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jtl-fics · 11 months

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Fluent Freshman - Part 29

“Neil, why do you have Smith’s phone?” Andrew asks as the two of them are setting out plates for lunch. Neil startled and looked down at the phone that he had just sat at the table and furrowed his brow.

“What do you mean? This is mine?” Neil asks. He knows his phone even if he’s not really the best with them.

The one that Andrew had given him his Freshman year had died after it got run over by the Maserati when Neil left it on the roof of the car by accident. The second one Andrew had gotten him had been destroyed in rather spectacular fashion earlier in the year when he’d had a bit of a freak out on January 19th. The team knew better than to text him on that particular day now but Andrew had said that he’d take custody of his phone this year. Wymack had stepped in with a phone that same day before Andrew could buy him a new one and that phone had been launched at the Baseball captain that summer.

All this to say, Neil is now looking at the phone in concern because it is highly likely he swapped his with FF’s.

“No it’s not.” Andrew sighs and points to a corner, “You cracked yours up here.” He opens the phone and then the contacts and sure enough Neil doesn’t see his own contacts but the ones that Nicky had programmed into FF’s the day before.

“Oh, I guess I switched them at the hospital.” He says with an embarrassed blush. Maybe he should get a little accessory to differentiate his phone from the other ones that Wymack has gotten.

There’s a slight commotion in the kitchen, “Kevin, stop trying to add vanilla protein powder to Smithy’s soup!” Nicky shouts.

“He needs protein to heal properly! That nutritionist might just feed him a loaf of bread since he is using an outdated model!” Kevin argues back.

“Kevin the doctor said clear soup also do you want to make Smiths sick? Vanilla protein powder and chicken broth?” Aaron asks disgust evident.

“I’d use unflavored but this is all that’s in the house and I am not going shopping until this weekend is over.” Kevin argues back.

“Smiths went out shopping on Black Friday and came back unscathed. He even went out into the worst of it just to get some groceries for baking and breakfast.” Aaron says with a huff.

“He still got stabbed!” Kevin returns.

“Kevin, he was definitely not grocery shopping when he got stabbed.” Nicky shoots back.

“He needs-“

“Przywiążę cię do krzesła.” Neil hears Smith’s Grandma cut Kevin off. Her tone is so sweet just like it has been the last couple times she has interrupted an argument between them all. She really has warmed up to them since Andrew confessed.

Nicky lets out a loud bark of laughter.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah, cutting onions make me laugh.” Nicky returns quickly.

Kevin walks out of the Kitchen with the same gooey expression he’s gotten every time Smith’s Grandma has said something sweet to him but considering how often and how hard Nicky laughs at what she says he wonders if she’s just sassing him in a sweet tone.

He really needs to pick up a phrase book.

He might like her even more if his theory is correct.

“It shouldn’t be a big problem.” Neil says but he is a bit more careful as he moves FF’s phone away from where it could get damaged. “Smith is definitely asleep. He looked really tired.” Neil says and it twists his own stomach to think about how FF looked in his hospital bed. FF wouldn’t take anything more than the bare minimum when it came to pain medication.

Each “I’m fine.” He gave had him coming to a deeper and deeper understanding of how frustrating it is to have someone who is CLEARLY not fine say they are.

“I’m more concerned about who might text you.” Andrew says.

Neil shrugs, “Ichirou is more the type to just show up.” Because it’s true. Every time he’s met Ichirou there had been very little warning.

Andrew frowns but then Nicky is coming out with lunch. It was nothing fancy but a home cooked meal always made Neil feel warm. Smith’s grandma had just been using what was in their pantry so far but the two other meals (and her pie) had been amazing.

“Lunch is ready. We’ll head back to the hospital afterwards to see when Smithy can get discharged.” Nicky says putting a large bowl of pasta in the center of the table. Aaron came out a moment later with the Parmesan shaker and the protein powder bottle.

“Here you go Kevin, add as much as you want to your own meal.” Aaron says in a sweet tone just like Smith’s Grandma.

“Eat shit Aaron.” Kevin scowls now knocked out of his gooey expression as fills his plate with pasta and reaches for the Parmesan.

Neil can’t help but let out a puff of laughter at the interaction and lets the worry of being away from his phone slide away. FF was sleeping, he was safe, and Ichirou had not expressed any interest in talking to him.

“Pass that to me when you’re done.” Neil asks pointing at the Parmesan as he fills his and Andrew’s plates.

***

There had been a plan.

Nathaniel Wesninski was supposed to be at this hospital at least according to his cell phone location. His future investment was not the best at keeping that device on him though so he was willing to wait when there were no signs of the Wesninski. There would, of course, be a cost for his patience. He had his men go seek out the uninvolved civilian. If Wesninski came back and found his friend threatened due to his lackadaisical nature with his phone perhaps he’d remember to keep it on him.

Except now that very uninvolved civilian is sitting in front of him. The ’Smith’ that Wesninski had spoken of.

He sees Wesninski’s phone sat on the table and his eyes go back to the young man in front of him. He wonders if this was some ploy by Wesninski, some statement. This young man in front of him took out one of the Butcher’s top men on his own.

He’d confirmed it when he’d gone to see Jackson earlier that day. He went to remind them what would happen if they tried to turn over anything to the Federal agents and to see how two of his biggest headaches had been taken out so suddenly.

Jackson talked about how Wesninski’s friend hadn’t seemed surprised to find him in the alley, had seemed like he had been expecting it and how swiftly he had been taken out. Wesninski’s guard dog had gone out afterwards and they’d lead Romero into a trap that resulted in his arrest and this civilian swearing up and down that Romero was the one that stabbed him even though Romero asserts that he never had a firm grip on the knife.

A great way to ensure he was held by the police while they were fully investigated. They wouldn’t have much time to investigate either of the Butcher’s remnants. Ichirou was only offering the choice between something painful or something easy.

The young man in front of him offered nothing, waiting for Ichirou to begin the talks. His expression clearly showing that he’d happily wait Ichirou out as if he was long used to tense silences. There is no doubt that this man in front of him knows exactly who he is but he still has the audacity to wait him out.

“Where is Wesninski?” He tightens his fist at having to ask first.

“That’s not Captain Neil’s last name anymore.” FF returns with the first hint of expression on his face being a frown.

The first piece of information given. So, loyal to Nathaniel and not to the Wesninski line. Loyal to Captain Neil.

“Captain Neil is getting lunch.” He answers, “I’m the only one here for you to talk to right now.” He adds after a moment putting his hands on the table.

Ichirou can understand what isn’t being said.

“Does, Josten, realize you’re here?” He asks taking care to use Wesninski’s new last name knowing he wouldn’t get his answers otherwise. He has a hard time imagining the man who was so loyal to his friends purposefully leaving this one to act as defense for him.

