an eye on you — and I wouldn’t want to leave you, anyway. You still need help.”

Whumpee knew that. He looked down, fidgeting with the hospital wristband. If he’d kept every one of those he’d got even during the past year, he could probably sew them together to make full sleeves for both arms. Money was already tight, as Caretaker worked to support the both of them, and Caretaker missing work because of Whumpee’s various appointments and frequent trips to the ER had had their effect on their income.

“Yes, but…” he said, the familiar tearing feeling of shame finding its place. “I thought we would call Friend or Sibling to stay with me while you’re at work. We have before.”

“Now we don’t have to.” Caretaker glanced at him, frowning. “Do you not… want me to stay?”

“Didn’t they say you can’t keep doing this anymore if you plan to keep your position?” Whumpee asked. “You like your job. I don’t want you to risk losing it because of me.”

“They will understand. I told them it is a family matter.”

Whumpee’s cheeks got hot and he moved his focus away from Caretaker again, watching out of the window instead. They were passing by shops, parks, and pubs, taking many turns in the little streets of their labyrinth of a hometown. Whumpee hadn’t even noticed they had left the main road, but he definitely recognised where Caretaker was heading.

“You didn’t have to lie because of me,” he mumbled, as Caretaker pulled into the parking lot of a local, 24-hour barbeque restaurant they both loved. “About it being a… a family thing.”

Caretaker turned to Whumpee, finally being able to give him her undivided attention as she turned off the engine, smiling softly.

“I didn’t.”

#i... wrote... something?#you have no idea how much my not fluent speaker ass struggled with vocabulary for a thing this short #gentle caretaker #caretaking #sick whump #comfort whump #medical whump #caretaker x whumpee #whump writing #whump scenarios #whump fic #caretaker #whumpee #whump #whumpblr #my writing

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callsignvenomcod · 4 months

Text

a soft life

Prompt: Retired! Simon Riley. A slow life in a Manchester farm.

warning: mentions of PTSD, mentions of cartel related violence, mentions of violence, MDNI.

PS: Opening line is from the book "Jarhead" (2001) by Anthony Swofford.

______________________________________________________________

A story.

A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterwards he returns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he's finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son's diaper; his hands remember the rifle.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets.

For a long time, it was hard to convince himself he deserved to grow old. It might have been a given fact to some other people but not for those in the military, not for Ghost, at least; not after Tommy and Beth, or Las Almas or Johnny. It took him a lot of time to be grateful to be almost 40. For several reasons, he never saw himself living past 20.

And now he was opening up the crates of the chickens he kept in his very own farm, a piece of land he actually owned, without a mask on, very far away from the bullet sounds and a barrack, from the mud and the camo, away from everything and everyone, not sound in the horizon but the chickens and Riley, the border collie dog he got, barking at a three somewhere in the distance.

He retired the summer he turned 40, there was a ceremony and everything, with Laswell and Price and he got more chest candy that would eventually end up in a wooden chest, never to be seen again, under the bed. There wasn't a reason, he just had to. He was in his prime, physically, but his mind was made of glass lately, everything rubbed him the wrong way, couldn't even train recruits without snapping too hard at them, making them quit, yell at them too much, scare them too much, beat them up to a pulp too much.

Every man in the military had a story. A life before, a life after. And in the middle, sand, or mud, or just camo. A war that last years, a mission that lasts hours. Silence and nosie.

He, like other recruits, like other Sergeants, Lieutenants, Colonels, had shadows over them. It took months for him to stop looking over his shoulder while doing the big shop on a sunday, started going to those overnight groceries store to shop alone instead. The butcher's reminded him both of his adolescence and the carnage he had caused, flinched whenever he saw a mohawk kid walking down the street, looked twice sometimes only to find a stranger.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets, aye.

He turned in his paperwork and retired silently with lots of medals under his name, lots of dead men and probably women under his knife, missing friends, missing nerves and too scarred to be a model now. Ha.

Oh, and Y/N's wanted to get away at some point anyway.

Y/N. The last drink he never should have had, the cut that made him hide his face, and the party that made him feel his age. Pulp's words, not his. All it took was a few nights shopping at the Tesco she was working in as a cashier, late night shift, for them to become acquainted.

A year of mutual pinning, a single night in which Y/N placed the bourbon bottle and the batteries inside of the paper bag and looked up at Simon, change in hand (because he paid in cash always, no traces behind) and smiled at him. COVID had made it easier to transition from the skull balaclava to a medical mask and then to a bare face, so Simon looked at her behind the black medical mask and stared at her while she opened her mouth.

-Why do bees have sticky hair?

Simon blinked, looking down at her. -Pardon?

No line behind him. It was the first time the cashier talked to him other than "Goodnight" and "Drive safe", or "It will be 5.66, please". There was a faraway sound of some sort of 80's American pop music, something to pass time by. Simon had noticed her since the first time he came into this very same Tesco a few months ago, had noticed how she sang along whatever music was on, how her Tesco blue uniform looked too big on her, making her look insanely small and slinky. He noticed how she was always almost without a medical mask and whenever she used it, it was laced around her chin; he noticed short, clean nails, and a heart necklace over her chest, a pair of dazzling dove eyes, full hips, a belly.

He really noticed the full hips.

The girl fucking giggled and repeated. She must had a bit of Irish in her judging by the sound of her accent. Simon felt as awkward as a teenage boy in front of any girl ever -Why do bees have sticky hair?

The man shook his head, still confused, a quid in his hand.

-Because they use a honeycomb.

Ah, a woman after his own heart. Such a lame joke.

He snorted out a laugh.

It simply slipped and he memorized the name tag before grabbing his shopping bag and shaking his head, hearing her giggle behind him as he exited the store, and he came back two days later after convincing himself he needed two jars of red bean jam instead of the usual one.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets.

And now she sleeps here; and Simon had stared at her sleeping form wondering how much time it would take for her to start hating his way of loving, of being, how many times he would go silent on the phone, a bad texter, a worst caller, how he hated crowded places and loud noises and most of their dates happened in her flat, when her roommate was out, staring silently at a film on TV, her friends thinking she's getting her brains fucked out by an experienced, older, lust thirst Vet when in reality, Ghost was gathering up the courage to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

And now she sleeps here.

In the crook of his neck, his thigh over his hip, wild hair all over the bed, sometimes inside his mouth because he stopped using a mask a while ago.

In the mornings, tangled in their bed, warm sheets, the soft breeze of Riley sleeping under the bed, her sweet sweat and vanilla scented skin under his, it took Simon a few seconds to realize he was sleeping in the company of someone; in the arms of a woman and in his own bed, a king size bed with soft white sheets that were washed and changed every 5 days, not a twin bed in a barrack, that his years of active service were over, not forgotten, as if, but that he could allow himself to become whatever he might end up becoming if the 141 didn't happened.

-Come here, boy. Come here, Riley. Yeah, yeah...- said Simon scrunching down to caress right behind Riley's ear, the dog sticking out his long tongue and barking of joy mixed with the hyper sense of his breed, the soldier being careful not to break the eggs he held in a small basket. Simon had found him a puppy a few months ago, seemed like years really, in a litter box with 6 of his brothers and sisters, a beat-up cardboard sign reading "For adoption." And Simon picked up the only one with a lazy ear. He knew deep down that Y/N would appreciate that and simply put him in the passenger seat of the black Bronco truck he owned and drove all the way back home. -You're up early, eh? You having breakkie with us?

He had fallen into a comfortable routine now. He would wake up, crawl over Y/N's sleeping figure, careful not to wake her with the crack of dawn, 5AM with the BBC on his headphones, a 6'2 shadow jogging through the hills of the outskirts of Manchester, for an hour only the dark of the road, the eventual baby blue of the sky, the warmth of the sun. Sometimes Riley was up for it, sometimes he stood behind cuddled up in their room. And upon his return he would work out in their driveway for another hour, noticing the growing presence of what the media now called a "Dad Bod" (Y/N's words, not him) and eventually hearing soft barefoot steps coming from the room.

There was tea for two before he had to head out, get some tasks done, and a soft kiss hanging from Y/NS plush lips, and he would always try to push it, try his luck. He would smile against it, whispering "Good morning..." with a lazy voice, hands on Y/N's full hips, kneading them, in need of them, and Simon would press up with hard on against her stomach, while deepening the kiss.

It never failed to make her wet. It never failed to make her forget the kettle on the fire for a minute and simply give into his kiss, his embrace; him, overall. Simon would pick her up, easily, laid her on the counter, and her robe would open for him, with or without his help, and she was always so wet for him, so ready to do it.

-Simon...- she will say. - Breakfast...

And he wasted no time into twisting her words, dropping to his knees as if he was in the presence of a saint, of a virgin, of the end of the world, staring at her glistening cunt first thing in the morning, looking up with the adoration she deserved; she would gulp and argue it was not what she meant but she would recoil and whimper when Simon stuck his tongue inside his cunt anyway, overlapping her folds, blissfully eating her out before the sun was completely out.

The dog kept barking all the way down to the house, past the barn and the driveway, the small stable with the one horse they had, the pen he was building to eventually own sheep, and Simon felt the cold breeze of the early morning seeping through his black knit sweater and his jean jacket, as he walked all the way across the grass fields and into his porch, the swinging chair Y/N liked to read in, in a need of a reparation.

-Right...- he whispered to himself seeing the hammer he left outside to remind himself to fix the damn chair, bloody hell. Riley's nose peeked through the front door, opening it with ease and technique allowing themselves in, and the cold of the outside world was quickly gone.

Simon stepped into a cozy home, with a color palette he would have never picked, all warm yellows and oranges, pinks and whites, and soft cushions, warm blankets, a picknick turntable in the coffee table; and music, soft music he didn't recognize coming from it, a spinning record on it with yellow and pink lyrics, a girl signing about a loved one, and another voice, a present one, horribly trying to sing along.

He snorted out a laugh when Riley started barking and the voice was interrupted abruptly.

-Simon?...- Radio silence. -Babe?

Oh, the sound of his name in her mouth.

He crossed his living room, stepping into the kitchen, holding four eggs in a small bowl, one from each hen they owned, and he stood in the door frame, just a tad taller than him, admiring the view. He had endured white missions in the Russian winter, literal months of the gruesome torture and gory tasks and they all suddenly made sense because there was a girl.

Ah, there was a girl, alright.

Today was English breakfast. No peas for him, no sausages for her. It was stereotypical but easy to make and no one was around to judge them anyway. Next house was a few miles down the road, and even the road was far away, the town was a 30-minute ride. It was their little bit of heaven. The man stepped in, handing her the basket like every other day and kissed her temple, as she grilled some tomatoes slice ups leaning back against him. His hands would find her hips again and she would yawn with intimacy, hair still a mess, thighs still sticky. -Teas on the table, love. It's gone get cold.

-Ah, it's alright...- he said, hugging her tightly, as she kept leaning on him. -Slow morning today, eh...

She had been there and stuck around whenever the PTSD started acting up. She was the one that loved him when he started going fucking mental; and stuck around when she found her burning up SAS gear, a lost look in his eyes as he did so. He would throw in a Ghost mask and watch it burn for a moment, before murmuring a shocked sob and reaching out into the flames to retrieve it. She stuck around while he drank too much bourbon sitting on the porch, skull mask on, his dogs' tags held so tightly his knuckles will go white with force. Y/N even stuck around when the nightmares came, and she would wake up to Ghost whimpering on his side of the bed, breaking a cold sweat, his jaw tight and her brows furrowed, screaming out "Johnny! Johnny!" before waking up in tears, in raged hot tears down his cheeks, short of breath, his head a full of bullet noises and sirens wailings, pictures of his team and the blood and the grease paint. A mess. A shaking shadow.

Every October 11, she will make sure to hold him a little tighter, kiss him a little softer, love him, if it was possible, a little louder.

And she was here now, cooking breakfast, no peas for him; now he was living a soft life, with tea every morning, and a dog named Riley, with soft hands that wondered around his chest whenever he thought about Soap too much, about Gaz and that helo. But she was here now, and she had no sausages today, as they sat down on their small chair in their small kitchen in their small farm. He was living a soft life, and he didn't think of himself as worthy of it, but he must have been done something good to have her cooking breakfast and sleeping in their bed and caressing their dog under the table.

Tomorrow, Ghost would ask her to come out to the porch to find her reading swing fixed and a wedding ring.

She's going to say yes.

He didn't heard the bullets anymore.

_____________________________________________________________

Hello! Venom here.

Thank you so much to anyone that's been liking my story.

Happy 2024!

#simon riley #cod headcanons #cod mw2 x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #cod x reader #cod #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #ghost cod #modern warfare #mw2

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psychicdamaged · 2 years

Text

Quotes from EXU Calamity I'll Be Thinking About for the Rest of Time

"Of course I'm safe. You'd never let anything happen to me." / "I would never let anything happen to you."

"Dad. You know I won't look like this when you get home."

There are a lot of stories in Exandria of mortals who stumbled their way into Feywild and fell in love with an enchanting fairy that they met there. But there's one story of a fairy who stumbled into this world and fell in love.

And in that instant realizes you can hold all the knowledge in the world. But if it dies with you, it doesn't matter.

"I promised you I'd never forget." / "I promised you I wouldn't either."

You hear in your heart, "Darling, no."

Do I know? Do I feel it? That he's gone? / You do.

Laerryn's screams fill whatever secret hallway she's in.

"No, baby. I'll always have my eye on you." And I squeeze their hands.

"I don't know how deeply you have sacrificed to do what must be done, but I know this: There is no god that strides this world that I worship more than I worship your heart... I bear your name. I bear it on this stone. And one day, I will bring you home."

In the kiss, I'll cast Cure Wounds on you.

"It's all on you, smart girl."

And I'll just turn my back on the door and let it close. / No! No, you have to go.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I love you, but I love another more" / "My child, my heart breaks. But I would rather mine break and yours be kept whole."

"But our two cities are like a married couple. We may have our differences. But we are connected by love for eternity. We made a promise to each other, and it's one we must fulfill."

"...and remember the Architect Arcane, Laerryn, the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Yes, it's me. Just look at my eyes. Don't look at anything else. Just look at my eyes, please."

I've kept so many of my thoughts and dreams and wishes for him. I hand it to him. I set it on the ground because I don't expect him to actually take it from my hands. "This is for you. Everything you've ever wanted to know about me and your father, it's here."

"Dad, dad, wait. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." "You have nothing to be sorry about." / "I do." You see, you haven't even looked in his hands. He's holding a basket with a spell kite attached.

"I don't know why I didn't send it." / "I know why, and it's okay. It's okay. Elias, I love you from the moment I laid eyes on you. Everything that I wished for you to know about me, it's in this book. Take it with you. You'll always be five years old to me no matter how much you grow."

You know me. I would never have let my guard down like that. I took those blows.

As I go down, I make sure I don’t miss

"I know what you gave. You found a path beyond the stars. I do not know whence the gods came from, but I know that you found it in your heart. I promise you, Zerxus, I will find that place. I will find the secret of how these worlds were made, and I will come and find you and bring you home."

"Yes, brother. All will be well."

"You think we'll ever get there one day?" / "Of course we will. We're the Okiros."

When you think of the future and what people will say of this time, do you think anyone will talk about how beautiful your dream was? / No. But that's all right, because it was real for us. For those who survived, they will remember, and it will inspire them to dream of things far greater.

What are Patia's final thoughts? / Just that there are many more dreams to come.

"I've been able to become anyone I want my whole life, but I just want to be with you."

"And for whatever time we have left, I love you. I have always loved you, and I will always love you." / "I love you, too." I'll just kiss her.

"The Brass Ring endures. I want you to know you gave us a chance." / I don't think you hear anything back. Just, you feel relief.

The fire, as brightly as it may burn, does not burn so brightly as your love, which shines the brightest in your last moment, having given this world a chance. Ash, heat, rising faster than you can imagine from the earth. And on a 31, at the very top of that cloud, the last member of the Brass Ring gets to keep his promise to his family.

You fly for weeks over oceans choked by ash and soot. You don't get to give your kids the world that they deserve, but you get to give them the world that they can fight for with you.

In Exandria, I don't know that your story will long be known. I don't know who will remain to tell it. But it did happen and it did matter. And though Calamity is here, because of you, it will not be here forever.

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writer-in-theory · 2 months

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you're gonna go far, love — spencer reid.

“I’ve been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.” —Noah Kahan (Orange Juice)

Summary: After Spencer relapses, he takes the first flight out of Virginia with no plan other than to get a fresh start. Or, my take on where he was for Evolution. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader (not the focus, but it's there) Category: Hurt/Comfort WC: 2k Content Warnings: Discussions of relapse, Mentions of alcohol, Slight spoiler for the ending of Evolution S1 (despite the fact I still haven't finished it myself) Notes: This is for the New Beginnings challenge hosted by @imagining-in-the-margins and based on a prompt from @foxy-eva , so thank you so much to you lovely people. This fic comes 2 years after my last CM fic, and a few months since I've written anything at all, so thank you for the inspiration 💜

Spencer booked the first flight out of Virginia five days after it happened.

The person at the counter may have said the destination, but it floated straight past his ears and was carried far away. Within hours, everything he’d spent the past two decades building was left thirty thousand feet below him.

Emily would be hurt. Everyone would be, as each of them heard the news as they one-by-one came into the office tomorrow. But it would be Emily, who was the first to notice the cracks in his once carefully crafted facade all those years ago, who would feel the most betrayed by his sudden escape.

You should’ve at least said goodbye.

It was what Spencer had been most upset by when Emily had faked her death. After everything they’d been through together, after all of the joy they brought into each others’ incredibly stressful lives, all Spencer had needed was the chance to say goodbye and know that she was out there, somewhere, happy.

Hopefully, she’d understand why he had to leave now, though.

Everyone in the BAU had figured out by now that the Spencer Reid who walked out of prison was not the same as the one who’d first stepped into it. Some piece of him—and even now, he wasn’t sure how large that piece was—had been laid bare and morphed beyond even his own recognition. The loss of that part of him ached in the way that losing a loved one did, that sharp stabbing sort of ache that would appear so suddenly that he didn’t know how to handle it.

There was no way to explain it to the rest of the team, though, no matter how supportive they tried to be. The fact was that none of them had ever nor would ever go through what he exactly had, and for not the first time in his life, Spencer began to feel like a rip current was sweeping him away from the steadiness of shore.

It wasn’t until he was far enough away from shore that he couldn’t see the relief of the sands that his mind recalled that he’d been prescribed painkillers several months prior.

It wasn’t the same as what Tobias Hankel had given him so many years ago, nor was it the alternatives he’d managed to find in the months after, but it was devastatingly similar enough that he’d tried to convince the emergency room doctor not to order it in the first place. ‘Pick it up anyway, just in case. No one can recover from a gunshot wound without pain relief.’

He’d almost flushed the amber bottle’s contents the day he’d gotten them, but the bone-deep feeling that had eased with time but never truly gone away kept him from fully eliminating that option from his life. Why should one thing that had happened to him years ago deny him proper pain relief now, should he need it? So they’d sat untouched, locked away in his gun safe for months.

Until five days ago.

After well over a decade in recovery, Spencer knew this was always a possibility. He’d seen friends go through the same thing and had been there to support them in whatever ways he could because no matter how many times it happened the initial feelings of shock, shame, and overbearing grief could be just as overwhelming as the first.

A day after, when he’d woken up and realized just what had occurred, Spencer had walked himself to the nearest NA meeting. Like he was on auto-pilot, he moved through every piece of advice he had gathered through the years—the stories of success and the stories of forced learning serving as guides to him. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had relapsed (a word that still struck fear in him to even think about), nor would it likely be the last time he was forced to confront this part of his past.

Still, this was the first time Spencer walked out of the building, packed a bag, and made a silent escape from the city he called home. There was something different about this time, though he had no idea where to even begin considering the specifics of why.

He ended up in Cincinnati, Ohio.

In all the years he’d been with the BAU, they’d never once been called there. It was like every other city Spencer had been in in many ways—the buildings towering above him as he walked, the river that bordered the city mirroring the home he’d just left, even down to the FBI headquarters that was quiet now in the middle of the night. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though it were completely separate from everything he’d known before, because the melancholy Spencer had been sitting in for the last five days had suddenly turned comforting amongst the atmosphere of the city.

He ended up in a bar, of all places. It was the kind that only served nonalcoholic drinks, the kind of place where people like him could sit without feeling outside of the norm. Music was playing softly in the background, and though it was busy there was only a gentle rumble of conversation in the room.

“You’re staring at that glass like it’ll kill you. It’s safe, Scout’s honor.” The teasing voice surprised Spencer out of the careful contemplation he’d fallen into. It came from the bartender, who was busying themselves with wiping down a few glasses, stood just on the other side of the bar in front of him.

“You know, that only works if you were actually a scout,” Spencer returned, though raised the glass to his lips after. It was sweet—a little too sweet by his standards, though it was a comfort now after the week he’d had.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the bartender said back. They looked comfortable here, like this sober bar were an extension of their own home. At one time, the BAU office had been the same for him. “You look like you could use a friendly face, and that just happens to be my favorite part of the job.”

“Part of the job…?”

“Oh you know, bartenders are the therapists for the lonely, or something like that.” They were comfortable, and more open to an effective stranger than Spencer ever thought possible. It was refreshing in a way, to be able to talk with them without having to worry about what case information he could get out of them. It wasn’t often, anymore, that he could relax and talk to someone just to talk to them. “What brings you to the Queen City?”

“I moved here,” Spencer answered automatically, looking down sheepishly at his glass before adding, “today, actually.”

“Oh, congrats then. New job?”

“More like a new start.”

It was quiet for only a moment before the bartender asked in a softer voice, “How long had it been?”

Spencer almost asked them what they meant, until he met their gaze. They had their full attention on him now, glasses left abandoned on the inner part of the bar. They’d been kind from the start, but the look they gave him now was the sort of pure understanding that made Spencer realize all at once what they were referring to.

“How did you know?”

The bartender sighed, though there was no sadness to it at all. They pulled something from their pocket, sliding it gently across the bar so Spencer could see. A metallic chip was place between them, silver on the outside and filled in with a green-blue color and a “V” engraved in the middle of it. It was different from the ones he’d used, but he recognized the meaning of it all the same.

“I opened this place because the day I relapsed, five years ago now, I’d had nowhere to go after. There wasn’t anywhere people like us could go and relax without having to answer the tough questions, like why I drank orange juice instead of ‘what all the other adults were drinking’. It seemed silly at the time, but I think I was just looking for somewhere I could feel normal.”

“My family were the ones who helped me get sober, and sometimes they still forget and will ask me why I’m not drinking.” Spencer returned the sentiment with a light laugh. He loved everyone in the BAU, and even though it had only been a few days he already missed them terribly, but it was nice to have someone there who understood what he was feeling, what he was going through now.

“Exactly!” The bartender said, following Spencer’s lead and letting out a laugh of their own. “Though I can’t say I ever moved to a new city because of it.”

“It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done,” Spencer admitted. “I…really needed a fresh start. I needed somewhere noone knew who I was, somewhere I could get a completely different job and…I don’t know, figure out who I am.”

The bartender nodded. “Sounds about right. This family you left behind, are you gonna go back to them?”

“Eventually. We’ve worked together for so many years. I spent more time with them than I’ve actually ever spent alone, and I think I just need…”

“Something new,” the bartender finished, “I’m starting to catch on. What d’you think you’ll do?”

“I’ve always loved teaching. Maybe that?”

“You know, I have some friends who work at UC. Depending on what you wanted to teach, I could see if they could get you an interview.”

“Just like that?” Spencer asked, wondering only briefly if there was going to be a catch somewhere down the line.

The bartender shrugged. “Why not? I never up and moved cities, but I’m no stranger to new beginnings.”

“I wouldn’t recommend moving cities without thinking it through,” Spencer laughed then. “I have no plan for what comes next.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay, at least?”

Spencer only winced, which he was sure was answer enough for them. He was expecting some kind of sympathetic response, but he never expected the bartender to shrug again and say, “Well, how about I be a little impulsive too. I’ve been looking for a new roommate, why don’t you stay tonight and see how it goes?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. You seem decent enough not to be some secret axe-murderer or something.”

Oh, the irony.

Spencer didn’t really know this person except for the limited conversation they’d had so far. It would’ve been safer, and probably smarter, for him to just find a hotel room for the night and come up with a plan later. But something was telling him that he should agree, that there was something more to this person that he wanted to get to know.

So not for the first time that day, Spencer trusted his gut and nodded. “Okay, let’s try it.”

It wasn’t a fix for everything. The changes would come slowly, so slowly that sometimes Spencer himself wouldn’t even notice them happening. It would take time to get to a place where Spencer felt okay again, and a large help in that ended up being his new roommate who seemed to just get him in more ways than one. As time went by, Cincinnati truly began to feel like home.

And two years after he’d left, when Spencer turned on the news and saw the BAU standing before a large crowd as they announced they’d finally caught the serial killer behind the shipping container murders, he finally felt the string tugging him back in the direction of Quantico.

His home was there in Cincinnati, with the person who’d become a friend and even more in the last two years and the professor job that he came to love, but Spencer knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that it was time to see his family again, too.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst

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elsfairy · 8 months

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ᥫ᭡ HOLD ME WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH ─ 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓

Violet hasn’t been able to trust herself with anyone since coming back from Stillwater. She kept to herself, and only spoke to people when she really needed to, but other than that, she avoided any type of friendship and form of romance that she could. Simply to protect her feelings, emotions, vulnerability, and trust.

When she arrived home, it was different. Of course, everything was going to be different, she’s missed out on so many things over the years from being confined in a small space to looking at the same 4 walls for such a long period of time. She didn’t have that strive in her to find the people who knew what she looked like, what she sounded like, or who loved her. She wanted to seal herself off, not let anyone in and know her, the real her again.

What was the point of trying so hard to build up that relationship with someone when people would either hate you for ‘leaving’ or for completely falling off the face of the earth?

How would she gain the trust of those who cared & loved her again?

No one tried to search for her when she left, so why should she search for that little part of the care that was still there before she was gone?

It was simple, really. She couldn’t.

Vi felt like she didn’t deserve that second chance, because she pretty much became a ghost.

Until she spotted you the second she found herself cramming her way into the very crowded Last Drop.

To her, you were like a shining star. A star that couldn’t be brought down no matter how many rude customers you had to endure, or had to throw out. You were still fuckin’ smiling your way through your job. Had to break up a fight between two idiots arguing over something so pointless yet so big to them? She felt weak in the knees that you were still so polite and kind towards the two strangers. Wasn’t feeling the best? Vi envied how you pushed through without complaints. You were that light energy she didn’t even realize she was looking for until you had looked at her, waved her over and simply poured her a drink with a soft, gentle “on the house”

Simply & constantly believed that she didn’t think she deserved that second chance right?

You could see how.. disconnected she felt even though Zaun was is her home. Sure she would sit there and listen to you talk about what your day consisted of, and if anything exciting had happened but she wasn’t fully there. It was always like her body and brain weren’t even on the best terms because while she was there with you, it was like her soul had left and she was just.. a broken shell and had nothing going for her.

Over the weeks of getting to somewhat know the Violet you’ve heard about, you truly did realize how much she turned off at the mention of friends she once knew, or walked off at the mere mention of Powder. She didn’t wanna hear about how she let them down, nor did she want to relieve the pain she felt knowing she couldn’t protect them hard enough as so many would put it. Talking about it only made her feel shitter and want to crawl deeper into the dark pit she can never seem to fully crawl out from.

Realistically, it didn’t take her that long to open up to you, nor did it take her long to finally have her trust put into someone that she knew would keep it. Of course she was still skeptical if you were there to stay, but not having someone she could call for advice, or to just sit there and listen to her, drained her. Her social battery without being very social was killing her and to know she finally had you, someone she felt safe with to call somewhat home? That meant more to her than you’d ever know.

The time window was small, but big enough whenever she needed you. She needed you like butter needed bread. She needed you like paper needs glue. If you weren’t around, Violet would panic. Not because she felt harmed or scared of Zaun, but more or so was scared to be left alone with the thoughts only you knew about. The ones that slither in at random times of the day. Ones that crept up on her when she finally felt at peace for just a second. Your bright smile, those star shining eyes kept all of those horrendous thoughts spiralling through her mind, at a distance.

She may not have been around you for long periods of time, but she trusted you.

She might be scared to let you know of all the sacred stories she has to tell, but she believed you.

Violet believed you when you once on a cold night, whispered those 4 soft words; “I’m here for you”

That’s how one night she felt like she world was slowly closing in on her, she felt like breathing wasn’t an option because she simply couldn’t feel her heartbeat due to the feeling that all those thoughts, all the trauma, and the feeling of being alone, attacking her any given chance. Which is the same night she somehow turned up at your small apartment, drenched from the rain, teeth chattering as she just looked at you with those soft, big doe eyes, and eye bags that were darker than your usual cup of tea. It wasn’t until you heard how tired she sounded, that you could feel just how broken she felt.

“You’ve given me all this attention that I don’t think I deserve, you’ve helped me heal slowly and you’ve been there when I thought I lost everyone so I'm begging you, just for tonight… no talking, no thinking, can you just hold me instead? please i just need you to hold me.. because I’m scared I’m forgetting what being held felt like”

Right now she’s not okay, but as time goes on she will heal and you’ll be there every step of the way. Even if that means holding her every single night while she cries her heart out to you, and you’re there listening. She’ll knows she will be okay, with you by her side.

Her home.

#hi #vi x reader #vi x you #vi fluff #vi angst #vi arcane #vi fic #arcane violet #violet arcane

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sinfulpanda16 · 3 months

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Love You Too Much to Leave

Takashi Mistuya x Chubby Fem Reader

A little reassurance from ur boyfriend never hurts ^^

You did the stupid mistake of looking at one fitness influencer than another, and another, and now that's all you see in your social media. You didn't mean to but now that's all you're seeing. Pretty and thin girls. You see how they're so comfortable wearing what you wish you could wear and see how they look so good in them. Fuck, you hate feeling this way. Frustrated, you exit the app and decide to call your boyfriend, Mitsuya.

Mitsuya always knows how to make you feel better. He is your safe space You don't even have to tell him what's wrong, he'll help you either way.

After a few more rings he picks up the phone, "Hey sweetheart. What's up?" he asks as he measures the fabric he's working on carefully.

"Are you busy?" you ask a with a shaky voice. You didn't realize but there are tears in your eyes. Damn it, you didn't want him to know that something was wrong.

Mistuya stops what he's doing and asks you, "Darling whats wrong?" with concern in his voice. You sigh, telling him right now was gonna make you feel worse, so you decide to hold it off for later.

You wipe your tears away "Its nothing love. Right now the only thing I want is to meet with you." A day out will help you forget quickly about these insecurities of yours.

On the other end of the phone Mistuya smiles softly, "Of course baby. I'll come see you in a bit." Happy you thank him and hang up. See he can easily help you forget your worries.

He pulls up at your place with his bike. He goes to you and holds your hands "So whats going on sweetheart. Tell me and I promise I won't be mad."

Wait what?

"Huh? Nothing love, I just wanted to hang out with you." you say a bit startled by his abruptness.

He's quiet for a bit and starts to laugh awkwardly. "Oh. Sorry, it's just on the phone you said you wanted to meet up with me while crying." He rubs the back of his neck "I thought you were going to break up with me." He explains with relief in his voice. "I was worried."