Wesninski had been very clear during his brief phone conversation with him, “Smith was just caught up in all of this. He’s not a threat to you Lord Moriyama.” He had said voice steady and without a hint of a lie.

“In the hospital? Of course.” He returns, “Down here talking to you? He’ll probably be upset.” he says after a moment.

“And yet, you’re here.” He says mirroring the man’s own relaxed posture.

Loyal but willing to do something that might displease the one he is loyal to if it would keep them safe. Ichirou stops himself from looking to his left where his most loyal man stood. Connor had stepped in front of threats he hadn’t seen coming plenty of times, had questioned him even when Ichirou had threatened to cut out his tongue for it, and had always had the courage to look Ichirou in the eye when he explained himself no matter how injured he was or how irate Ichirou was.

It’s something rare and it seems like it is something Wesninski has found unknowingly.

“Yes, I’m here to talk about Friday night.” He says, “I assume you’ve already spoken with Romero and Jackson.” He says moving the conversation away from Wesninski. Bringing Ichirou’s attention and possible ire to himself.

A truly rare find in his world.

“Yes, let’s talk about Friday night.” He agrees.

***

What was it about the Smith family and making great food?

It was just a simple combination of canned tomatoes, butter, pasta, onions, cheese, spices and garlic but it had Neil going for a third serving. Smith’s Grandma had really made enough to feed an army and when he’d commented Nicky had just reached over and tried to pinch his cheek fat only for his fingers to find little to grab onto, “You’re too thin! Eat more!” He exclaimed before repeating it to Smith’s Grandma in Polish who nodded earnestly.

Wymack was at the table after he took a shower. Kevin was still trying to convince Aaron of all people that he should be allowed to put protein powder into the clear soup that was simmering on the stove top for FF. The dietary restrictions someone faced while they were healing from stomach surgery was no joke.

The other Dealer had dropped despite Wymack and Neil’s best attempts to get Lisa to stay. Seemed determined to head back to her small town and rejoin the family cult she had escaped from. He’d been worried about her going home but she had insisted she’d be back.

It was unfortunate but it was also Lisa’s choice.

His stomach twists wondering if FF is going to go back to Washington with his Grandma when he gets released. There had barely been a whisper of danger from Neil’s past since Ichirou had put that bullet in Riko’s head and now one of his few friends that had been entirely uninvolved in that nightmare was in the hospital because of him.

Andrew elbows him.

Neil turns to look and Andrew is carefully putting a penne pasta on each prong of his fork, “I can hear you worrying.” He says in Russian.

“What if Smith leaves?” He responds back in the same language.

“He has the right to.” Andrew shrugs and shoves the pasta into his mouth.

“I don’t want him to.” Neil admits, FF is a friend. A good friend.

“He still can leave even if you don’t want him to.” Andrew says as he proceeds to once again put a penne pasta on each of his fork’s prongs. “I don’t think he will though.” He adds before shoving his fork into his mouth again.

Neil blinks, “Why?” He asks.

FF isn’t like how Neil was his Freshman year, he’s steady and sure but Neil wouldn’t blame the Freshman if ‘possibly being killed off by remnants of my Captain’s crime family’ is a step too far for FF. Wouldn’t blame FF if he runs.

“He still calls you Captain Neil.” He says reaching over and squeezing Neil’s knee with his hand.

Neil blinks.

He thinks.

FF laid out on the concrete as Andrew worked to stem the blood from his stab wound, “It’s a weird sex alley Captain Neil! I don’t know WHAT to tell you!” He exclaims ready to make a joke even as he’s bleeding because of a situation Neil’s existence put him in.

FF still floating from the initial large amount of pain medication he was on pulling on Neil’s sleeve, “I’m glad you’re okay Captain Neil.” Before falling back into his drugged sleep.

FF’s eyes softening as Neil offered to get a nurse to give him more pain medication, “Really Captain Neil, I’m fine.” He says.

He lays his own hand over Andrew’s.

“I guess he does.” He offers a small tentative smile.

“Eat your pasta Junkie.” Andrew says in English now.

“You’re too thin!” Nicky reminds him and Smith’s Grandma must have picked up on the terminology since she nods earnestly in agreement as the two of them were packing up leftovers and the soup Smith’s Grandma had made for him so they could head back to the hospital to keep FF company.

***

“Why did you go out into the alley?” Ichirou asks.

“Isn’t it better that I was in the alley?” The man across from him asks with a raised brow, as if Ichirou was asking a strange question. “If I had stayed in the club, who knows what would have happened or how many people would have been hurt.” He explains without Ichirou needing to lower himself to asking.

There’s truth to that.

It’s been on the news that the remaining Wesninski inner-circle had been captured but since there’d only been one injury it had been largely overshadowed by news regarding the mass injury incidents surrounding Black Friday. If Romero had started had gotten the general public involved this would be much harder for him to silence the ones involved.

Still…

“This has caused me quite a bit of trouble. It does not look good that I am not the one who found them.” He says because there’d been talks from some of the old men he had yet to rid himself of from his Father’s time. They had wanted the remaining Wesninski men to be brought back into the fold but there was little chance of that happening now. Ichirou planned on disposing them after showing that they were worthless and using it as an excuse to start removing some of the dead weight from his father’s time.

Ichirou was not a man who tolerated incompetence.

“Isn’t it better that they were taken into custody like this?” The man across from him asks, “They were some of the Butcher’s best from what Captain Neil has told me. The fact that it only resulted in me going to the hospital and they were taken out by Andrew and I is one of the better outcomes.” He says.

Ichirou pauses and considers it.

The two men that those relics had wanted for their ‘competence’ and ‘ability’ had been taken out in a way that showcased what Ichirou had thought of them. They were sloppy, they were over-confident, and worst of all they were incompetent.

“Before I forget.” Smith says and his hand goes to the bulge in his jacket pocket.

Ichirou can feel Conner tense behind him and he wonders where this had gone wrong or how the conversation had broken down but he doesn’t have long to wonder about it as Smith pulled something out that was unmistakable as a toy with it’s bright yellow coloring. Smith sets it on the table between them and Ichirou cannot help the confusion that must show on his face despite his many years of training to keep his face blank.

“What is that?” Conner asks sounding utterly bewildered behind him.

“I used this to temporarily blind Jackson during our fight. I figure it would be useful evidence for you.” Smith says.

He hears a bark of laughter to his right as Michael reaches for the toy.

Useful evidence indeed.

It would be easy to show this as a sign that those relics could hardly be trusted to have an opinion in how he ran his empire. Those men they so prized taken out by a children’s toy.

This has gone to his benefit.

“So it would seem.” He finally says, “I will make sure to reward your assistance.” He says wanting a stronger hold over the man in front of him, a tie of some sort to the Moriyama family.