This shocked you. You'd be stupid to leave man like him. He truly is one of a kind and the fact that he thinks you might leave him hurt you a bit. You give him a gentle kiss on his shoulder and smile at him, "Aww love. You don't ever have to worry about that. I love you too much to leave." You hold his hand gently.

Mitsuya smiles back at you and goes to kiss your lips "I love you to sweetheart. Now lets go, I know the perfect place to go." He says holding your hand as he brings you with him towards his motorcycle. He helps you on and puts your helmet on for you before you both speed away.

An amusement park.

He took you to an amusement park, where there are so many people. So many pretty girls. You tried ignoring them, but it was so hard when they were just everywhere. Any other day would've been fine but today seeing them just reminded you of the fitness influencers you would see on your phone. To make matters worse, a lot of them interacted with your boyfriend.

He accidentally bumped into one of the girls and they both smiled at each other and laughed, Mitsuya saying sorry and her telling him it was ok. That girl was pretty. Mitsuya being his cute self as he orders your guys snacks with the cute cashier. That girl was also pretty. Or worse, when you walk out of the restroom and saw a girl with her phone in her hands talking to Mitsuya. She was asking for his number and Mitsuya rejected her kindly. She was pretty too, why did he reject her? The girl walked away and Mitsuya kept waiting for you. When you went to him he happy to continue going on rides with you, but he didn't say what just had happened.

So later that evening when you two were on his bike you couldn't push away those mean thoughts in your head. You shed tears and because of the helmet you were wearing you couldn't wipe them off. Having realized this you tried to stop them but all that just caused even more stress so you stopped trying. You were at a point where you just didn't care anymore.

You make it back home and Mitsuya climbs off. Whenever he takes you anywhere on his bike he always climbs off first and then goes to picks you up and sets you down, then removes your helmet for you. So that's what he did, he put you down and then took off your helmet only to find you with tears.

"Baby?! What happened?!" he asks with a worried expression.

You wipe your tears, "I'm sorry love its just lately I've been feeling ugly and..."

He grabs your arms, "Darling when did this happen?" he asks really worried for you. He thought you were enjoying your time with him.

You might as well tell him now. "In the morning. There were so many fit people in my feed and then at the amusement park" you voice starts to shake "there were so many pretty girls. I saw one try to ask for your Instagram." You sniff and wipe those tears away.

He holds you tightly "Darling listen to me. You're the cutest being I've ever seen. I'm so addicted to just having you to look at, whether that be in person or in a picture. Why do you think I have us as my wallpaper?" You look up at him. He smiles softly, "Its so that I can say 'yes she's my gf' and possibly brag about it to the guys. I show us off don't think I don't." You giggle and he laughs, "They get so annoyed. They're just mad you picked me and not them."

You laugh at his words. Mitsuya smiles as he sees your beautiful smile. "Also, I'm sorry for not telling you about that girl trying to get my Insta, I just figured none of that was worth it cuz it was dumb." he laughs cuz he honestly forgot about that.

Yup that's your Mitsuya. Always knowing how to comfort you. You smile up at him, "Thank you love. I really needed to hear that."

He kisses you shoulder and gives you a soft smile, "I love you to much to leave." Him doing this made you fall in love with him even more. You two kiss in the sunset and look beautiful together.

#mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x you #mitsuya x reader #tokyo revengers mitsuya #mitsuya x y/n #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo rev mitsuya #mitsuya tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x y/n #mitsuya fluff

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eshayteaparty · 2 months

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Security, Tranquillity

~Fandom(s): Hazbin Hotel

~Warning(s): swearing

~Ship(s): Huskerdust (Husk x Angeldust)

Starring teen!reader

~Word count: 1,830 (estimate)

Based off of this ask: parental huskerdust w a teen reader who has a knack for staying up late because of insomnia. Usually staying up with Husk and Angel whenever he gets back from work, you can do whatever with it. (creds to @maddiigascarrr) <33

~In which no matter how hard you try, and how safe the hotel is, you just can’t sleep. Neither can your two ‘dads’, but they plan to help you to the best of their ability (because they want to drink themselves senseless and don’t want you around to see that).

-♥+♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥+♥-

To be in your youth was to be in your prime. To be energetic, fun-loving, innocent and easy to influence. Unfortunately, as you had been sent to hell for whatever reason while living out this time, there were a lot of opportunities you were missing out on. Like making friends at a school, where everybody was around your age. Despite the semi-normal life Charlie Moringstar strived to provide for you, down here you still lived in constant fear. At any moment, it felt as if you could be snatched up and taken off to Satan knows where, and not a sinner would notice. The terror of this concept brought on nightmares…which then brought on insomnia.

Every second night you would wake up screaming, or for no reason at ungodly hours, which frightened you into staying awake. You were somewhat of a universal treasure in terms of inside the hotel, so when your fellow residents took notice of this problem (and had it unwillingly wake them up time and time again), they started doing everything they could to fix it.

Charlie had been the first one to notice. She had gotten Lucifer to fashion you a plush toy duck that glowed softly in the dark. Though he had promised you it would ward off any ‘spookers’, as he had called your issues, it had ended up making a shadow in the corner of the room look an awful lot like a monster. Back to the drawing board.

After that, Alastor had commissioned Rosie to knit you a soft blanket, much to Charlie’s delight. True to his word, it was comfortable and warm, but the patterns on it weren’t the most….age-appropriate. To be fair, Alastor hadn’t given her much for the design. Another cross on the endless list of empty solutions.

As you got used to hell and the people there, your problem got a little easier to stand. You were kept in good company- adults who were all at least semi-fond of you. And none of them really seemed murderous at all. Still, there was no telling what went on at night, and that was a heavy ‘what-if’, so you stayed up.

Every.

Single.

Night.

After your last few experiences with Husker and Angeldust you had decided they were your favourite sinners there. Angel was funny and sweet and pushed crude jokes aside when it came to you for the most part, and Husk had this underlying fatherly aura about him- even if he was a crusty old bartender. So, when you found yourself unable to rest, as was your reality the majority of other times, you would go to the bar, sit up, and either listen to the duo’s banter or talk their respective ears off. This was one of those nights.

When Husker first saw you approaching the bar in your pyjamas with your hands fidgeting together, he wanted to turn you around and send you right back to bed. He didn’t mind your company, but a bar wasn’t a place for kids. Especially not at night. However, residents were still scarce around here. It wasn’t much of a problem, as long as you let him work.

He watches you sit up, his ears twitching slightly. He sniffs in acknowledgement.

“More bad dreams, kiddo?”

You nod, rubbing your eyes and sniffling as you rest your elbows up on the countertop. Husker sighs softly, and rubs his paw through your hair, giving your head gentle scratches. “It’ll be okay. You’ll get over it eventually, I know it. You’re strong, little buddy.”

Beside you sits Angel, who is there just about as much as you. He rubs one of his hands over your shoulder, leaning in to lightly place his chin on your shoulder. “You’ll be okay, toots. I’ve seen ya gettin’ better.” he lifts his head back up. “Fuck, it just makes ya wish one of us was the sandman or some shit, huh? Or there were any normal sleep drugs down ‘ere. Wonder if the big boss could use sum’a his fancy ass magic to lull ya into….er…slumber.” Husker snorts.

“...mister Lucifer?” you confirm sleepily, and the bartender nods.

“He made you that duck thingy, and…well…this entire fuck- I mean…this hotel. Surely he could knock you out if ya asked.”

You shake your head, carding your hands through your unruly hair and rubbing the dark circles under your eyes with your pinkies. “Don’t wanna. Don’t want his magic in my head.”

Husker chews his lip, then shrugs, turning back around to fix a drink for you- alcohol free, of course. “Whatever you say.”

Angel pets the space in-between your shoulder blades. He notices that each time your eyes start to flicker, you slam your little fist on the countertop and force yourself to stay conscious. Your head looks like it weighs a thousand pounds. It probably feels that way too.

“Hey.”

You turn to him, and he takes your chin in one of the hands on his lower pair of arms. “When was the last time ya actually got a full night’a sleep, bubs?”

“...” you rack your brain as best you can while sleep-deprived, and come up inevitably with nothing. You shake your head at him. “Can’t remember.”

Angel looks upset. He knows how it feels to be afraid to sleep at night from terrors lingering over him from the day.

“Still squeamish, huh?” you nod. “But…ya know that you are…safe. Here. don’t ya?” you nod again. “So what’s the problem?”

Husk pushes a little glass of juice towards you from the opposite side of the counter. He smiles slightly at you, hoping to reassure. “On the house.”

Your attention is drawn back to Angeldust, and your fingers twitch and tremble as you try to find a way to summarise your reason.

“I-I-” you swallow, gripping a fistful of your pyjama shirt. “I’m scared. Of…here. This place. It’s hot, and red, and ....b-bloody…” your bottom lip starts to tremble against your will, and Angel pulls you into his lap, rubbing your biceps. “I w-wanna go home. Somebody’s gonna g-get me when I’m sleeping, I know it! I saw Radio eat those shark guys when Mimzy came!”

“Shh.” Angel cuddles you so much it feels like you’re being squished. Half of him has a mind expecting you to squeal like a dog toy. “S’okay, alright? You’ve gotta good gang here, y/n. You’ve got me, Whiskers, Charlie, mister Morningstar. I mean, hell! You’re under the protection of the head of this shitshow himself!”

“But I c-can’t go to sleep!” your voice wavers, turning quiet and weak. You sound much younger than you are. “I can’t! I see all the demons in my dreams! They won’t go away!”

By now, Husk has walked around the bar to hug you along with Angel, wrapping up the three of you in a warm and furry embrace. As you start to cry, the two of them are right there with you, hearing you out on every word you utter from your chapped lips. You find you like cuddling up to them, even though they’re both furry enough to make a whole rug out of.

Once your sniffling has ceased enough for you to form a comprehensible sentence, Angel coaxes you into looking up at him again. “Are ya really havin’ trouble, dolly?”

You nod tearfully, looking down at the floor in embarrassment. You wish you'd stayed long enough on earth to outgrow this.

Angel glances at Husk, and smirks softly, then looks back at you, brushing away your hair from your damp cheeks. “Then come ta’ bed with us, okay? We’ll keep ya safe. I promise.”

You gasp, and your eyes fill with hope and relief. “R-really?” Husk carefully smothers you in his wings, bundling you up and taking you from Angel.

“Uh-huh. Cmon, y/n. We can’t leave you like this. You’re out here every night, not even first in command has a solution.” He starts to walk with you in his arms, and Angel in tow, looking around the hotel in the dark. He never really goes to bed anymore, in favour of spending day and night at the bar and getting piss drunk every second night. He can clean up the rest of the dishes later.

The two men both walk up the stairs with you, then down the hallway towards Angel’s bedroom. Angel pulls back the cover on his bed, dusting off the mattress protector. “Gotta make sure there’s no coke in the sheets…”

“Angel.”

“Sorry!” he makes a motion for Husk to tuck you in, and he does, laying you down with your head on the pillow. Angel’s bed smells like alcohol, and he seems to notice that you’re not a fan. He opens his drawer, and sifts through it, taking out a perfume. “This’ll make shit a lot better.”

As he’s about to aim it into the air, Husker gently but firmly grasps his wrist. “Don’t. Not that one.”

“Why not?! Don’t you love the smell of Hello Kitty?!”

He tries to take the perfume away, but Angel is holding it above his head. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ spray that, Legs! That shit is toxic!”

Angel presses the button on the perfume, letting Hello Kitty body spray into the air and making the room smell like cotton candy and chemicals. You hide your nose in Angel’s duvet.

“What?” Angel looks to the both of you, tossing up his upper pair of arms. “It’s fresh!”

“Smells like a damn plastic carnival in here now.” Husk covers his nose, his whiskers twitching. “For fuck’s sake. The kid doesn’t even like it.”

You start to giggle despite yourself, and Angel quickly follows suit, the both of you just on his bed laughing. Husker sighs softly, and reaches over Angel, carefully untying his bowtie. “Want the rest off?” Angel nods. Husk gets him to shrug off his blazer, and Angel replaces it with a light pink sleep shirt of his own. He brushes a hand through the fluff on his head, which always looks so soft.

“S’hot t’night, isn’t it, y/n? Still wanna cuddle?” he opens his arms, and to his mild surprise, you’re right there with him, Husk joining beside you after setting his outer accessories to the side. He curls his wings around you and Angel, flicking off the lava lamp beside the spider demon’s bed. They both look down at you.

“...if ya ever feel afraid, y/n…for anything…” Anthony runs his finger slowly under your chin, “that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared, ya know why? Cuz this’s a scary place. With scary people. But in every bad, cuore mio, there’s a good. And this hotel, this is the good.”

Husk looks adoringly at Anthony, his flaxen eyes twinkling in the dark. After welcome gazing, he meets your own.

“We’re gonna be right here when you wake up, kid.” he says gruffly, petting your back as your eyelids grow heavier and your head slowly flops into Angel’s torso, marking him as your pillow for the night.

“Whenever that may be.”

For the first time in weeks…your mind was put to peace. With these two polar opposites, you had found a home. Whether it was to be temporary or everlasting, only time would tell. But you had tonight, and that was all that mattered.

To nobody's surprise but your own, you woke up unscathed.

-♥+♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥+♥-

I hope this adds up, I kinda made it into a fear of sleeping rather than insomnia but the original ask plot is still there. I hope this was good xx thankyou for reading

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yourmomxx · 10 months

Text

Father of Mine

father of mine masterlist

summary: All Dean Winchester ever wanted was to protect the people he loved. Sometimes, in order to do that, he had to make hard decisions, Lisa and Ben were the prime example. Years after making another one of those hard decisions, he has to come back to the place where he had left a piece of his heart - only to be constantly reminded of what he had to sacrifice in order to keep his family safe.

warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, throwing up, this is written like an episode of Supernatural

word count: 8,2k

a/n: I’ve been writing this story for … a year now? I think? And I’ve gotta admit, I am so happy that it is finally out. Everything that I write means incredibly much to me, but this story just holds such a special place in my heart and I am very happy to share it now with you guys. I do hope you like it, and, as always, reblogs are very much appreciated because that way the story gets spread to more people! Now, enjoy!

flashbacks are written in italics

pt1 pt2 pt3

Cleveland, Ohio 2002

The bar was crowded with people.

Gruffed men wearing leather jackets and intoxicated women in crop-tops were all sprawled out around an alcohol booth in the middle.

In another corner, currently bathed in purple and orange spotlight, a guy with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and a bucket-hat was giving a lousy cover of ‘God save the Queen’ by Sex Pistols.

♫ ♪ “Don't be told what you want. Don't be told what you need. There's no future, no future, no future for you!” ♫ ♪

On one of the way too small bar chairs, sipping a burning mix of whiskey and ginger ale, was sitting Dean Winchester, and he was pissed.

Pissed at his stupid father, who was acting like Dean was a 15-year-old with no common sense whatsoever, pissed at the goddamn ghost that had found an incredible pleasure in almost ripping his fingers off his hands, and pissed at stupid Sam for just getting up one day and leaving him - didn’t matter if that had been months ago.

And with every drink that Dean downed, he started feeling more like “Dad can kiss my ass” instead of “Dad has been doing this much longer than you and just knows better”. Meaning, he should probably slow down.

But whatever.

His Dad could kiss his ass.

♫ ♪ “Oh when there's no future, how can there be sin? We're the flowers in the dustbin!” ♫ ♪

“Why, hello,” he suddenly heard a sweet voice next to him say.

Dean turned his head and was met face to face with friendly, glimmering eyes.

Those, just as the voice that had spoken to him, belonged to a young woman who seemed to have just appeared next to him.

He moved his gaze up and down her body.

Apart from her eyes, she had smooth skin, that was covered with glowing sweatpearls, most likely because of the stuffy air around them.

Or maybe, just like Dean, she had had a couple drinks too many.

A few, fine strands of her shoulder-length hair were tousled, likely from combing her hands through it.

He licked his lips. “Well, hello you. With whom do I have the pleasure?”

He was laying on thick and he knew that, but it’s not like he could care about it.

“Gloria. Richards.” She was speaking in a soft, honey voice, and Dean urged himself to focus on her face, and not the way her neck and chest were lightly gleaming from the thin layer of sweat covering them.

“What’s yours?”

Dean Winchester.

But no, that wasn’t his name. Not today at least. If he could just remember what was. And the drinks didn’t exactly make thinking easier.

“Dean Hansley.”

Gloria smiled again.

What a nice smile she had.

"Dean Hansley." She tasted the words, let them burn on her tongue. "That's a nice name."

And then she sat down at the stool next to him, without waiting for him to invite her, and she started talking.

And he talked back with her.

And time went by, and she kept finishing and ordering drinks, that Dean all offered to pay, and she never refused.

By now, the guy in the Hawaiian shirt had been thrown off the karaoke stage, after heavily throwing up into one of the other guest's handbags, halfway through a tedious ballad about life, and love, and its misery.

The only source of music was coming from the colorful jukebox next to the pool board.

A couple drunk-off-their-asses idiots, trying to play billiards, were loudly roaring along to AC/DC’s ‘You shook me all night long’.

♫ ♪ “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen!” ♫ ♪

Gloria was still sitting next to him, although a bit closer, and she was sipping at her third drink he had bought her tonight.

And damn, that girl had high tolerance.

Dean thought she was amazing.

“That thing with your family sucks, really.” She scrunched up her nose in slight discomfort.

Dean let out a humorless laugh and took a sip of the whiskey he was still stuck with. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Yes, he had told her about his - family issues. But so what?

It felt nice having someone listening to him for a change. Someone who wasn’t his family, didn’t even know them, and wouldn’t try to disregard his frustration by telling him to ‘put himself in his father’s shoes for once’.

Gloria finished her drink and used the palm of her hand to wipe the sweat off her forehead.

Dean tried his best to not think too much about her knee touching his, her being so close him.

“The air in here is terrible,” she said, heavily emphasizing the last word.

Dean’s attention was turned to her again. He knew she had said something before that, but he hadn’t been able to catch it, too lost in his own mind.

He kind of felt bad for not listening to her.

Dean threw a look around.

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty hot in here,” he agreed, feeling pearls of sweat rolling off the little hairs on his neck.

Gloria looked directly into his eyes, then up his body, down his body, before settling on his eyes again.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Then her lip.

“I mean,” she slowly spoke, “we could continue this conversation somewhere else if you want. Where there’s not so many people and the air doesn’t taste like salt.”

♫ ♪ “You really took me and you shook me all night long! Ooh, you shook me all night long!” ♫ ♪

Hell yeah.

A boyish grin started forming on his face.

“An offer like that - how could I say no?”

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

“Read it again for me.”

Dean was staring straight ahead onto the road, his gaze hard and jaw clenched.

Sam sighed and opened the newspaper again, for what had to be the seventh time now since they had first found it.

They were both sitting in the Impala, Castiel in the backseat. The angel could have just flipped his wings and flown to the destination they were headed, but he had insisted to take the drive with them, claiming he had “nothing better to do anyway”.

“St. George, Louisiana,” Sam started to read.

“In the night of Wednesday to Thursday, a young man was found dead in his room in Saint George’s Children’s Home. The 17-year-old Roy Kendall hadn’t come out of his room the first half of the day, and when a woman of the working personnel - whose name has been withheld - came to check on him, she discovered his mutilated body draped out on the bed. According to the police, the young man’s rib cage had been compressed with such force that his ribs were broken and had managed to pierce through the young man’s internal organs, which resulted in him slowly bleeding out internally. Authorities are still in the dark about the exact details of the tragedy and the questions of “Why” and, particularly, “How” something like this could even be possible. The head of the Children’s Care Institution …, blah blah blah.”

Sam purposefully drifted off and ended his reading session therefore. He folded the newspaper back together and stuffed it into the Impala’s globe compartment.

“And that’s it, I am not reading this again. Next thing you know, I’m going to dream about squished organs and ribcages.”

He shuddered.

“I just don’t get it, man,” Dean said, ignoring his brother’s complaints, but he didn’t seem to address anyone in particular.

“I mean, I checked everything, Sammy. No demonic omens, no strategic killings, no recent disappearances. That place was all white picket fences and summer barbecues when we- ”

He was quick to cut himself off.

Sam threw his brother a side glance, but decided to not address his slip-up.

“Well, Dean, sometimes monsters just … turn up, you know.” This time Sam turned his head to get a proper look at his older brother.

“Maybe it’s just passing through, or simply moved there from somewhere else. They aren’t exactly tied to a specific place.”

Dean ran his hand over his face and through his hair in distress. “Out of all places, why there?” He muttered in a low tone.

And again, he was more talking to himself than anyone else.

“I don’t understand.” Cas was suddenly talking from the back seat. “What is in this Children’s Home that is of so much importance to you both?”

Dean was quick to answer a “Nothing,” but Castiel didn’t quite believe him.

Sam turned in his seat to face the angel.

“We were working a case near there a while back,” he simply explained.

Cas frowned, still not quite convinced, but he decided to let the topic rest. For now, at least.

“I understand,” he said. “Then it would probably be of benefit for you to stick with your past aliases. Just in case anyone there should recognize you.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Dean vaguely answered, but he seemed trapped deep in his own thoughts.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Black Hawk, Colorado 2002

“To listen to this voicemail, call-”

A dial tone sounded. The message was a few months old.

“Hey, Dean, it’s uh … it’s Gloria. You know, Gloria Richards, from a few nights ago?” A humorless chuckle was heard on the other end of the line.

“Though, guys like you don’t usually remember their casual one-night hookups. So I’ll cut straight to the chase.” One heavy inhale.

“I’m pregnant. And I know the chances of you wanting anything to do with me are zero to negative six, but I just wanted to-”

“To delete this voicemail, press 2.”

A tone.

“Voicemail deleted.”

“To listen to this voicema-”

The woman on the other end sounded more outraged this time, even though occasional cracks or hiccups in her voice gave away that she had been heavily crying moments before. Maybe still was.

“Hello Dean, it’s me again. You know, I didn’t expect you to jump up high at the news, but ignoring me?” She scoffed. “That’s a different type of low.”

She sniffled. “I’m just calling to tell you I’ve decided to keep the baby. So you can still change your mind, if you-”

“To delete this voicemail, press-” “Voicemail deleted.”

“To listen to th-”

“Hello, Dean. It’s Gloria. Again.”

This time, she seemed calmer, which could be reasoned with the tiredness her voice was radiating.

“I suppose I’m still kind of hoping that you will call me back. Or even pick up.” She sighed.

“I wanted to tell you that she’s perfectly healthy and growing. That’s right. She. Our baby is going to be a-”

“To delete this-” ”Voicemail deleted.”

John Winchester stared at the small phone in his hand and pressed a button.

“You have no more voicemails.”

That moment, Dean came bursting into the motel room, looking around the empty shelves and patting up and down his jacket- and jeans-pockets.

“Hey Dad, do you know where my phone is? I heard it ringing,” Dean asked.

“Yes, just some spam-callers,” John neatly lied. “I took care of it, but I’m gonna put it out of service, just in case.”

Dean looked at him and for a moment, John thought his son would grow suspicious, but he just nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Dad.”

John nodded and Dean left the room with his bag in hand. When he was certain Dean wouldn’t come back, John took the phone apart and crashed the SIM Card on the nightstand with the lamp.

Then he put the pieces in the bin, took his duffel bag and followed his son to the car.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

The St. George’s Children’s Home was somewhat of a small castle, kept in a renaissance style.

Around a large courtyard, archways connected four round-towers, which were slightly higher than the rest of the castle. The walls were painted a pale yellow.

Trees grew in the gardens around the castle, flowers in planted beds, and as far as Dean could remember, there was a hedge maze behind the walls, not visible from the gateway.

They had parked the Impala in one of the parking spaces next to the tall, elegant terrain fence.

Sam and Dean were wearing black suits and their fake badges, Castiel - as always - stuck with the trench coat.

Dean was eyeing the building suspiciously.

In fact, he had been doing so for the last three minutes, in which they had all sat in the Impala in complete silence.

Sam threw a quick, concerned glance at his brother before clearing his throat.

“You really wanna do this?”, he asked quietly.

“No,” Dean answered and opened the car door, “But it’s not like we have a choice, right?”

Sam sighed and did the same, not before exchanging a quick, apprehensive look with Castiel, who still didn’t quite know what was going on.

The castle’s inside was considerably more modern than its outside.

With brightly-colored walls and furniture, and minimalistic decorations all over.

It seemed cozy.

They were headed for the office of the youth center’s director, Maria Whitlock. Dean remembered exactly where that was. Down the hall, left. Past a few closed bedroom doors. Last door at the end of the corridor.

Dean cleared his throat and knocked on the door, Sam right behind him. Castiel had left before they had entered the castle, claiming to look for a suitable Motel nearby, and telling them to contact him if they needed his help.

There was a beat of silence before they heard a woman’s voice reply “Yes?” and entered the office.

Maria Whitlock was an elderly woman, with dark red hair that she kept in a low bun. She was around a head smaller than Dean, and wearing a grey blouse combined with a wine red jacket and a black pencil skirt.

When she heard them enter the room, she looked up from a few papers she was filing, and her face immediately fell.

“Hello, Maria.” Sam greeted her.

“Dean and Sam Winchester,” she breathed out, startled.

“I never thought I would see you two again.”

Dean felt a sting in his chest.

“Yeah, well,” Sam said and tried a clumsy smile. A heavy silence followed, and Dean shifted uncomfortably.

Maria frowned. “Not to seem impolite, but what are the two of you doing here?” She asked.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.

“We, uhm, we heard about Roy and we thought that, maybe, we should just check if everything was alright and, of course, speak our condolences. You know, for old time’s sake.”

She nodded and closed the pen. “Yes, right. Roy. I completely forgot that they put that in the paper.”

A look of dark grief fell over her face and her gaze drifted into nothingness. She suddenly looked much older than she was.

Dean cleared his throat. “I gave you my number, Maria,” he spoke. “If you would’ve called, we could’ve been here sooner.”

She blinked rapidly, pulling herself out of her thoughts and looked at him for a second before she replied.

“I know, I know, but to be honest - it slipped my mind, in between all of this … chaos and tragedy.”

While she was talking, she got up from her chair and walked around the table, getting a clearer view at Sam and Dean.

“Of course,” Sam hastily said. “No worries. We are very sorry for your loss.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Dean was glad that it had been Sam who had spoken up. He wasn’t very good at that sort of things. Nor did he aspire to be.

“You said you were here because of Roy’s …. passing,” Maria continued, and the brothers nodded.

“But that would mean that this was some sort of - unnatural incident.”

Sam swallowed hard.

“Well,” he started, trying to find the right words that would not trigger a breakdown for the woman, “we saw the article in the newspaper and thought that we would just have a look at it. The circumstances of Roy’s passing aren’t exactly common for a person his age, after all.”

Or for any person, really.

She nodded lazily. “Yes. I suppose you are right.”

Dean could swear that another minute of awkward silence between them would probably kill him, so he took it upon himself to prevent it before it started.

“I get that this is hard, Maria,” he said, “But if we could maybe ask you some questions? Maybe speak to the person that found him?”

She sniffled.

Oh dear God.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Her voice was a bit higher than before, and her hands grabbed for a handkerchief lying on the table.

“Uhm, the woman who found him was one of my responsible supervisors, Betty Langston. She should be present in the building today, but the last time I spoke to her, she was still pretty shaken up. I mean, who can blame her? I can’t even imagine what it must have been like, seeing that poor boy lying on his bed, just- ”

She broke off and a sob escaped her lips, before she buried her face in the kerchief.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I’m sorry, it’s just - he was such a kind boy. He had his whole life ahead of him. And the way that he had to go…”

She raised her head and shook it, eyes reddened and filled with tears.

“I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”

“We understand, Maria,” Sam spoke in a comforting, low voice.

And Dean added, “And I promise we will find whatever did this and make sure this happens to no one ever again.”

She forced herself to a smile.

“Thank you, boys. May the angels be with you.”

Dean forbid himself a snort.

“Thank you for your time, Maria. We will let you know when we know more,” Sam said and left the office.

He wouldn’t risk making her cry again by bothering her with questions about her dead fosterling.

Dean smiled at Maria and turned to follow his brother, but she stopped him.

“Dean.”

He turned to face her.

“You do know that it won’t be possible for you to investigate here, without … encountering a certain someone.”

Dean straightened his shoulders.

“Yes, I know.”

“Have you thought about it? What you will say to her?”

“Gotta admit, I haven’t.”

She hummed and nodded. Dean noticed that she had resumed her usual upright position, and if he hadn’t just witnessed it, he probably would not know that she had been crying.

“I should warn you,” she said gently, “It probably won’t be easy.”

“I honestly didn’t expect it to be.”

She smiled a gentle smile at him and he returned it, before finally leaving the room and joining his brother in the hallway.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Lewiston, Michigan 2004

The first time he had read it, John Winchester had been drunk. He had spared a quick glance at it after coming home from a bar, before throwing himself onto the motel bed and passing out.

The second time he had read it, he had been sober, but suffering from a skull-splitting headache.

The third time he read it, it was simply to make sure his hungover mind wasn’t making any of this up. But no, the words on the newspaper stayed the same, grinning up at him with a sickening smirk that made his stomach turn.

In the small corner of the left page, where the lesser important news were usually placed, throned the bold-printed, black words:

24-year-old woman dies in tragic car accident, leaves 1-year-old daughter behind

No. God, no.

He read it again. Read the headline, read the article, the name that had been shortened but to him unmistakable: Gloria R.

R. Just like Richards. Gloria Richards.

There was a picture placed right next to the text, held in color, of a young woman that was clearly putting on a smile for the camera.

John slammed the newspaper on the round table.

“Damn it!” He yelled.

And in that moment, John was grateful that Dean had offered to go on a coffee run.

—

He was ‘going on a quick hunt’. That’s what he told Dean.

He was ‘going on a quick hunt and if anyone needed anything, they should contact Dean’. That’s what he told Bobby. And everyone that reached his voicemail.

Cleveland, Ohio. That’s where he was going. He had some business to attend to.

—

Central Nebraska

To say that Ellen Harvelle wasn’t delighted about John Winchester showing up inside the Roadhouse would be quite an understatement.

She was furious.

John paid attention to enter the wooden cabin carefully. He didn’t expect Ellen to be pleased by his sudden presence, especially considering their last encounter with each other.

It was a random Wednesday afternoon, and there wasn’t anyone seated in the Roadhouse, except for Ellen herself, who was busy cleaning the bar with a half-wet kitchen towel.

The brunette woman looked up for a quick second, as a form of formality, before she dedicated her attention back onto the dirty surface.

“I’ll be with you in a secon-” Then she realized. Stopped. Did a double take.

“Winchester.” The word was dripping from her lips with loathing.

“Hello, Ellen,” he started, but she cut him off.

“What do you want?” Her question was blunt and her tone cold and unwelcoming.

John cleared his throat and stepped from one foot to the other. He had to sell his story good, if Ellen wouldn’t get on board with his proposition, he had nobody else to go to.

“Look, Ellen. I get that you’re mad- ”

“Mad?” She let out a short, sour laugh.

“Mad doesn’t even begin to describe what I am feeling towards you, Winchester. Try hatred. Pure disgust.” She scoffed again.

“You must have a death wish, because I couldn’t think of any other possible reason why you would drag your dumbass out here again. ”

John swallowed hard. She was right. Who was he to just show up here again? After what happened?

But there was no turning back now, he had to go through with this.

“You’re right.” He spoke in a low tone to try and seem less intimidating and also attempt to soothe her temper towards him.