Smith shakes his head in the negative. “I didn’t do anything noteworthy. Whatever it is should go to Captain Neil.” He argues.

Rare find indeed.

“It will be done.” He says and figures with the additional cash flow eliminating the search for the Wesninski men, the removal of his father’s hanger-ons, and the blood he can squeeze from the family Romero and Jackson had intended to go to ( a supposedly allied family) he could more than afford to drop what his three Exy investments owed him as a percent.

His eyes shift over to Smith across from him and finds that he was even more willing to lower those percentages if he could not only drop the dead weight of his father’s empire but perhaps gain someone useful. “Still, I like to reward those who have directly benefitted me. We will take care of any and all hospital fees related to this incident.” He looks to his right and Michael nods.

Smith’s face doesn’t give much away, his pokerface was quite exceptional.

“Thank you." He accepts and says nothing else so Ichirou decides to make his offer.

“I have heard that you are studying languages.” He says.

“I am.” Smith says.

“Which ones do you know?” He asks.

Smith blinks, surprised by the question, “Fluently? French, German, Spanish, Polish, Dutch, Italian, R-“ he pauses and shakes his head, “Recently, I’ve been studying Japanese, Chinese, and some Korean.” He says strangely stumbling over a word for the first time this entire conversation.

A useful skill.

“If you ever find yourself looking for work,” Ichirou snaps his fingers and Conner had a card in his hand in an instant, consider reaching out.” He says before he offers it with both hands and is pleased when Smith accepts it with a slight bow before taking it with both hands. “I see you are also studying the etiquette.” He adds.

Smith looks up from the business card and he looks paler but Ichirou chalks it up to the fact that bowing slightly with his current stomach status likely hurt far more than he had let on. “If you don’t know the etiquette you only know half of the language.” He says and Ichirou quite likes the sentiment.

“Tell Josten that I no longer need to speak with him. Our conversation was satisfactory.” Ichirou says as he rises to his feet.

“I will do that…Lord Moriyama.” Smith says bowing his head politely.

***

The sight of Ichirou Moriyama was always going to be one that made Neil nervous.

The only good thing about seeing him right now was that Kevin had gone with Coach and Aaron in a separate car so that the two of them could continue their argument about protein powder in FF’s soup and Andrew had snagged a spot up front while Coach would have to park farther back.

“Lord Moriyama, I did not expect to see you here.” He greets head down and he almost goes to his knees if it wouldn’t have attracted the sort of attention that Ichirou hated from the public. He just hopes that Andrew isn’t scowling and that Nicky and Smith’s Grandma can keep quiet.

“Perhaps if you kept your phone with you then my appearance would not be such a surprise.” Ichirou comments idly, “Though I suppose I did have a very beneficial conversation with Smith. Quite a bright young man you have as a friend.” He compliments and Neil’s head shoots up in surprise at it.

Ichirou had spoken with FF.

FF who was fading in and out of consciousness.

“I have faith that he will not reveal anything.” Ichirou adds and Neil clenches his fist and wants desperately to ask what happened. Wants to know what state he’s going to find his friend in. “I have not done anything to harm him, you are lucky to have a…friend like that.” Ichirou says as if physical damage was the only thing that Ichirou Moriyama was capable of.

“Yes Lord Moriyama, he is a very talented and skilled defenseman.” He says hoping that if nothing else Ichirou’s desire for Neil and Kevin’s future profitability would have him reconsider doing anything in the future to FF to ensure they would have good showings for the professional teams.

“Yes, he was quite talented in your defense.” Ichirou nods, “I will reach out with details of our new deal once some affairs have settled. Take care of your friend, Josten.” Ichirou says before continuing out of the hospital.

New Deal?

Neil banished the thought from his head. They needed to get up to FF’s room and he needed to make sure his friend was okay and find out what exactly had happened.

Andrew’s hand came to the back of his neck and squeezed, “Calm down.” Andrew ordered voice soothingly blank even if Neil could feel the way his grip stuttered. “Let’s go.”

***

The Nurses were saying something about ‘aggravating stitches’ and ‘lucky nothing tore’ but it was all white noise to FF as he continues to think about the business card burning a hole in his pocket.

Ichirou Moriyama.

He’d just had an entire conversation with Ichirou Moriyama.

His stomach was already hurting from his ill advised walk but the moment he’d seen that name on the business card he had accepted his insides had been pure acid. He missed his Pepto Bismol more than anything right now, what he would give for just a single hit of the sweet pink relief.

He couldn’t figure out what was worse.

The fact that he had given over EVIDENCE to the head of a Yakuza group (was it a yakuza group or was it a mafia group?).

The fact that he’d been right in his thoughts from the abyss that the man in the cafeteria looked like a Yakuza member (was it a Yakuza or Mafia?).

The fact that he’d just seen a Japanese guy and thought ‘Oh, must be the Japanese FBI guy I’m supposed to talk to’ which means he’d still been kind of racist.

The fact that he just realized that he had Captain Neil’s phone and not his own meaning that Ichirou had been telling Captain Neil to come to the cafeteria and FF just showed up like a dipshit trying to pitch their lie about the alley.

Finally there was the fact that Ichirou Moriyama had apparently been impressed enough to offer him a spot within his Yakuza group (Yakuza or Mafia?)

Would it be weird to ask during the interview process? Is there an interview process to join organized crime? Do they have benefits? Wait a crime family is paying for his hospital stay right now. This is too much.

He considers asking the nurse to yes please crank up the pain killers and just let him slip into a nice not embarrassing coma but then Captain Neil and Andrew were rushing into his room. “Smith!” Captain Neil exclaims.

Well, too late to ask for that coma.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themundanemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupandfries @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit @lesbian-blackbeard @lesbiansupernatural @silvermasquerade @thepeachfuzz @minniemariex @kazoo-the-demjin @gaypomegranate @ji-nk-ies @neilimfinejosten @omgrubelangel @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice @percabethotplove @cozyrosykay @foxyatlas @theoneandonlylostsock @cindersapsecrets @scornedethnographer @hugemotherfuckingnerd @givemethedamnflowers

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

If you didn’t get notified on the last part it’s probably because I used tumblr mobile to post and our most beloved garbage fire site just didn’t like that.