“I am sorry about what happened, Ellen. If I could go back and do it any different, then I would.”

A lie. She knew that. He knew that she knew that. Still - she didn’t interrupt, just kept glaring at him, so he decided to continue.

“But unfortunately, I can’t. And I know you have every right and reason to hate me now.”

Agreeing and empathizing with her.

“But there is something extremely important that I need to ask of you.”

Again, he didn’t have much time to talk, before Ellen raised her voice.

“You damned son of a bitch!”, she yelled, tossing the kitchen towel onto the counter with such force, the leftover water splashed around.

“You ain’t got no right walking in here, after what you pulled, and ask a goddamned favor of me!”

Her voice was loud in the silence of the Roadhouse and John lifted his hands up in defense.

“Ellen, please! Listen to me!”, he pleaded. Ellen wasn’t yelling at him anymore, but her jaw was still clenched and her entire body tense.

“I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options. Like you said, I must have a Deathwish to show up here. And I understand that. But you are the only person that I can trust with this. You can toss me out all you want after. You can yell, and scream, and punch me, and shoot at me. Just please, hear me out first. ”

There was silence, where John just stood there, his hands still raised in the air in front of him, and Ellen grinding her teeth as she thought about what to do now.

Because by God, did she hate him. And a part of her wanted to take a rifle and first shoot a bullet into his feet and then his di-

But on the other hand, she could not recall a time that John Winchester had ever gotten himself into a position to beg.

No, he was too proud for that. So whatever he wanted must be goddamn important for him, really.

“Tell me what you need, Winchester,” Ellen said eventually, “And let me decide afterwards.”

Her body language didn’t show one sign of hospitality still, but John interpreted her words as somewhat of a good sign.

Hopefully.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

After their talk with Maria, Sam and Dean settled on questioning Betty Langston.

In the middle of the wall in the entrance hall, a big frame with the pictures, names and duties of the working staff was hung up.

Above the name ‘Betty Langston’ was a picture of a friendly looking woman in her mid-twenties, with a pointed nose and blonde strands of hair framing her face.

Underneath, the duties “Social Worker” and “Deputy Manager” were listed.

When they knocked on the door which was labeled “staff”, a young man opened and told them that Betty Langston was currently positioned on the second floor.

Dean wanted to take the elevator, but Sam dragged him up the stairs.

“It will be faster,” he guaranteed, and Dean just rolled his eyes with a groan.

The hallways on the second floor were surprisingly wide, with doors placed across each other in a zig zag pattern.

Here and there were a few paintings on the walls, old and new, and green neon signs pointing toward the emergency exit.

They met Betty after they turned around the first corner. She stood in front of a pinboard and was currently hanging up new posters.

Her hair was different from the picture, slightly longer now ending halfway down her back, and copper colored with only a few blonde highlights.

The brothers made their way over to her and flashed their fake FBI-badges when she let off her work and shifted her attention to them.

“Hello, my name is David Shields, my partner’s name is Jarvis Stark,” introduced Dean. “Are you Betty Langston?”

The young woman gaped at them, slightly caught off guard. “Uhm yes, that’s me,” she eventually got out and lowered her arms. “What can I do for you?”

Dean caught a glimpse of the writing on the poster. It was a few phone numbers, and in dark blue, a text above read: ‘DON’T HESITATE TO ASK FOR HELP!’

“We’re here to ask you about Roy Kendall,” Sam carefully approached, “We understand that you are the one who found him.”

Dean couldn’t help but notice how Betty Langston’s eyes shifted to the floor and she nervously trailed her fingers up and down the paper in her hand.

“Um yes, I … I found him.” Her voice got small and she swallowed hard.

“But what does the FBI want with that? I thought it was a wild animal.”

“Given the unusual occurrence of Roy’s death, we thought it necessary to at least have a look at this case and find out what we can,” Sam said.

“That doesn’t have to mean anything, though,” Dean quickly tried to soothe her when he noticed the tears springing in the woman’s eyes. “Exactly,” Sam hastily agreed. “Only a few questions, just in case.”

Betty nodded and blinked away her tears. “Okay,” she quietly said. Sam reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his notebook and a pen.

“Did Roy mention something … I don’t know, unusual before he died?” Sam asked, clicking the pen and bringing his notepad in position. The young woman hesitated.

“Well, not that I know of,” she eventually said, “But, you see, kids at that age … they don’t talk to us adults much anymore. If you want to know something about Roy, you better ask his friends.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “His friends?” He repeated. She nodded. “Mhm.”

“And, uh - who are his friends, if I may ask?” Sam tuned in again. Betty thought for a second and then clicked her tongue. “Well, there’s Cassandra, Cassandra Claire,” she said and started counting the listed names on her fingers. “And, uhm, Finnegan Beckett.” Sam repeated the children’s names under his breath as he quickly wrote them down.

“And Y/N Winchester,” Betty finished.

Sam abruptly stopped writing at the ‘n’ and looked up. He felt Dean visibly tense and shift next to him.

The younger brother just put on a smile and folded the small notepad back into the inner pocket of his jacket. But not before completely writing out the last name on the list.

“Thank you so much, Miss Langston, you helped us a lot. We will let you know if there are any more questions. And, our condolences,” he added.

She shyly smiled back at him and slowly continued gathering thumbtacks to hang up her posters, and the brothers left.

Sam waited until they were out of hearing range, then turned to Dean. “So…that was something,” he carefully started.

“What do you mean?”

Sam threw him a look. “You know what I mean. The witness list. Roy’s friends. That last name…”

Dean sighed heavily. Sam waited for him to say something. And when he didn’t, Sam just shook his head but decided to not stress it any further.

“So, where to now?” He asked instead.

Dean took a look at his watch. “The morgue, I’d say. As far as I know they’re closing soon, and a dead body is not exactly the first thing I need to see in the morning, so-”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, alright. Sounds good.”

They made their way out of the castle.

“You want to take Castiel?” Sam questioned when he rounded the car.

“No,” Dean decided firmly and opened the driver’s door. “Remember what happened last time? Exactly. I don’t need Cas smelling some dead guy again.”

Sam grinned at the memory. With a creak, the Impala gave in to their weight as they sat down, and the gravel gnashed under her tires when they drove off.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Central Nebraska 2006

Roughly, the dark minivan tuckered over the bumpy earth of the pathetic excuse of a road, and Dean’s insides flinched with every squeak the old car made.

When they finally came to a stop, he tossed the keys somewhere and maybe slammed the door with a bit more force than necessary. A lot more.

“This is humiliating,” he grumbled, as he took in the atrocious excuse of a vehicle they just stepped out of. He missed his Baby.

Sam ignored him, and stepped forward, towards the old wooden – house? Shack? – the mysterious phone number on their dad’s cell had led them to.

The huge letters ROADHOUSE flaunted above them, and Dean thought that these were probably made to light up when the sun disappeared.

The rest of the house looked abandoned, frankly, from the outside, and that, in combination with the four-month-old voicemail, made Dean not like his odds very much. The chances that this Ellen chick was still alive, knowing what his father had needed her for, were slim in his mind.

Or hell, maybe she just called from here, got the phone from some rando, and got on her merry way when she realized John wasn’t calling back. It’s probably what he would’ve done.

Safe to say, Dean didn’t like their odds. Even less so when they entered the eerie quiet of the bar, and spotted a man lying unconscious, probably dead, on the pool table.

Dean felt his shoulders stiffen. He didn’t like this one bit, and every second he spent here made the alarm in his head shrill even louder than before.

Dean only just turned to take a closer look at one of the shelves, when he felt something hard dig into his lower back, and heard an all too familiar clicking sound.

Dean closed his eyes. “Please tell me that is a gun.”

“No, I’m just very happy to see you,” came the fast answer from a very snarking - and female? - voice.

In one swift motion, Dean whirled around, grabbed the barrel, ripped it out of his attacker’s hand, and uncocked it. The bullet fell to the ground with an echoing clatter.

Dean almost smirked triumphantly at the blonde girl in front of him, when he felt a sudden, blinding pain in his face.

And if Dean had thought pulling up in a 30-year-old, barely functional van, of all things was humiliating, he didn’t calculate how it would feel to be absolutely sucker punched by a girl, not even as old as him.

Aside from the obvious nosebleed, his ego took a severe bruise.

“Sam! Little help here!” He called, hand still holding his hurting face.

The door swung open, and Sam walked out, hands raised to his head, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry Dean,” he said, “I’m a little tied up right now.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, as he watched another woman with dark brown hair follow his brother close behind, a revolver held to his head in fair warning.

He would be impressed, if his vision wasn’t swimming right now.

The older woman behind Sam furrowed her brows. “Wait, Sam? Dean?” She asked, exchanging looks with kick-ass Blondie in front of him. “Winchester?”

There was a beat, before the brothers pressed out a unison “Yeah?”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Mom, you know these guys?” Dean’s head hurt with how much he was swinging it around to keep up.

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys.” And that made Dean perk up.

The woman let out a laugh as she lowered her weapon.

—

A few minutes later, Dean was served with an iced cloth for his nose, and he and Sam seated themselves on a few of the bystanding bar chairs.

The brunette woman, who had threatened Sam, turned out to be the mysterious Ellen, whose voicemail on their dad’s phone they followed here. Jo, her daughter, and also the kick-ass blonde that had held the rifle to Dean’s back, looked about as unknowing about the whole situation as the brothers did.

Turns out Ellen had contacted John about the demon he was hunting. Said she could help him with it. Why John had never mentioned her, or her daughter, she didn’t say. Told them to ask him themselves. Dean didn’t say anything to that.

“So why exactly do we need your help?”, Dean asked, repositioning the cloth on his face.

Ellen scoffed. “Hey, don’t do me any favors. If you don’t want my help, fine.” There was a snarking edge to her voice, and Dean started to realize why his father would associate with her.

“Don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out,” she continued. “But John wouldn’t have sent you, if–“

There it was.

Ellen stood straighter. A haunted look crossed her eyes. “He didn’t send you.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean looked away.

“He’s alright, isn’t he?” Dean hadn’t known Ellen Harvelle for very long, but even he could sense the way her voice wavered. And know that she was a smart enough woman to not truly believe what she was asking.

“No.” Sam cleared his throat, and the simple word echoed through the deafening silence. “No, he’s not. We think the demon did it. Got to him before he got to it.” The thankful feeling of not being the one to have to tell her what happened felt like a sin in Dean’s gut. Then again, what’s one more on his plate.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said. It’s what everyone said.

“It’s alright. We’re good.”

Ellen didn’t believe him, he saw it in her eyes. But she didn’t bother him more about it, either.

“So, look, if you can help us,” Sam said, and Dean threw him a look that showed just how much he wanted to smack his little brother across the face, “we’d be real happy about all the help we can get.”

Ellen’s lips twisted. “We can’t help you.”

Is this lady for real-

“But he can.”

And then the dead man stood up from the pool table.

—

Ash was a tech freak, with a haircut like Billy Ray Cyrus and the mouth of a southern cowboy. Jo called him a genius. Dean didn’t know what to think of that.

Still, he had passed him their dad’s journal, told him to go nuts, and Ash had drooled over John Winchester’s handiwork like a child over a lollipop.

Ash had left with the journal and the promise of new information in the time of fifty-one hours.

Dean thought that was long enough time to take a drink.

Jo Harvelle was a pretty woman. When she wasn’t threatening him with a rifle or punching him in the face, that was. Her soft, blonde curls fell long over her shoulders, and those jeans did wonders to her curves.

Dean started conversing with her. While he had moved to one of the tables, Sam had stayed with Ellen at the bar. He found out that her father died, a long time ago. In the back of his mind, a mean voice cackled at the irony. He paid his sympathies.

Then, suddenly, one of the doors to the backrooms flew open, and a small whirlwind of colorful fabric and y/h/c hair came dashing into the room.

“Aunty Ellen, Aunty Ellen! Look what I made!”

Dean’s head whipped around at the sound of the high-pitched voice and he spotted a small girl, not older than five years probably, squeezing herself behind the bar table. When he noticed Ellen bowing her head, he figured that the little girl had probably reached her destined spot next to her.

Dean, though he would never admit it, was an easily curious person, so he followed Jo on her way to the bar and leaned slightly over the tablewood to catch a glimpse at the small intruder.

Little Lady was tugging at Ellen’s pantleg, and expectantly holding up a colored paper for her to look at.

“Look at what I drew, Auntie Ellen!” she repeated, in that same excited tone as before, when she had stormed into the room.

Dean watched as Ellen abandoned her washcloth somewhere behind her and crouched down to meet with the little girl eye-to-eye, as she inspected her drawing.

“That’s so amazing, baby, is that us?” The girl nodded, her pigtails wiggling up and down as she bopped her head enthusiastically.

“Yes, that is you, and that is Jo, and that is me. And look, I made my own fingerprint!” She dashed her finger into a spot on the paper, and then proudly held up the red-colored tip to shove it in Ellen’s face.

The woman had a wide, genuine smile on her face. “I can see that, baby, well done, it looks so nice!” She praised. “How about we hang it up there next to the menu?”

The girl nodded her head again, and let Ellen scoop her up gently. Only then, when Little Lady was at height with them, she seemed to notice the strangers standing in the room.

In the matter of a second, Dean saw her whole demeanor shift from bubbly and open, to a more closed off version, sinking further into Ellen’s embrace and clutching the fabrics of her shirt. Something about it made Dean’s heart sting.

“Auntie Ellen?” The girl tried to whisper, but Dean had learned soon that children were terrible whisperers, “Who is that?”

Ellen looked first to Sam, then Dean, and back at the little girl in her arms. “Those are friends of Jo and me, sweetheart. Their names are Sam-“ Dean’s little brother gave a wave and a smile when Ellen introduced him. “-and Dean.”

Dean grinned and carefully stretched his hand out. “Very nice to meet you, Little Lady. Who am I speaking to, may I ask?” He laid a formal accent on his voice, one that he knew had always made Sam laugh when he was a child. It was an olive branch, but something in him hoped she would grab it.

The small giggle that Little Lady let out made Dean’s heart bloom with a warmth he didn’t know he was able to feel.

“My name’s Y/N,” she said. With a pointed look at Dean’s still outstretched hand, Ellen murmured in her ear, “And what do we do when someone gives us their hand to shake?”

Y/N nuzzled her face into the crook of Ellen’s neck, and Dean almost drew his hand back again, when a small warmth settled into his palm and closed around it.

He smiled at the girl and shook her hand. As they both pulled back, Dean twisted his hand around and huffed. “Ouff, someone has got a firm grip! Your Auntie Ellen teach you that?” Y/N grinned proudly at him and nodded her head. Then she held up her hand and showed him four fingers. “I’m already this old!”

Dean gasped. “Really? Well, that is a great age, no wonder you are so strong!”

Y/N was beaming now.

She didn’t hide in Ellen’s neck again.

“So, what about that picture now?” Ellen bounced the girl on her hip once, and it seemed like she was snapped out of a trance. Determinedly, she pointed at a space next to a hung-up blackboard. Dean figured Ellen usually wrote her daily specials on that.

The woman made a few steps over where Y/N had led her and gestured toward an already hung drawing of blue water and grey – fish? – above it, that was already taped to the wall.

“But we already put a picture there. We would have to remove that one if you want your new drawing to hang here.” The girl shrugged, and already reached for a roll of clean tape on the shelf.

“That’s okay, I don’t like dolphins all that much anymore anyway,” she explained nonchalantly. “I will just put it in my drawing box.”

Dean watched as Ellen carefully picked the old drawing from the wall to make space for the new one. He was so caught up in the scenery, he almost didn’t notice how Sam was scooting closer to him.

“You know who she is?” Sam asked. Dean turned his attention to his brother.

“Well, her name’s Y/N,” Dean answered simply. Sam didn’t roll his eyes at him, but it was a close call.

Dean just shrugged. “Guess she isn’t Ellen’s. Otherwise, she wouldn’t call her Auntie.” He pitched the last word high, to mimic the child’s voice.