Polish in this chapter:

Przywiążę cię do krzesła = I will tie you to a chair

#Fluent Freshman AU #MAN that was a long one #Also just like having to build that misunderstanding took forever #I need a nap #which is to say that I'm going to bed since it's 2 AM #Not pictured is Michael pointing the McDonald's Happy Meal Toy at Conner and pulling the trigger #And Conner going Shit that's bright #And Michael now has to drive the car #The Moriyama men who were looking for Smith absolutely got a talking to #Like a man of THAT caliber got within spitting distance of Lord Moriyama? Unacceptable #Just be grateful he wanted to TALK.#Also not pictured is Kevin and Aaron continuing that argument in the car as Kevin tries to rope Aaron in #to making the perfect protein supplement for Smith's recovery #Kevin is thankfully so focused on this that he just flat out misses that they parked like four cars away from where Ichirou Moriyama is #Neil may Velcro his phone to him now.#Man can you imagine Neil having his Josten Jorts(tm) and he's added a velcro strip to all of them #Andrew just looking on like yeah I still think he's hot and sighing to himself #This is where you've laid your affections Andrew #DEAL WITH IT #Alright it's like 2:20 AM after doing the tags and @-ing everybody #AFTG #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #Andreil #FF - Pt. 29

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ccarrot · 9 months

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i think chuuya 'killing' dazai in 109 has been a long time coming. whats the point of making him say "IM REALLY GONNA KILL YOU DAZAI" during every one on his appearances if not to build up to this dramatic ass chapter. But also, the first time he's not in control of himself is the first time that promise held any weight

#anyways.#i do think dazai and he have a plan. dazai's obviously not dead but. and hear me out #chuuya probably has a shallow understanding of whats happening around him. hence why all the shots hit nonvital areas.#but he's not aware enough to NOT hurt him and thats why dazai was so caught off guard when he got hit in the shoulder lol.#so so. dazai's 'babe this isn't you' speech might have had some level of genuine desperation but it could have been a script of sorts.#one that chuuya may have recognized and pulled the trigger at a well timed cliff hanger.#dazai pretends (badly) to die. and chuuya carries out the rest of the plan until dazai can jump out like 'PSYCHE'#operation: goodbye.

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unloneliest · 6 months

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the problem of the matter is i did internalize so much of what ex friend believed about me. even though i knew he was wrong and knew what was happening and tried to stop it and if i took more action to stop it would have been abusing power i held in a way i couldn't live with myself for.

#A BAD PERSON TRYING TO RUIN YOUR LIFE WOULD'VE GOTTEN YOU FIRED AND EVICTED IN WINTER IN ALASKA YOU MOTHERFUCKER. WHICH I DID NOT DO #he was renting a room from my dad. for cheaper than he wouldve been able to find anywhere else. his brother was too #his brother didn't pay rent for over 6 months and my dad just forgave him the debt because my dad knew how much of a difference it wouldve #made when he was that age. and i had told him ex friend was family to me & my dad applied that to the brother too. bc he is a good person.#and one of the strongest parts of my support system. and i didn't say a word to him about what was happening until i knew he already had a #plan for when he would be ending ex friend's lease. so there would be no subconscious impact on ex friend's housing either #mgmt at work straight up asked me if i thought ex friend should be fired immediately multiple times and i'm in retrospect livid they put me #in that position but told them to go by the strike system in the employee handbook and to follow policy that ex friend knew perfectly. that #it couldn't be on me as acting assistant manager to choose #and after 10 months of workplace harassment i got a different job to save my life. ex friend didn't get fired.#he did saw trap shit to my brain!!!!!! jesus christ #he moved cross country to live with his long time gf he called his wife despite never having met irl. to a way more conservative state.#despite being gay. and she left him this summer lol #hadn't checked his twitter in over a year when it got pulled up frm an old link and i saw that. and when he was already at a low point too #me voice. oh no who could've seen this coming. from how you behave in every relationship in your life #may delete this in the morning. but i have to talk about it sometimes #i'm never reaching out for closure both bc he wouldn't give me any and because i know it would trigger him and i don't intentionally trigge #people. unlike him :)#vampire pit #like. i have to talk about it sometimes. i have to talk about it.#jam posts

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rivalsilveryuri · 2 months

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let’s him walk around on my palm

ruby and sapphire

#VOICEMAIL #funny 2 me that viz just. made his reoccuring...........bathroom joke into him pourign a can off of rooftops. but everyone else is still #reacting like he's killing someone while he's likr 'i love recycling :)' and emptying a can of pepsi or somethign #sorry that its what first comes 2 mind with him.#but i DO like emerald.... he's kinda the only hoenn dexholder i ... like??????????????? not in the way i DONT like the other 2 i just don't #have much 2 say on them. but also because reading rs may actually trigger my ptsd i think. a little. ummm. so i dont remember basically any #of rubys half.. i remember saphs just fine thoguh. but yeah what was i on about. umm. oohhh yeah i like emerald thr best #kinda makes me mad how people just infantilise him and look over. basically everythign about him. like his sibling relationship with crys #+ his backstory + the shit under the surface for the way he acts..#+the interaction they have as a trio because i find it kind of fascinating but its honestly the shortest amount of time 2gether a trios had #idk. it feels likr 2. people out there are actually interested in *emerald* himself #and everyone else just likrs. ............how everyone else sees him in universe.... and the rest see him how emerald wants to be seen. idk #always shy about character analysis cause i always worry im pulling at nothign and cooking nothing but i feel decently confident that-#-thats the whole point of emeralds character and his childhood and behaviour n etc.#i have NOT read oras though. umm. heard mixed things about it but who knows. itll take me 50 years 2 get there n e ways...#also emerald and wally. wish they interacted at LEAST cmon. unless ive brain fogged it but whateva........#how did me talking about piss jokes turn into character analysis

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ruvviks · 2 years

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Chapter >> 10 [x] Characters >> Cato Wu (oc), Judy Álvarez, Lauren Dimas (oc), Matvey Dobrynin (oc), Mikhail Koshechkin (oc), Panam Palmer, Thibault Lajoie (oc), Viktor Vektor, Vincent Mayer (oc), Vitali Dobrynin (oc), [redacted] Total >> 9.6k words Warnings >> Blood mention, brainwashing mention, death mention, descriptions of suffocation, family, injuries, violence

‘What are we looking at?’

‘Seven attacks have been reported thus far, four of them still on-going. Many casualties among mercs- none of ours yet- word on the street is a fixer was killed, too.’

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Vitali found himself back in the hallway. Pace as fast as it could possibly go, leg painfully protesting with every move, heart racing uncontrollably in his chest and hand white-knuckled around his cane- Judy and Panam by either of his sides, as they hurried toward the medbay.

He had been there before. Two months ago, give or take; when Eddie, Lauren, Mikhail and Panam had been targeted during that damned cargo transport. Never again, Vitali had thought; I will not let this happen ever again.

Naïve, perhaps. Or just fucking stupid. Either way, how wrong he had been- it had only gone downhill from there, from Mikhail’s captivity to Vincent’s, from seeing his mother again to coming face to face with his father in the decrepit Arasaka facility, from meeting Daniil, to-

To Thibault nearly losing his life in an explosion.

Yet another thing Vitali had been unable to prevent. He had not been anywhere nearby, and it was Night City of all places- explosions happened all the fucking time- but it still hit him hard, especially considering how little Thibault had been involved in the situation at all.

Vitali pushed the door of the medbay open and hesitantly stepped inside, almost scared- ashamed- to show his face. Thibault sat on the edge of their bed, next to Cato; and they gave Vitali a weak smile and wave when he entered.

‘Broken wrist, two bruised ribs, some scrapes ‘n bruises,’ Viktor said from the other end of the room before Vitali could ask anything. He sat on his usual stool, taking some quick notes on a notepad before quickly wheeling himself over to the small crowd in his workplace. ‘Your parking lot took most of the damage.’

‘And Vincent’s car too,’ Thibault quietly added, their semi-mechanical voice raspier than usual. ‘I think they rigged it, but- I wasn’t able to see very well.’

‘Never mind his car or my parking lot,’ Vitali cut them off, ignoring the implications of the possibility of Vincent’s car having carried the explosion underneath, and he quickly walked closer and sat himself down on the bed next to Thibault’s to relieve his leg. ‘How are you feeling?’

A pointless question, but what else could he ask? His heart was so heavy.

‘Tired, mostly,’ was the hesitant answer. ‘Ears are ringing, but- other than that, I feel fine. If you need me back in the field, I can walk. Run too, probably- haven’t tried yet, but should be…should be fine, yes.’

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Vitali softly replied. ‘We have everything covered.’

That wasn’t true. Thibault knew. And Vitali knew that xe knew. But neither of them said any more of it.

Vitali had woken up early that morning. Earlier than usual, feeling refreshed for the first time in a while, and he had gone to work before Vincent and Mikhail had even gotten out of bed. Taken his time with the drive to the office, despite it being nearby enough; though to be fair on a busy day it could still easily take him half an hour if not longer to make it to the other side of Wellsprings.

It had been unnerving, almost, how smoothly most of the morning had passed by. The sun had been shining outside, a warm and sunny day- the start of June, and Vitali had finally felt like he could start planning for Vincent’s birthday. And he had, between the few calls he’d had to take and the single client meeting near noon.

Nothing too big, of course. Just a day for the two of them; ever since they had first kissed on Vincent’s birthday the year before, they’d had only a handful of actual dates, between all the situations they’d found themselves in. Vitali figured it would be nice to have another; he just hoped neither of them would be too tired to leave the house.

But now, even though it was still a week away, Vitali wasn’t even sure if they would be able to do anything at all.

‘Get some rest,’ he quietly said and reached out to Thibault’s not-injured hand, to give it a soft squeeze. ‘I am sure there’ll be plenty of work to do in the building once we get this situation resolved- you could help then, if you really want to.’

‘Of course,’ Thibault replied, and another weak smile took shape on xyr face. ‘That’s what you’re paying me for, no? Kidding- I’d do this for free. You know that.’

I would give you all the world, if I could.

‘Stay with them,’ Vitali quickly said, regaining himself and directing his attention to Cato now as he stood up again. ‘Keep me updated on any new developments here.’

‘Don’t you want me out there?’ Cato asked, gesturing at the most nearby window, a frown decorating her brow. ‘Not injured myself. I can make myself useful.’

‘And I would like for you to do that here.’

Vitali had not been able to get the visual of- of Daniil, his own fucking brother- attacking Cato and trying to stab her out of his head. He knew Cato had dealt with much, much worse before, and after a short conversation following the incident that same day she had not brought it up anymore-

But Vitali had watched enough of his friends end up in pain. It had to stop.

He made his way back to the door and Judy and Panam followed suit again, both having been dead silent in the few minutes they had spent in the medbay. Much to Vitali’s surprise, Viktor stood up from his stool too and walked with him- but he did not question it. No time for that now.

Vitali still was not entirely sure what had happened.

It had all gone fast; a report of an explosion near Regina’s headquarters, followed by report after report of mercenaries getting injured, dying- none of Vitali’s as of yet, though he was not even able to say for sure since most of their systems had suddenly been down too, an outage in the entire Heywood district leaving them with little to work with.

Brief contact with the Council had once again confirmed to Vitali none of them worried about the Broker. He knew it was his father’s doing; had tried to convince them of it, yet before he could have even said a word a distress signal had disturbed their meeting- the currently absent Wakako had been under attack, and it had marked the end of their communication for the time being.

On his own, once again. Supplies still low, mercenaries exhausted and scared- and Vitali was starting to reach the end of his rope.

‘What is our situation?’ he asked, slightly turning his head as the four of them made their way to mission control.

‘Three squads in the field currently,’ Judy replied and held out her tablet a little so Vitali could take a look at the footage. ‘Shiro and Hux are still over at Wakako’s to assist Goro; no new updates as of yet… Eddie and his squad should be nearing the Northside rendezvous by now.’

‘And V?’

A short pause.

‘Not yet been able to reestablish contact.’

Vitali subconsciously fastened his pace, refusing to say any more of it and he rolled back his shoulders, straightening his back as if to show he was not about to back down to nobody in particular; his heart was still racing in his chest and nausea was bubbling up in his stomach, though he managed to keep it at bay for now- much to his own surprise.

‘Panam- Take whoever you can find and get to Westbrook,’ he said, slightly raising his voice. ‘I need that situation under control, stat. Judy, I need either you or Lauren in the Net. We need our systems back online. Are you up for that?’

The deafening silence that followed caused Vitali to slow down and he looked behind him; Viktor had followed him a little further, though both Panam and Judy had stopped in their tracks at some point, both carrying the same hesitant- nearly terrified- look in their eyes.

‘Please,’ Vitali blurted out, heart skipping a beat though he was unsure whether it was out of frustration or fear. ‘If I could do all of this myself, I would.’

‘No, no-! It’s not that,’ Panam immediately responded, her voice slightly unstable as she spoke, and she redirected her attention to the tablet in Judy’s hands. ‘There’s…’

Before she could finish her sentence, a loud siren cut through the air, filling the streets of Wellsprings, loud enough for them to hear inside Vitali’s office. All the air was punched straight out of his lungs and he hurried back, to look over Judy’s shoulder at the screen.

‘Another explosion,’ she quietly said, her tablet showing a live news feed. ‘The docks. There were people there.’

‘Our people?’

‘I… I can’t tell.’

Vitali caved in.

What was he supposed to do? Times like these reminded him that he was so- small. Insignificant. Merely one man in a city so large, and it didn’t matter what he did. It would never make a difference.

Just like he had never been able to make a difference in Arasaka, like he had wanted to when he had started working for them all those fucking years ago. Stuck in a never ending cycle- a hell of his own making- believing he could mean something in the bigger picture of things-

‘Just the more reason to get a move on,’ Viktor suddenly said. ‘Our people or not- they can use all the help they can get.’

Vitali instantly snapped back to reality and he quickly nodded, a weight washing off his chest when Viktor suddenly reached out and placed a strong hand on his shoulder, almost as if to ground him. His gaze moved back to the girls, and they both seemed to regain themselves as well.