Sam furrowed his brows as they watched Ellen and the small girl.

“Makes you wonder,” he said, “What she’s doing here.”

Dean just hummed. He made brief eye contact with Y/N, as she stole a look in his direction, but she averted her eyes quickly, as if she had been caught.

Dean found himself slightly smiling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam looking at him. His brother was grinning.

“You love that kid.” It was a statement.

Dean scoffed. “Oh, shut up, I don’t even know her. Also, I love kids, plural.” He added.

Sam nodded, that smile still on his lips. Dean ignored him.

“Come on, ask him. Don’t be shy.” Ellen and Y/N had finished putting up her drawing and were now standing closer to them again. Ellen was still carrying the girl on her hip and had bent down to whisper to her.

Y/N had buried her face in Ellen’s shirt again, clearly shy to say something.

“He ain’t gonna bite you,” Ellen said, nudging her. “Go on.”

Y/N lifted her head, and shyly looked at Dean. Her eyes were flickering all over him, but never exactly to his face.

“Doyouwantodrawwithme?” She spluttered. Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t think he understood that. Try a bit slower. You can do this, come on,” Ellen encouraged her.

Y/N clutched her shirt.

“Do you want to draw with me?” She asked, head lowered and looking at her fingers. Her voice was quiet, but to Dean it felt as if she had shouted that sentence.

He felt warm inside. “Of course I want to.”

Y/N’s head shot up, and Dean Winchester had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime, but the gleaming eyes of that small child before him had to be at the top of the list. He never wanted to look at anything else.

Ellen set her down and pointed at a table in the corner of the room.

“Her colors and paper are already set up. Every day, before we officially open,” she explained with a look at Dean, and he nodded. While Sam got comfortable on one of the bar chairs, he made his way over to where Y/N had already set up her coloring tools and begun drawing on a piece of yellow paper.

Her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Dean pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.

“What are you drawing?” He asked, stretching his neck to take a closer look. Y/N leaned back and showed him her creation. Lines of red and yellow. Maybe a tomato? An apple? He turned his head. From that perspective maybe?

“It’s Lighting McQueen!” Y/N told him triumphantly. “I saw cars with Jo.”

Dean nodded. So no apple. He also wasn’t going to point out the girl’s grammar. She was only four after all. And who was he to talk.

“How did you get that?” Y/N suddenly asked, and pointed her small finger at Dean’s forehead, right where a big scar stretched over his skin, consequences of the fatal car accident.

Dean tried his best not to wince. He didn’t need to expose his lingering trauma to this pure soul.

“I was … in an accident,” he said instead. “But I’m okay and it’s almost healed now.”

The girl nodded. Dean was almost astounded at how easy it was with her.

“Whenever I hurt myself, my Auntie Ellen takes me to the Doctor. Or Jo. Or Ash.” Her face scrunches up as she thinks hard. Dean thinks it’s adorable. He finds himself smiling again.

“They always give me colorful plasters! I always get the dinos.” She leans in closer to him when she says the last bit, almost like it’s a secret she only wants him to hear. Dean’s heart warms at the thought, and he doesn’t even know why.

“Really? I’m jealous. I think dinosaurs are amazing.” He used the same hushed tone she had before. Y/N’s eyes widened. “You don’t get dino plasters?” She asked. If Dean hadn’t known better, he would’ve said she was outraged at his confession.

He shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “only boring beige ones.”

Y/N’s eyes widened even more, and her mouth fell open. Then, her lips curved into a beaming smile. “I can give you some of mine! Jo bought me so many the last time she went shopping!”

Before he could even give it a thought, Dean felt her small hand take his, and he was yanked from his seat. Geez, how did a four-year-old kid have so much strength?

His enthusiasm was short-lived, as Sam shouted from the other side of the room.

“Dean, Ellen got us a case!” His little brother was waving around a beige folder, a few newspaper pages hanging out at the sides.

He looked at his brother, then at the girl still clinging her small hand around his fingers.

“Does that mean you have to leave?” Dean’s heart clenched at the quiet, disappointed voice. He crouched down and looked Y/N in the eye.

“Yes,” he said, honestly. “ I have to go to work.”

She tilted her head. “To save people?” She asked. Dean nodded. He didn’t know how she knew, but maybe Ellen told her.

“Yes, exactly. But I will be back soon, and then you can show me your plasters, alright?”

Y/N seemed to think about it, and then nodded her head. Her pigtails were still wiggling up and down. “You promise?” She asked.

Dean nodded. “In fact,” he said, shifted his weight, and held out his pinky finger in front of her. “I pinky promise.”

Y/N grinned up at him. Dean grinned back. She linked her small finger with his.

“Can’t break a pinky promise,” Dean said as he stood up.

She shook her head violently. “Never!”

Dean laughed and waved her Goodbye.

“Let’s go,” he said to Sam as he passed him, and grabbed his jacket.

“Bye, Ellen, Jo.” Sam lowered his voice seriously. “Y/N.”

“Bye, Sam! Bye, Dean!” Y/N waved her hand after them.

“Good luck,” Ellen said. Then they closed the door behind them. The light of the sun was a heavy contrast to the dusky air inside the Roadhouse, and Dean’s eyes needed a while to adjust to the change.

He made his way over to the abomination car, Sam close next to him. His brother bumped his shoulder.

“Plural, huh?” Sam asked, smirking.

And if Dean sped the van up a bit faster, just to give his little brother a good scare now and then, well, that was between him and the Lord above.

779 notes · View notes

seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

Text

It's What You Make It

Dad!Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female reader

Summary: Jake hasn't been on the best of terms with his parents since they found out about you and his baby, and now his mother decides she wants to meet her granddaughter.

Warnings: cursing maybe? Protective Jake

Notes: Suggested by an anon / Part of the Oh, Baby Universe.

Words: 4200

-----

“Jake, dear, your mother would like to meet her granddaughter.”

It was cruel, really, to have such devastating words leave the lips of one of those he loved the most, but maybe that was why she of all people was tasked with it. He wasn't likely to listen to another on the matter. Hell, had anyone else but she called, he wouldn't have answered, and he struggled not to see it as a bit of a betrayal. A trick.

"Gram," he sighed into the phone, running a hand through his hair, "I'm not doing this with them. After everything we just faced with her mother, why should we put ourselves through dealing with mine?"

"You know she had nothing to do with that email."

"Yea and nothing to do with discouraging it, either."

The other end of the line went silent. Jake looked to his left where his daughter was being bounced on her mother's lap just out of earshot. You smiled at the girl, but the stone now sitting on Jake's heart kept it from swelling as it normally would at the sight of your brightened face.

His perfect little family. Safe and sound in California. Far from Texas. Far from the people you'd yet to learn criticized you for your past choices.

When you first asked about them, Jake couldn't hide the fact that his parents were displeased with the coming of his daughter. He'd blamed it on their lack of open-mindedness to the girl being brought into his life under ‘unique’ circumstances, and while that was in fact a part of it, the bulk of their problems they placed solely in you and not trusting why you bothered to return when you left him to begin with. They buried you under a mountain of their judgment and you were completely unaware. But that was how he wanted to keep it. He wanted you in the dark. Oddly enough, the darkness was where you were safest. And that plan had been working so well, too. You had a healthy understanding of the difficulty of parents, and after the way your mother treated him the month prior you hadn't pressured him for more information on his.

I only care about the three of us, Jake. As long as we're together, nothing else matters—that's what you'd said. You sealed that promise with a kiss that led to hours in bed full of sex and naps and cuddles and what felt like hundreds of exchanges of 'I love yous'.

The issue with his parents wasn't brought up again.

And now his grandmother was ruining it.

"What do you expect of me, Gram?" he asked; the first of his rapid-fire questions. "To bring them there? To subject them to that? You really want me to hurt my girlfriend? My daughter? What even makes you think Mom cares to see Eve? There's no way she admitted—"

"Breathe, dear," she soothed. And Jake did as told, but it didn't make him feel the slightest bit better. "I saw it in her eyes."

He sighed, chest noticeably deflating. "Oh, come on. I love you, Gram, but seriously?"

"Jacob Seresin, you hush," she scolded, her voice raised and tinny through the speaker. "You asked me a question, so listen up."

Jake grumbled, defeated. The senior Eve had that power over him. She was the mother his mother should have been. She taught him plenty and raised him well. He knew how to respect his woman because of his Gram. He treated you the way you deserved because she made sure to instill in him the value of women where his own parents had failed to do.

So he listened.

"When I returned from my visit a couple of weeks ago, your mother snuck in the casual question or two whenever your father wasn't around," she explained. "And I told her. Anything she cared to know. That Eve is beautiful and her mother is a stunner." Jake's lips curved upward despite the anxiety building in his chest. "That your girls are perfect. That you are happier than I've ever seen you."

"...And?"

"And she nodded and got a little grin on her face."

Jake waited for more, but it didn't come. His hand rose and fell, smacking against the side of his thigh. "That's your only argument to encourage surrendering the happiness of my family to a couple of snakes?"

"Snakes?" He could practically see the roll of her eyes. "Really, dear?"

"I read you the email."

The email he'd received a few weeks after he got you back and learned of his daughter's existence. The one that spat aggressive levels of disappointment in him, and called you an abundance of names that nearly had him crushing his phone in his palm. The one that expressed very clearly his parents' refusal to acknowledge the woman he loved and his baby as their family.

"No," Jake said as he shook his head. "No, I'm not doing it."

"I'm not saying you have to, dear. I'm just telling you that there is someone else who might want to be a part of your daughter's life. That's more family for Eve to be surrounded by. Another person to love her."

—-

He’d promised her he’d think about it. And while he really wished he could forget her words, they were persistent, nagging, and unwilling to get out of his way; like a damn fly buzzing around his face during all hours of his days and nights.

His grandmother was wise and she was clever to tap into one of his life’s motivations: to provide his daughter with as much love as possible. Though Eve did have love—from him, from you, his team, his grandmother—the potential for so much more was taken away from her.��

She didn’t see your family. They lived across the country and after the way your mother behaved, you’d pretty much cut her off for the time being. His sister’s husband was in the Air Force, stationed at Aviano in Italy with no set date of return. And his parents had made their opinions clear, so he felt it best to never let you or Eve around them. But doing what he believed was best didn’t stop the guilt of denying Eve her family, of not giving her enough. He thought about Christmas coming up and how she wouldn’t have her grandparents. He thought about the major events in her life to come; the birthdays and school plays, the graduations, and the, hopefully only, wedding.

Wait, he stopped himself, scratch the wedding. No wedding. How could his daughter possibly have a wedding if she would never be dating to begin with?

But there was still enough remaining to worry him.

Jake didn’t want a day to come when Eve looked around the room and wondered why she didn’t have the people in her life that her friends at school did. She deserved everything he could possibly give her, and his grandmother calling to inform him he wasn’t providing that was a stab to the heart.

“You’re lost.”

The voice—your voice—was one of two powerful enough to crack the thick shell surrounding his thoughts.

Your fingers wove through his hair as he focused his vision on your face, letting the fog clear to make out the perfection he saw in each feature. You wiggled on the mattress, inching your body closer to his and he lifted his arm to drape over your waist.

“What’s going on?” you asked. “You’ve been zoning out for three days.”

He wouldn’t lie to you—never could. And even if he tried, it would be a waste of breath with the way you managed to sniff out untruths like a damn bloodhound. The information he didn’t tell you he always preferred to label as ‘omissions.’ Those could just barely slip by your clever brain. And he’d only ever done it twice; when he’d neglected to spill his hidden love, and when he hadn’t provided you with all the details of his father’s email. Both seemed like good ideas at the time. Necessary. But now…

“According to Gram,” Jake sighed, “my mother wants to meet Eve.”

You tried to control your face, but the ceasing of your nails grazing across his scalp was enough to tell him you were plenty shocked. Likely plenty terrified, too, with the trauma of the last parental interaction.

“Oh.” You blinked once, twice, three times, as your lips parted and sealed and parted again. “So, that means…what? They're fine with everything now?"

"I doubt it, but…" Jake bit the inside of his cheek. Shook his head. “Honey, I’m really not sure.”

“You trust them?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

He didn’t know, not even after three days of thought. He cared about protecting his family, but whether or not introducing his mother to you and his daughter would be a choice he'd come to regret was hard to say. “What do you think we should do?”

“Baby, your family, your decision.”

With a groan, Jake pulled you closer and turned onto his back, settling your body on top of his.

“But you’re so much smarter than me,” he said, wrapping his arms snuggly around your waist and tilting his chin up for a kiss.

You let him kiss you, despite the weight of the conversation surely causing you as much unease as it was him. You let him kiss you for as long as he wanted. Like you knew just how badly he needed it in that moment. How badly he needed you.

“You’re no idiot, Jake Seresin," you said when he decided it was fair to let you breathe. "I’ll do whatever you think is best.”

He hummed, pushing some of your hair back behind your shoulder. “Why do you have to be so damn supportive and reasonable?”

You smiled so sweetly. Leaned in closer.

“Because I trust you," you whispered, letting your lips slowly travel around his face, pressing gentle kisses where you could. "And I believe in you."

You pulled back, locking your eyes with his, and as you stroked his cheek, you said, “Because you’re my teammate, Jake.”

He let your words soak in—filling him, sating him—before taking a deep inhale through his nose. On the heavy exhale he released a breathy “Fuck.”

You chuckled. “What?”

“It’s just extremely hot when you say shit like that and I am trying to make a decision that really isn’t helped by my dick getting hard.”

He swelled larger in his underwear as he spoke and he could see the very second that mischievous glint took root in your eye.

“Aw," you pouted, slightly grinding your hips into his, making his breath hitch, "Does my man get turned on by commitment?"

His fingers dug into your waist to hold you still, and with a scowl, he said, "You already knew that so quit teasing me."

“Who's teasing?" You asked as you gave him a peck. "You've been distracted for three days, and I miss you. So let me take your mind off it. Then we can get some sleep and talk it over in the morning."

He loved you for that. That you knew him enough to refrain from pushing him in any direction. You knew enough to know when he needed a distraction from the things that most bothered him.

"Deal," he whispered. Then his fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled your face closer to his.

—-

It wasn't talked about in the morning. Not that one nor the weeks worth that followed. The distraction Jake had been so thankful for continued to find itself in the forms of wake-up sex, and invigorating work days, and evenings filled with dedicated family time—things he actually cared about. Thinking about what to do with his mother had been bothersome enough that at the first chance to brush it aside, it slipped from his mind without effort. And he didn’t care, just as he didn’t care how his life had completely split after his father sent that email.

It was a clean severing, like a hot blade through butter, and the two new parts were far from equal. You and his daughter occupied one chunk of his divided world—the larger of the two—and the other chunk was where his parents remained, dwarfed under the shadow of its massive counterpart. It was too easy to let go of that extra bit that was hanging off the end of what was an otherwise perfect life, so he did.

He didn’t follow up with his grandmother—

A mistake he discovered when his mother walked through the front door of the Hard Deck and disrupted the peace surrounding his little family.

His trio had decided to have lunch with Rooster at the bar well before opening hours, and it was the lack of overlapping voices, clinking glasses, and occasional drunken shouting which allowed for the clicking of heels across hardwood flooring to echo clearly throughout the room.

Three voices went eerily silent, the only continuous sound being that of Eve shaking her rattle toy, lost in the sweet ignorance of childhood and completely oblivious to the thickness that had just swelled throughout the bar.

Jake glared at his grandmother who was just off to the side of her daughter-in-law. She stared back, a look of complete innocence on her face until she grew bored with silent standoff and, with a roll of her eyes, made a beeline for you and Eve. She smiled wide, immediately popping the bubble that was holding everyone hostage, to give you a little hug around the shoulders before kissing the top of Eve’s head.

“Oh, I missed you,” she said as huddled beside the small girl.

Jake stood from the rounded table and crossed his arms over his chest, the movement broadening his shoulders and thickening his muscles, like an animal determined to protect his mate and cub from any predator bold enough to test him. And as far as he was concerned, that was exactly what he was looking at. The woman standing still as a statue twenty feet from him was not someone he recognized anymore. He couldn’t guarantee that her next move would not be in the form of a threat, so he didn’t risk it.

His mother raised her hand in a wave weakened by uncertainty. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Her voice was meeker than he expected, and she stood less confidently than he’d ever known in his thirty-four years. Her styled hair and perfectly painted nails and carefully applied makeup suddenly seemed unnatural on the woman before him, like an ill-fitting costume hanging off her body with an uneasy facial expression to match.

“Gram,” Jake began, a deep grit to his tone. He didn’t tear his eyes away from his mother. “What did you do?”

Without glancing her way, Jake knew his grandmother had taken his seat at the table, holding his daughter and likely making silly faces at her as she inserted herself in what was his pleasant weekend.

“You two need to talk,” she said. There was a smile in her voice. A giggle from Eve. “You weren’t going to make the first move, and she was coming either way, so I figured it would be best if I tagged along.”

The crease in Jake’s brow deepened. That was not enough for him. “No warning?”

“Nope. You wouldn’t have agreed.”

He shook his head. His mother still hadn’t moved.

"Is he here?" Jake finally asked her.

His mother startled at his directness, but she recovered after a moment’s passing and took a step closer that Jake immediately made up by taking a step back. She paused. "Jake—"

"Is he here?" he snapped.

The new silence in the aftermath of his sharp tone was loud, terribly loud, and long-lasting. Painfully so.

"Uh, family?" Rooster suddenly said from behind him. "Why don't we take a little walk on the beach."

Chairs scraped across the floor and Jake couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so thankful for his friend. Rooster was the only other person to know the full truth of what was said about Jake’s girlfriend and daughter, and he undoubtedly felt the storm brewing. A storm he knew Jake wouldn’t want his family to witness.

No one argued, and as the others made their way outside, you appeared in front of him, breaking the tension of his steady stare. He looked at you, making sure to soften the hard edge in his eyes to soothe the worry in yours, but it didn’t work. His smile was tight-lipped and brief.

"Go with them, Honey," he whispered with a nod toward the door. He took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles before running his thumb over the top of them. "It's ok."

He tried that smile again, but the expression on your face made it known he was no more convincing than before.

With your free hand you cupped his cheek, then you stood up on your toes to press your lips to his—a little token of strength. When you stepped away from him, you snuck a quick look at his mother before you were on your way, following everyone else out the back door onto the beach.

Only once you were out of his sight did Jake allow his eyes to land back on his mother.

She swallowed hard, her shaky hands clasped in front of her. "She's lovely," she said.

"She is," he replied, crossing his arms once again, stony glare back in place. "Where's Dad?"

Her nerves radiated through the room. He could practically see them—thin wiggly lines emanating from her form.

"He's on a business trip. He doesn't even know I came. I just wanted to meet them. I'm only here for a couple of days and—"

"What happens when he finds out?” Jake interjected. “He'll lose his mind. He’ll show up here, and he won't walk away without making his point clear when it comes to my girlfriend and baby."

He could feel his voice raising as he continued to speak, but he couldn’t restrain himself. The pure rage he’d been trying to tamp down for months was yanked to the surface now that he was looking directly into the eyes of someone who had no issue insulting you, and therefore, hurting him.

She said his name again, but the overwhelming combination of her gentle tone and the pain swirling in her irises had tears beginning to coat his own, a stinging at his nose.

It pissed him off.

"He isn't coming anywhere near them,” Jake practically growled, that internal animal determined to protect his family slipping through the calm demeanor he’d been so close to regaining. “Do you understand me? After the things he said, the things he called her? It's not happening."

His mother nodded. "I understand."

"That little girl is mine. I'm not being tricked into raising someone else's kid!"

"I know, sweetheart,” she said as she attempted a step closer. He flinched but didn’t move away. She took another step. “Gram showed me a picture of her. She looks just like you."

He frowned at her hint of a smile, at her hand extending his way like to earn the trust of an aggressive puppy.

"Jake, I'm so sorry,” She near whispered. She was closer than he realized—he blamed it on his blurring vision—and her palm tentatively landed on his forearm. “This is not how I wanted things to be. You’re my son. The woman you love is outside that door and she birthed my granddaughter.” Her fingers lightly squeezed. “The last thing I want is to be alienated from the family you’ve made.”

For what felt like the hundredth time in the last week, Jake didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think right. He felt lost, and the only things capable of bringing him to safety were not within grabbing distance, separated from him by a door that might as well have been a mile away.

Another palm met his other forearm and his arms were carefully untwined. One of his hands was sandwiched between two smaller ones. He couldn’t decide if it was comforting.

He’d never been terribly close to her, less close to his father, but it didn’t change that she was, in fact, his mother. He’d always feel a bond, in some form. And knowing that her actions, her words, or lack thereof, were too often influenced by being under his father’s thumb stuck in the back of his mind. Rarely did she drift, knowing she’d have to face his frustration, but she had this time, for him, for his child, and it made things all the more difficult. Confusing.

"I know what was said was…horrible. And—" Her eyelids briefly closed as she shook her head. She blew out a subtle breath before looking up at him. “I know I didn't do anything about it. I didn't call you and tell you I wasn't on his side in this. But that's what I'm doing now."

His lips parted but she continued.

“If it doesn’t work, if you don’t want me around them, then I’ll go. I’ll respect that, sweetheart, but I just wanted to try.”

The longer she stood there, the longer she had her hands around his, looking as desperate as she did, the harder it was for Jake to maintain the same depth of anger that he’d been so attached to. It seeped away with the nagging obligation to let her try to be a grandmother to his daughter. Not just for his mother, but for Eve. His baby girl, for whom he would willingly spend his entire life trying to provide everything she deserved and more.

Jake sighed.

“You can meet them,” he said, “But—”

She smiled. “That’s enough for now. I wouldn’t ask for more.”

Good. He wouldn’t give her more. Not now. Not until he saw for himself how she behaved around you and his baby.

Nodding, he said, “Come on, then.”

He could feel her nerves again as they stepped out the back door of the bar, but the moment he saw your face, all of his attention went to you and what you were going to think about what he’d just agreed to.

You only gave a brief look to his mother, a small smile with it, before your eyes were back on his. The question in them he responded to with a nod, then his mother stepped out from behind him. She hadn’t a chance to get a good look at Eve when she arrived, but now that the girl was right in front of her, snuggled in your arms, his mother couldn’t peel her eyes away.

Her hand raised to cover her mouth and muffle the light sob that escaped as she stared in awe at the girl. She eased over to you.

"Could I—" She started but hesitated.

Jake understood her pause. His mother was asking another mother—a woman she didn’t truly know—if she could hold her baby. And what mother would hand her child over to a stranger? He respected her for recognizing that. For not assuming she had a claim on his child.

A relationship with Eve would be a gift to her, but not one she could demand. It was a gift that must be granted. A decision; His and yours. And while he had decided he was ok with his mother being around Eve, you, too, would have to agree.

“Would it be alright with you if I held her?” his mother finally asked.

You looked at Jake again and he nodded again—extra reassurance that he trusted the intentions of the woman asking you to hand over your entire world.

Smile spreading across your face, you said, “Of course,” and lifted Eve in his mother’s direction.

"Oh…gosh,” she breathed, settling the girl on her hip. "You're so wonderful, aren't you."

Her words were breaking as they left her lips, but she continued to murmur sweet praises as she hugged the baby girl close, and kissed the top of her blonde head, and ran her fingers over the much smaller ones. His mother looked at and held her son’s daughter as if she were unreal, delicate, breakable. And that’s exactly what she was. Eve was a miracle—one that brought her parents together again when it seemed so horribly unlikely, and she needed to be treated as such.

Jake’s heart squeezed so beautifully at the sight, and the tears he thought had come and gone threatened to reemerge. He felt full. Oddly complete in a way he didn’t anticipate.

It was uncomfortable to realize how much he wanted that acceptance, for himself, for you, for his child, but he couldn’t deny the relief of seeing his mother care. Not judging but loving the way he chose to live his life despite it being so different than what was expected of him.

A brush against his hand pulled him away from the scene. You tugged on his fingers and grinned when his eyes met yours. You pulled more, but Jake was already moving to sit beside you on the bench.

“You ok?” you asked as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You leaned into him.

“I’m giving it a chance,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’ll see.”

----

A/N: this will have a 2nd part.

Turn on notifications for this blog or @seresinhangmanjake-library if you would like to keep up with my writing.

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bubblegumspacebxtch · 1 year

Text

You Shouldn't

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: Joel knows you shouldn't love him and if hurting you is the only way for you to stop, then so be it.

Warnings || angst, injury (stab wound), mentions of smut, Joel is a bit mean here, reader is called sweetheart, use of Y/N only once

A/N: lt's been a hot minute since I wrote anything on here but I really wanted to write Joel Miller angst so here's that. I have fallen down the TLOU rabbit hole and am currently obsessed with this grumpy old man I call daddy. Will write a part two for this one shot because though I love me good angst, I'm a sucker for happy endings. Enjoy!!

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

Joel swore time stood still the moment those words left your lips. Suddenly the room felt stuffy, every muscle in his body aching to just run and avoid having the inevitable conversation before him.

"Because I love you, Joel..."

Joel looked away but you wouldn't break eye contact, even if it was just the side of his face. You knew the timing of your confession couldn't have been worse, but your heart needed to get it out now.

You and Joel had spent the last three years together, and for the last few months, you both crossed a line by sleeping with each other. It was supposed to be just sex, a way to meet a basic human need that, for the longest time, felt like a luxury. The set boundaries were clear.

"This is just for us to both feel good, alright sweetheart?"

You were adults who understood what the arrangement was, but no matter what state of mind you tried to keep, your heart simply could not be taught. When the three of you had settled in Jackson, it had became even harder to deny the want that kept simmering inside you.

As your found family fell into a rhythm the longer you stayed within the walls of the community, your fantasies of having an actual life with Joel and Ellie grew too. The last years have been about surviving, but now you felt like you could finally start to build a life with the only two people left in the world you'd give anything and everything up for.

It was normal for you to wait up for Joel when he was out on patrol. Despite his insistence that it wasn't necessary, your worries would not let you sleep a wink without knowing he was safe. The sound of the clock felt louder every second you stared at the front door from where you sat on the couch. Ellie offered to keep you company, but as her yawns became more frequent, it didn't take much convincing for her to retire to her own room after she had bid you goodnight.

Your eyelids were starting to feel heavy too, having spent the whole day in the garden harvesting the produce. A few more minutes pass and the sounds of footsteps on the porch made the clouds of sleep in your head clear. Before the door was even open, you were already walking to greet Joel.

The slump of his shoulders and heavy steps were enough to tell you it hadn't been the easiest patrol shift, but it was the dark patch of dried blood on his shirt that had caught your attention. The sight caused your stomach to twist, mind filling with worry over his obvious injury.

"Joel... what happened?"

At the sound of your voice, it was instinct for Joel to always find where it was coming from. Looking up at you, your eyes were soft, but the small frown marring your features told Joel your thoughts were running a mile a minute already.

"It's nothing."

The tall man tried his hardest to walk straight to the kitchen, fighting the urge to clutch his aching side. The pads of your feet against the floor meant you were close behind and Joel braced himself for he knew you were not about to let the coming conversation go.

"Joel, it's not nothing. You're bleeding. Let me take-"

"Sweetheart, I'm telling you, it's just a cut. I can handle it."

You offered nothing in reply but to let out a disappointed sigh before opening the cabinet with the medical supplies. Joel watched you move around, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small smile as he took in your small frame dwarfed by the old shirt of his you wore.

"Joel, sit down. Please."

You gestured to the dining room chairs and Joel still had some fight left in him, but the pleading look you sent his way kept him quiet. Joel would do anything for you, something the both of you knew for sure.

The walk to the dining area was short but Joel's discomfort was obvious. The quiet grunt he let out as he sat didn't get passed you. Lifting his shirt, your gasp was instantaneous as you stared at an obvious stab wound. You fought the urge to tell Joel off for passing the puncture as a simple cut as you grabbed disinfectant to clean the tear in his skin.

Joel let you work on his wound in peace. He knew you were worried, but you weren't above nagging him for being stubborn and always denying help. He looked at you like how he always has, with all the love and adoration he thinks he can no longer really give.

"Joel, you can't keep downplaying situations like this. You're hurt and this is a serious injury. I-I know you don't want me to worry, but I want to help you..."

The frustration in your words was palpable. Tension begun to set in between you two. It was becoming clear that this issue was something that needed to be discussed. Joel always had to appear like he couldn't get hurt, that he could hold his own and that he didn't need anyone. You on the other hand would bend over backwards for him. You desperately needed to show him how he didn't have to do everything alone, he has you.

But Joel was many things, one of them being stubborn as a mule. He knew you cared for him, but he refused to acknowledge what that meant. The hardened man would not entertain even the slightest idea that your concern for him may come from a place of love.

"I don't really know why you care so much, sweetheart. I've told you a hundred times, I can handle myself. Don't have to get so worked up over me."

"Because I love you, Joel..."

You couldn't love him. You shouldn't. He was old and Joel believed he was a reflection of everything wrong with the world. You, however, are a beacon of hope. Joel had watched you lighten the heart of everyone you had met, especially Ellie.

You were young and vibrant, despite having grown up in apocalyptic times. You too had lost everything, but unlike Joel, you always found the means to go on. Ellie and him loved your spirit. The younger girl had once jokingly said you were the sun itself, and Joel immediately understood what she meant. You were warmth in every sense of the word.

He didn't deserve you. Joel knew he couldn't have you, and even if you wanted him, he shouldn't. Joel was convinced he'd ruin you, let you down and loose you. It was easier to pretend he could no longer love like he once had. But you wouldn't let him.

For the past years you've been together, you wouldn't allow Joel to believe he didn't deserve good things. You'd try your hardest to show him you would not have anyone else but him, that you'd offer your heart for his a million times over.

The silence had caused a lump to form in your throat. You knew Joel took his time with processing emotions, but his lack of a response hurt you nonetheless. Before you knew it, he was pulling away.

He pushed backwards the chair he sat on, causing the legs to screech against the floor. The sound had made you visibly cringe and your mind was scrambling for a way to diffuse the situation.

"I know we agreed there shouldn't be any feelings involved but-"

"Exactly. We agreed that we were just hooking up. You can't go dumping your feelings on me like that."

"Joel, I-I have loved you almost as long as I've known you. Long before this arrangement even began. I-"

"Yeah... well you shouldn't. Don't be stupid, Y/N."

Joel abruptly stood up to leave before making his way to the front door. He could feel your stare as he paused in front of the door. Like a real glutton for punishment, he turned to look back at you. The tears had already began to run down your cheeks. Joel felt like his chest would implode seeing you so distraught, but his heart could not stop his mind nor his mouth.

"I can't be here right now."

And just like that, he's out the door and on to the street, making his way to Tommy's. As if hurting you wasn't punishment enough, your cries were the last thing he hears before closing the door and leaving.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller drabble #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction

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chaotic-iguana · 8 months

Text

Refuge | chapter three.

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter | general masterlist

chapter three: damning rebirth

wordcount: 3.8k - my longest work yet lmao summary: what if reader and joel were married before the outbreak? warnings: angst, estrangement, anger, violence, sad, its like centered around finding yourself again, reader and joel are both quite complicated broken ppl im trying to do them justice, not much joel he’ll be in the next chapter i promise.