‘Westbrook. Wakako,’ Panam quickly said, and nodded too. ‘Preem, on it. Judes?’

Judy blinked and inhaled deeply, straightening her back and her eyes met Vitali’s for a split second. He understood why she was hesitant. Understood that Lauren would be hesitant, too- after everything that had happened, to the both of them- but they were the only ones capable of diving into the Net and Vitali needed someone to cover that front for him-

Again, if he could do it all himself, he would.

‘I’ll find Lauren, have a chat,’ she finally responded. ‘We’ll- We’ll rock, paper, scissors about it.’

‘Good,’ Viktor said, removing his hand from Vitali’s shoulder. ‘No need for a deep dive, just- getting our systems back online, some surface level surveillance and plugging potential holes in case of an attack.’

Vitali’s heart finally slowed down and he pushed back his shoulders again, head suddenly a lot clearer than before. He watched in silence as Panam gave Judy a warm hug and kiss on her cheek; and she turned around and walked off, giving Vitali a soft punch against his shoulder as she passed him by.

‘Whoever his Netrunner is, they’re good,’ Judy quietly said. ‘Just hope they’re not- not waiting for someone to get in the chair.’

‘I highly doubt it, given the circumstances,’ Vitali replied, knot in his chest briefly tightening. ‘Besides, our focus is defense this time; as long as we stay out of their systems, there is no way they can get to you the way they tried before.’

Of course Vitali could not say any of it with one hundred percent certainty- but what else was there left for him to say? He wished he could do without a runner, wished he could fix any of it himself-

‘You’re right,’ Judy suddenly said and she nodded, sucking in another deep breath. ‘Got you covered, jefe.’

Vitali was unable to suppress a relieved smile.

‘Thank you.’

The situation was hard on everyone. It had been going on for way too long now and still had no end in sight, and these attacks would only complicate things in the long run; yet somehow everyone was still there. Nobody had walked away from it yet, nobody had abandoned Vitali despite the fact the Council was not helping them-

Viktor reached out for him again and softly tapped his arm to get his attention, then nodded into the rest of the hallway.

‘Mission control,’ he encouragingly said. ‘We got work to do, kid.’

The two of them quickly continued their way, Vitali still focused on the siren blaring through the sub-district. He still didn’t fully understand why the attacks were happening, but that was a problem for later; they had to get the situation under control, one way or another. Matvey couldn’t have that many people working for him.

Right?

Vitali bit the inside of his cheek as they entered mission control and exhaled sharply, mind wandering back to all the mercenaries who had walked away from him and had joined his father’s fixer network instead. Add to that all the outsiders who had joined over the years, and his father’s connections to several corporations-

‘There you are.’

Mikhail’s voice dragged Vitali out of the fog in his brain and a sense of comfort washed over him, like the presence of his friend had always been able to do. Mikhail appeared in his view and reached out to briefly cup his cheek, before also glancing at Viktor and giving him a solid nod.

‘Everything alright?’ he asked, tilting his head slightly as he redirected his attention to Vitali.

‘As good as it can be,’ Vitali answered. He carefully let his gaze trail the room; there were only a few people there, mostly talking quietly to each other while nervously glancing at the large screen on the wall. It was still showing a connection error with several large, flashing warning popups. ‘Xe’s got a broken wrist, some bruised ribs- Cato is still with xem for now.’

At times he genuinely wondered how much more injuries it was going to take before someone would end up losing their life.

‘That is good to hear.’ Mikhail spoke quietly and he stepped a little closer to Vitali, once more reaching out to him to place a hand on his upper arm. ‘But I meant with you.’

Vitali blinked, Mikhail’s words taking a moment to fully settle in his head; it was not uncommon for his friend to ask him that, yet at this point Vitali’s own well-being seemed mostly irrelevant to himself given the circumstances they had found themselves in.

‘As good as it can be,’ he quietly repeated himself.

The screen on the wall suddenly flickered and within a few seconds their feed was back online, showing Vitali live footage of the still on-going fight on Jig Jig Street. He immediately directed his attention away from Mikhail and walked closer, reaching for his hearing aid and switching to the communication line of his office building.

‘Judy?’ he asked, watching as the lights in the room briefly flickered off and on as the screen switched to live footage extracted from MaxTac bodycams.

‘Guess again,’ Lauren replied instead, and Vitali once again couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face. ‘At your disposal, jefe.’

It was good to have her back. Judy was good at what she did- but at the end of the day more of a techie than a runner and her knowledge was limited to the things she had been taught over time. Taught by Lauren, who had been in the chair for much longer, and whose thinking process lined up almost exactly with that of Vitali meaning less communication was needed between the two in order to get things done.

‘Can we reestablish contact with V?’ Vitali asked, a new sense of control shaking him right back awake. He nearly slipped up- had gotten so comfortable using Vincent’s full name he sometimes forgot not everyone knew about it yet.

‘One step ahead of you. Sending out a ping as we speak,’ Lauren answered. ‘Got all three of them on our radar still, so they’re not- you know. They’re still here.’

Good.

Vitali bit the inside of his cheek hard as he waited for Lauren to get back to him, placing his hands on the desk he was stood in front of. His eyes were glued to the screen, watching intently as the MaxTac officers arrived at the docks of Wellsprings- several cars were on fire, people were running everywhere, and in the background he could see several mercenaries emerge from around the corner right before they opened fire-

‘Got him,’ Lauren said and Vitali’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Connecting you now.’

Finally.

‘V, can you hear me?’ Vitali asked, voice barely stable as he spoke and hands white-knuckled around the edge of the desk in front of him. His heart was once again going a million miles an hour in his chest and he leaned heavily on his arms, suddenly barely able to keep his own balance anymore.

A brief silence followed, though each second that passed felt like an hour. Mikhail had walked closer again and placed a reassuring hand on Vitali’s back, softly running it up and down in an attempt to calm him down.

But as much as Vitali appreciated it, it did not work. He had to hear him. He had to hear his voice.

‘V?’ he repeated, swallowing heavily as tears threatened to well up in the corners of his eyes. ‘V- please say something.’

I can’t lose you. Please- not you.

‘Loud and clear! Fuck, it’s good to hear your voice again.’

Vitali’s eyes fluttered shut and a relieved sigh escaped his lips, and for a second he felt like he could pass out. Vincent’s ever-so bright voice was like music to his ears, even now that he sounded mostly exhausted; Vitali could not blame him. He felt exactly the same.

‘Where are you right now?’ he quietly asked, glancing at Viktor who had walked up to him as well and now stood beside him at the desk, an unreadable expression on his face; had not said a word since back in the hallway, as if he was deep in thought.

‘Near the bridge in Arroyo,’ Vincent answered. ‘Followed some gonks after a scuffle on Hargreaves Street- there’s an old warehouse here that looks like it’s being used as a temporary hideout.’

Another temporary hideout. Good.

It felt too easy. It was too easy- there was no way Matvey would slip up like that and Vitali knew if he would go there he would be walking directly into a trap of some sort.

But he had to try.

‘You’re doing great, but- please don’t push it too far,’ Vitali said, loosening his grip on the desk. ‘Lauren will stay in touch with you, okay? Please be careful.’

‘Careful is my middle name, ‘member?’ Vincent answered, and Vitali could almost see the playful smirk on his face through the communication line. ‘Won’t get too close until you give me the signal, promise.’

Vitali switched off his comms and turned back, resolutely making his way back to the entrance of the room. As always- unable to just sit back and watch, unable to leave the situation to his mercenaries. Yes, he paid them to work for him; yes, they were capable of handling it themselves; but they were his friends, and he could make himself the most useful in the field with them.

‘Where are you going?’ Mikhail asked, a worried frown taking shape on his face as he took some steps after Vitali.

‘Going to meet up with Vincent,’ Vitali plainly answered, briefly slowing his pace and turning back to him. ‘I want you to stay here and oversee the situation. Can you do that for me?’

‘Of course.’ Mikhail paused and swallowed, glancing back at the screen behind him and then looking back at Vitali; but he could not make eye contact anymore, several quiet noises leaving his lips before he spoke again.

‘Please be careful,’ he said in Russian. ‘You know what he’s capable of, now.’

Mikhail had almost died. If Matvey had aimed slightly more to the right-

‘I know,’ Vitali quickly responded, pushing the thoughts out of his head. ‘I’ll be careful, don’t worry.’

He left the room again, head threatening to fill with fog but it was surprisingly easy to push it back this time, mind constantly going back to Vincent. Clack, clack, clack- back into the hallway, to get to weapon storage and get suited up- and much to his surprise, Viktor followed him again.

‘Vitya, you’re not coming with me,’ Vitali instantly said, voice a little sharper than he had meant for and he picked up his pace a little as if he could outrun Viktor like that. He knew the old ripperdoc could fight, and still did every now and then; but he was not a mercenary, far from it, and Vitali did not even want to think about the things that could happen to him out in the field.

‘Don’t think you got much say in any of that,’ Viktor merely responded.

‘You work for me. I would like for you to stay here.’

‘I do- and my shift ended about an hour ago. I’m coming, whether you like it or not. Gonna try and stop me?’

Vitali blinked and straightened his back, a weird sensation running through his chest he couldn’t quite place. They reached weapon storage together, and Viktor instantly reached out to open the door and hold it for Vitali.

Yes, they had worked together before, many times- yet never like this, never together in the field. But Vitali knew Viktor long and well enough to know he was about as stubborn as Vitali himself, and to try and stop him?

Vitali wouldn’t even dare.

‘Get down!’

Vincent jumped out of the way just in time, hiding behind a truck as the cryogenic grenade that had been hurled at his head exploded right on the other side. It set off the truck’s alarm and the piercing noise burned through his ears, disorienting him to the point he briefly forgot where he was.

It was just the five of them; him and four other mercenaries he didn’t even know the names of. Not as if it mattered- they were all allies in this, even the two of them who were not even part of Vitali’s network.

Though at that moment he found himself alone on the street, under attack from all sides by Matvey’s mercenaries- and they were not pulling their punches this time.

Vincent sprinted across the road and kneeled down behind another parked car- or- what was left of it, really. He reloaded his gun and glanced over his shoulder, noticing more enemies coming his way; they came straight from the Broker’s new hideout, heavy assault rifles at the ready, with seemingly an endless supply of ammo.

Vincent himself was on his last clip.

He hadn’t gotten too close to the warehouse, well aware of the security turrets placed on the premises. Toys from the abandoned Arasaka facility they had attacked before, and so far Vincent had not been able to quickhack them.

But the fight going on in the rest of the street had been obvious enough to draw the attention of more people and they had shown up in full force, and despite the fact they were still holding their ground, Vincent was starting to wonder if it would be smarter to pull back.

‘Heads up, V- seeing several drones on my radar coming your way.’

‘Seriously?’ Vincent yelled, exasperation dripping from his voice. ‘Of course they have drones, too.’

‘Hit ‘em on the underside,’ Lauren calmly responded. ‘Saves ammo, should take ‘em down in one or two. Six o’clock- get ready.’

Vincent looked up at the sky and saw three combat drones closing in quickly, all headed straight for him. One of them was already under fire, from what he could see- one of the mercenaries had popped up again and managed to cause the drone to catch fire, and it tumbled out of the air before it could even get close.

Vincent raised his gun and exhaled, relaxing the muscles of his shoulders as he wrapped his finger around the trigger.

Take the wind into account, kid.

Right, of course. Vincent wasn’t good at calculating anything, he usually eyeballed it and somehow it nearly always worked; he quickly adjusted his aim slightly to the right and pulled the trigger, and watched as sparks and black smoke erupted from the bottom of the second drone, right before it exploded and knocked the third drone out of its course straight into a street light.

That was easy.

Don’t get too cocky.

The corners of Vincent’s lips curled up into a smile and he could almost hear Johnny’s exasperated sigh in his head, as if he was still there with him, leaning against the street light next to him perhaps, or sitting on top of the remains of the car he was hiding behind.

Sudden gunfire immediately drew him back to reality and he lowered his head, quickly scuttling around the car to create more distance between himself and the nearing mercenaries. Only limited ammo left- he would have to pick his shots carefully, and there were still so fucking many of them-

Though as Vincent prepared himself for shooting back, most of the gunfire suddenly stopped, and soon it was almost entirely quiet on the street. He frowned and carefully looked up, eyes trailing his surroundings until he saw-

Vitali?

Vincent had never been this relieved to see his boyfriend.

He immediately jumped up and hurried his way over, briefly pausing to sink through his knees and grab a precision rifle from the ground. He slowed his pace, aiming the rifle and steadying himself- and he hit the merc trying to sneak up to Vitali right between the eyes.

Suddenly the world was spinning and Vincent’s head hit the asphalt, vision instantly going black for a few seconds from the impact. The moment he regained consciousness he was pinned to the ground, rifle no longer anywhere near him and two hands wrapped tightly around his neck.

Tears sprung in his eyes as he grabbed the mercenary’s wrists and struggled in their grip. He tried to kick his legs, but they were stuck underneath the merc’s knees, their body weight too much for him to be able to free himself.

Hey, now. Don’t panic.

But it was difficult. Vincent tried to suck in a breath but his windpipe was being crushed, leaving him with little oxygen in his lungs. He reached for the mercenary’s face and tried to poke them in their eye, or grab their hair and yank their head back, anything, but his fingers couldn’t find a grip and they kept turning their head away from him.