You didn’t speak to him for weeks after that first afternoon. You’d run out of words to say. You stopped speaking to his brother, too, for keeping you in the dark; ignoring Maria’s justifications, the constant droning of “…he did it to keep you safe, you know? So you wouldn’t leave Jackson’s safety and run after Joel. You could have died. Sarah’s death would have broken you, like it broke him, and you should be thankful that…”

You tuned her out after a while. It was getting tiring coming up with rude adjectives to describe how wrong she was in your head. There was no fight left in you to even protest, so you just left the room while she was talking. You loved her, but there were days you thought she just enjoyed hearing herself talk. Which she was extremely welcome to do, but with the acknowledgement that you would rather walk into a bloaters' den unarmed than sit through it.

Tommy had lied to you, kept the truth about your family from you, and no matter how many ways he spun it, it wouldn’t change the fact that when your first fucking words to him were asking about Joel and Sarah, he had looked you in the eyes and lied through his goddamn teeth when he said he didn’t know. He could go crying to Maria all he liked. You’d need a while not to recoil with disgust every time you saw him no matter how many times you got told to stop acting like a child. When Tommy realised the extent of your anger, he attempted to remedy it by telling you everything. Sarah getting shot on outbreak day - you still winced when he said it- and Joel’s time in the QZ, with a woman called Tess. You didn’t even know what to make of that. You probably couldn’t unpack your feelings about it if you tried. How he found the girl you’d gotten alarmed by - the job he got, how he took her in, how he lied to her and why she won’t look at him now.

You didn’t even bother forming opinions about any of it, let alone voice any. Thinking was futile; your thoughts or ideas or opinions or offense wouldn’t change anything, would they? You continued the same monotonous routine you had established for the past year or so since you arrived to Jackson, this time with even fewer occasions of leaving the house for a party or drink.

The shop and your bedroom became your life, the only people you spoke to were those looking for books. You’d collected them for years in the hope that if the outbreak ever got under control, there would be literature somewhere for humanity to remember what it used to be. Or perhaps a relic, serving as a legacy for a species long gone. Something, just to yell at the world and all those to come after, that you were here, even when you weren’t really. You hadn’t quite been here since the day the world had ended. Since the day you had lost everything. And now, twelve years later, all of it just came crashing back.

The pain was as if someone had crawled into your flesh, peeled your ribs back, and plucked your heart out.

Sarah had become less of a person and more of a concept to you over time. The intangibility that very literally gave you strength when you lay bruised and beaten, held down and overlooked by snarling strangers. She had been your salvation; your everything. Losing her wasn’t something you had truly came back from the first time around, suppressed guilt and fear and worry gnawing at the back of your mind. The reappearance of all of it, overshadowed this time by crippling guilt, was a cruel albeit welcome one. You wanted to feel bad - because much like Joel, it was what you deserved. You had failed - not only as a mother but as a wife, too. You should have just gone home on time that fucking night, but life got in the way as if often used to back then. All those little things that got blown out of proportion like work and deadlines and projects and careers didn’t even matter now. You should have come home. You should have been there.

You didn’t even want to imagine how Joel felt. To you, the ache was a phantom limb - trailing you wherever you went, interwoven with your shadow. To him, it was a stain on his hands that he never seemed to be able to rub out; he could always see a tinge of crimson coating his fingers, ever since that night.

Neither of you could look the other in the eye anymore.

Yet, even after all of it life simply went on, stuttering but still relentless in its proceedings. Pink, jagged scars marred the flesh of time as it stretched around the metalwork of the lives you had fought to keep, yet lost the worth of anyways. Fate is seldom kind.

It wasn’t too peculiar, this distance. Ironically, even after all these years, you both understood the other perfectly - as if each thought either of you had, each feeling you felt, was respected and loved and relayed by the refuge of your marriage, still. You understood that he was too ashamed by his self-proclaimed failure to speak to you, and he understood that the loss had so wholly devoured you that you wouldn’t have the strength to look in his eyes and be reminded of hers for a while.

The song and dance continued, the delicate persuasion of ensuring not to jolt the fragile existences the other had created for themselves. Joel didn’t come near your bookshop, and you didn’t go near Tommy, lest the words ‘family dinner’ be spoken into existence. Truly, he was idiot enough to suggest it. As if all that your currently brilliant (more like fractured) relationship with your husband (was he still? what about tess?) needed was a dinner with his brother, his sister in law, and the kid he had apparently adopted, lied to, and was now in a rough spot with. Gotta love reunions, no?

In another life, you would have stepped in. You would have spoken to either of them - perhaps even made more of an effort to include Ellie in your own life to ensure that after all she had been through, she wouldn’t feel alone even when she wasn’t doing well with Joel. In this life, though, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Joel acted like a selfish, moronic liar, sure. But if this kid couldn’t see, that at his very core, he was just plain scared - that he practically shook in his (adorable) cowboy boots anytime someone mentioned what happened to Ellie - then, great, she deserved Joel not realising that it was her decision to save humanity; to pay the price, to do what it took; entirely independent of him, or anyone else. You tamped down on the cynical part of you sneering at the romantic heroism of it all. The world knew now, better than before, how selfish man was. How utterly human, for Joel to struggle to separate his feelings for his own daughter and the one he had taken in; for Ellie to be too caught up in her own view to even consider what Joel was going through. It was almost like one of those plays you used to enjoy reading - like a Greek tragedy. The hamartia of both heroes was humanity alone.

They’d come around, eventually. Joel and Sarah always did, too.

The irony lay mostly in the fact that you had spent a decade craving him - his comfort and his warmth. The kneading of his large hands on your back after a long day; the scratch of his stubble when he nuzzled into your neck from behind. The years you didn’t have him were spent with only him in mind; a mindless worship of the love you had. Now that he was within reach; close enough to grasp and curl your fingers around, to sink an burrow into; you were… lost. The desperation; the wild frenzy with which you had remembered only them through the years - to have lost one now leaves you clueless about what to do with the other. The cracks that have made their way into your heart - the ones tainting your soul - you see them reflected in him, too. Your first look into his dark eyes told you that he, too, has done too much to be standing here today; that his first kill, too, had been the man he once was. No wonder you can’t bear to look at each other anymore. The grief - not only of what you have both lost, or what you once had, but the grief of who you both used to be - rears its ugly head in any room you find yourselves in together. Look at me, it screams. Look at what the years have done to me. I can’t recognise myself in mirrors anymore. I don’t see who I used to be. I was so beautiful. I was so good. Look at me. Look at me. Look-

Is this how the angels felt when they fell? You’d never know - there were no angels; there was no God. What divinity would allow for any of this to happen? This joke, this mockery of nature. You never were religious, but fumbled prayers had found their way into your vocabulary every night when you didn’t know where Joel and Sarah were. You - who had never even stepped into a church had prayed.

You must have forgotten there was nobody sitting in the sky to listen.

You had made your peace with the mutual decision to avoid him and the girl - not only because you didn’t even know how to start apologizing to her-but because you were content with the mere knowledge that he was here, that he was alive and breathing.

Tommy’s guilt worked in your favor, ensuring that he didn’t try pairing you and Joel up for patrols - likely fearful of the fallout that might occur (but like, what could even happen? another apocalypse?) but the comedown of that meant that you were paired up with Fred, instead. A man who infuriated you to no end, one who found it extremely interesting that you were once married, that you have a child. Had.

His ceaseless questions made you want to rip your hair out, but you refrained - if only so he wouldn’t have another reason to put his arms around you to try ‘calming’ you like last time. He was a bastard, but you didn’t have it in you to challenge him just yet.

Your answers to his enquiries were grunted or simply monosyllabic, your irritation clear as day in the set of your jaw, the slant of your brow. Nevertheless, like the dumbfuck he was, he persisted. So then how was this your fault?

It had been a decent morning. You’d gotten up early in time for the patrol, taken a shower, drank some water and arrived at the stables. But as you stood outside, you could hear the commotion of people inside - boisterous cheering and laughing as if one would hear in a pub. Interest piqued, you inched your way to the entrance of the barn silently, trying to understand what was going on.

“…fuckin’ whore’s been leading me on for like half a year, turned out she was married the whole time. Dodged a bullet, though. Nearly lost her shit when he told her that her kid died. Went completely apeshit and ruined my goddamn shirt with her snot- nearly clawed through my arm, too. Feel bad for the poor husband, had to yell at everyone to get out just so he could calm her crazy ass down. Everyone’s lost someone, lady. Get over it, right? Plus, girl that age wouldn’t have done too well at a QZ, know what I mean? Wouldn’t have gone untouched, anyways.” He paused for them all to laugh at the supposed comedic gold in his words - him and his little pack of primitives - and all you could do was stand there, glued to the spot in shock.

The fucking audacity. Leading him on? You fucking tried your best to get him to stop talking to you, stop touching you - and you didn’t claw at his arm because you were crazy, you did it because you were fucking panicking and some idiot was making it worse by caging you in. And that was brushing aside what he said about Sarah. No, that had you seeing red, chest heaving.

Fuck, the old you would have broken his nose on the first day. Never is too late to do the right thing, is it?

Just like before, a laugh was forming in your chest. A giggle at first, before you were chuckling, clapping a hand to your mouth and horrified with your own humour. The joke here was priceless, though. See - the world had ended, God was dead, and you were worried about being lightly reprimanded? Fuck that, and fuck him. You hadn’t let yourself feel fear out there. You hadn’t let yourself feel despair, and you sure as hell hadn’t let yourself feel hope. Joel’s arrival forced you to confront all the pain you had ignored. This cunt of a man was managing to unearth all the anger you had neglected, too. His fucking funeral.

Your tongue sat agitated against your teeth in anticipation, waiting to give way to the venom lacing the words in your brain.

Fury sparked in your blood, washing away all your hesitation. Fragmented, she etched herself into the ring of black that blew out your pupils; the unfaltering thumping of your heart in your chest. The threads of your fate were now in her slender, silhouetted hands, and all that was left for you to do was obey. Not that you had a choice.

Before you could so much as blink, you had burst into the crowd. Fred’s eyes widened at the wild snarl on your face, begging and apologizing.

He was unaware, though, of just how sick you had become of apologies. Tommy’s apologies, Joel’s apologies, Maria’s shitty ones, and then the sympathetic apologies you’d been getting from customers because apparently word of Sarah and her role in your life had spread like wildfire throughout Jackson. Joel wouldn’t have shared it, nor would Tommy- not when he knew you were two seconds away from breaking his nose just weeks ago. That left the kid Joel bought-Ellie-or Fred. And something just told you it wasn’t the girl. You’d trust Joel’s judgement blindly any day.

His empty sorrys fell upon deaf ears, his trembling voice cracking as he repeated them over and over.

You grinned, baring your teeth.

“Hello, Fred. Hello, everyone. Having a party and I wasn’t even invited?” You pouted mockingly. “Y’ know what I personally think is absolutely, knee-slappingly hilarious?” You paused, watching their curiosity grow as they fell hook, line and sinker for the cheerful façade, furrowing ther brows in question and stepping in closer. “How untouched you look, asshat.” Your grin dropped just as you rocked back on your heels, surging forward within a split second while throwing all your weight into your fist.

Just as it collided with the asshat's jaw.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You’ve been…frazzled since Joel came back, fine, but I cannot excuse your behaviour just because I know you or because you’re family. This was absolutely out of line, is that clear?” Maria stopped her pacing to turn to you, expecting a justification or an apology. You offered neither. When you refused to so much as look up from your split knuckles, she threw her hands up, huffing at her husband, who was leaning against the table sheepishly while wincing every time her voice rose as she yelled at you.

The door swung open and Joel practically stumbled in, eyes searching wildly until they landed on you curled up on a chair with your hands in your lap. Did news seriously spread that fast, even now? Guess people don’t have much to do when the world has ended.

“Look- I know, I know you went through a lot. At first, you were spacey and Tommy told me to just leave it alone. Then, you got the bookshop and you just spent all your time there or on patrols, never even trying to integrate yourself here, and I’ve let it go because he-“ a finger in Tommy’s direction, “-begged me to. Let go of your little…tantrum with Ellie, too. I watched Tommy mope around and I said nothing even when you refused to accept that he hadn’t told you about Joel, for your own good.” Tommy flinched, but she went on. “I just can’t do it this time. You broke Fred’s jaw, you know? He is a contributing, well-liked citizen in Jackson. Not a recluse. I didn’t believe you’d done it until I saw the state of your hand. You’re always so quie-just-just give me one fucking reason you would punch him.” She was panting by the end, her chest falling rapidly under the weight of her own tirade.

Joel had planted himself directly between you and Maria, as if trying to protect you from the onslaught of her words. He looked more apologetic than you did, hands extending towards her while he took a deep breath, attempting to placate her.

“Maria-now just wait a damn minute, she wouldn’t-“

Was he defending you? When had that happened? When had you become this-this blubbering, weak version of yourself that Joel had to protect?

The cold, unforgiving numbness loosened its grip; fear, guilt but most strongly, shame coiling in your gut. Maria was right, in her own fucked up way. You had retreated so far back into yourself that all that was left within your grasp now was mere tendrils of who you used to be.

Sarah would have been proud of me for punching the bastard, though.

The thought rang in your mind as you raised your head, squared your shoulders. Took the stutter out of your voice, and looked Maria right in the eyes.

“Your contributing, well-liked citizen said Sarah was lucky to die. That she wouldn’t have gone untouched in a QZ. Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. And thanks to how well liked he is, I didn’t get a chance to tell you that he’s been touching me for months. That he took advantage of the fact that I was too fucking broken to say anything, to anyone. It’s not like you would’ve believed me.” You watched both Millers’ faces harden, brows furrowing as fury began sinking her talons in their flesh. Joel looked murderous, jaw set at that angle you knew meant he was livid. Good. You had been, too. Tommy looked shocked, anger painting his features, and his wife just looked terrified, eyes darting from you to Joel, wide and panicked. It made you smile at her, the curl of your mouth dripping with condescension and mockery.

“Maria, I’m so sorry you’ve had to overlook this many…grievances, let’s call them. I’ll work on my attitude here, I promise. I’ll go to book club and gossip about my husband and my dead daughter. I’ll do my hair and cut my nails and smile at people who don’t fucking deserve it. Hell, I’ll even forgive Tommy.” You pause, nodding at him, watching the relief in his eyes. Smile dropping, you meet Maria’s gaze again.

“But here’s what I won’t do- I won’t stand in a room with that asshole again without breaking all the other bones in his body. I won’t stay quiet next time his hands are on me - I’ll snap his fucking neck. Anyone else with anything else to say about Sarah - even if it’s just goddamn condolences - will find themselves in a similar predicament. Is that clear?” She blinked at you, mouth wide open at the radical transformation in you as you spoke, taking so long to nod that you doubted she’d heard you at first. You didn’t blame her - you’d folded in on yourself, made yourself small these past few years. Become meek: looking at the floor, wringing your hands; doing absolutely anything to avoid confrontation or issue. You’d been too tired to fight or stand on your own two feet, and everyone had focused on the wobble in your voice; the wet lining in your eyes; the shake of your hands, and just decided that just because you chose not to challenge them, you weren’t capable of it. Fuck that.

Joel’s eyes shone as he looked at you, chin dipping in acknowledgment as he, too, had a stunned look on his face. You just shrugged back at him, swinging your legs and getting up, walking out of the house without so much as a glance over your shoulder.

The flame that had forged your spirit - the fire burning in your veins, the one snuffed out long ago - flickered back to life. Dim, shaky, practically translucent - but ignited.

And fuck, it felt good to be back.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @breakfastatjoels, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis, @pawnshopb1ues. dividers by me! series taglist (same rule: message/comment to be added or removed, no hard feelings): @spookyxsam, @obscurexsorrows, @planet-marz1, @lunxramour, @anavatazes, @joeldjarin, @stunkbiggu, @joels-darlin, @casa-boiardi, @noisynightmarepoetry, @chiogarza, @jasminedragoon, @daddy-din, @moonlightdivine, @stickthegremlin, @jamesmasbone, @avampiregf, @amanitacowboy

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