His vision was fading again, and rapidly now. Though seconds before he could lose consciousness once more, the weight was suddenly entirely lifted from his body and he gasped for air, instantly kickstarting himself into a coughing fit, the raspy noise from his throat mixing with the cries and screams from the mercenary.

A strong hand grabbed his own and pulled him back on his feet with such force Vincent toppled forward and bumped right into the person who had helped him-

Viktor?

Vincent had known Vitali was on his way, but he had never thought to ever see the ripperdoc in the field there with him.

‘You alright, kid?’ he asked, pushing a new handgun in Vincent’s hands. Vincent was unable to answer and quickly nodded in response, eyes rapidly trailing their surroundings once more-

It was quiet. For now. No enemy mercenaries, just the two of them, Vitali, and their four other allies, all in the process of gathering themselves and assessing the situation.

Catch your breath, V. You’re not in the clear just yet.

Vincent quickly jogged up to Vitali and hugged him without hesitation, relief filling his chest the second Vitali wrapped his arms around his waist in response and buried his face in the crook of Vincent’s neck. To think that at some point Vincent had been hesitant to initiate anything with him, terrified of overstepping a boundary, terrified of the possibility of Vitali prioritizing his reputation over what they had-

‘Are you alright?’ Vitali worriedly asked, lifting his head again and gently cupping Vincent’s face in his hands. ‘Are you injured? I’m sorry it took this long, we were held up by fucking NCPD pigs when trying to cross district border-’

‘I’m okay! I’m okay,’ Vincent quickly interrupted him, slightly turning his head to press a kiss on the palm of Vitali’s hand. ‘You’re here now. I’m- I’m glad you came.’

He watched relief wash over Vitali’s face and lifted his own hands to place them over Vitali’s, thumbs softly running over his skin. Vitali leaned in and rested his forehead against Vincent’s, eyes fluttering shut; the way their heads hit one another with a bit more force than usual told Vincent he was exhausted.

‘All due respect, we gotta get a move on,’ Viktor gently interrupted them, pointing his own weapon into the direction of the warehouse. ‘Looks like they’re reorganizing again.’

‘What’s the plan?’ one of the other mercenaries asked. They were leaning heavily on one of the others, hand clutching their side- all four of them looked as exhausted and beaten as Vincent felt and his chest tightened.

‘I’m going in,’ Vitali bluntly said, slowly lifting his head again. ‘Preferably alone, but- I feel like not everyone here will let me. Could you distract those mercs for me? Just- lure them away, no need for another fight.’

Straightforward as ever, no time for going in circles around the point he was trying to make. Vincent watched as the mercenaries briefly shared a look, and then one of them quickly started making their way to a nearby car and got in.

‘Yeah, we can do that,’ one of the others said, slowly nodding. ‘Why go in? Sounds like suicide to me.’

‘Perhaps,’ Vitali merely answered. ‘But I have to try.’

Another attempt at trying to talk some sense into Matvey. Vincent could not help but wonder why; but at the same time this was far from the right time and place to ask Vitali about it and he wisely kept his mouth shut when his boyfriend started making his way toward the warehouse without saying another word.

Vincent followed suit. Of course he did; he was not going to let Vitali enter the place all by himself, or with just Viktor to back him up. He was unsure how Vitali was going to approach the situation this time, but- he trusted him. Had always trusted him; wasn’t going to let that change now.

A loud honk from a car behind them startled Vincent and he instinctively jumped aside, only realizing when the vehicle passed by him it were the mercenaries- one of them waved at him as the car drove by. Vincent watched them slow down in front of the warehouse and fire a couple of shots at the mercenaries outside; as soon as they all began moving toward the car, they sped off, leaving the terrain surrounding the warehouse mostly cleared.

Eyes open. Watch out for those turrets.

The three of them quickly made their way around the building from a respectable distance, keeping their eyes on the stationary turrets as Johnny had told Vincent to do. Vincent’s heart was still going faster than usual, adrenaline rushing through his body and keeping him alert; it was not as bad yet as when they’d attacked Matvey’s previous hideout, but it was getting close to it.

Perhaps he wasn’t there. Perhaps it was just a rendezvous for the mercenaries, perhaps they would go inside and find nothing but the Broker’s people and a shitton of supplies, perhaps Matvey himself was someplace entirely else, looking down on them from his bloodied throne-

But something told Vincent he was inside. Waiting.

‘Stay alert,’ Vitali said, raising his gun while slowly pushing against the back door of the warehouse. ‘No idea what to expect.’

An unguarded, unlocked door. It felt like a trap. But at the same time, if Matvey had wanted them dead he would have done that last time. Well- he would have tried a little harder then, at least.

Right?

They went in.

The interior of the warehouse was poorly lit. A small backroom; some crates and supplies stacked up along the walls, and two tables standing shoved against each other in the middle of the room. The door leading into the hallway on the wall opposite of them was already open, and Vincent could hear booming, echoing voices from what he could only assume was a larger open area within the building’s walls.

He aimed his gun at the door, briefly glancing behind him as Viktor entered after him and shoved one of the crates in front of the door to keep it ajar. Vitali pushed himself past the tables and glanced into the hallway, then turned to Vincent and gestured for him to follow.

It was too easy. But what else could they do?

The hallway was empty too and seemed to grow in size before Vincent’s eyes, his breathing shallow as they carefully moved through it. The sudden urge to turn around and run away filled his chest; something that rarely happened, but it felt appropriate in the moment.

Of course he was terrified. But again- he was not going to leave Vitali. If it had been the other way round, Vitali wouldn’t have run away either.

The three of them gathered around the next door opening, leading into the central room of the warehouse. Vincent carefully peered inside and counted five mercenaries still present- right at that moment, the front doors swung open and three more entered, but after grabbing some new weapons they left again.

Vincent’s eyes were drawn to the two men loudly talking to each other. One of them was bald, Valentinos tattoos covering his head and neck, and he was dressed in heavy combat armor; the other was skinny and at least a head shorter than the other man, left side of his forehead, temple and his left eye replaced with cyberware, and he was still yelling about as loud if not louder than his associate.

‘Sanders and Dusty,’ Vitali mumbled, a quiet scoff leaving his lips with the statement. ‘Fucking traitor.’

Vincent had seen Sanders once before, on the big screen back at Vitali’s office after one of his escorts had nearly been blown up. He was unfamiliar with Dusty, but had heard his name before, at least- and he was well aware the man was one of the many mercenaries who had left Vitali’s network, only to join Matvey’s instead.

‘Don’t lose focus,’ Viktor quietly responded, positioned next to Vincent. ‘Not what we’re here for.’

So easy to just flatline ‘em, though.

Shut up, Johnny.

Vincent directed his attention to Vitali and watched the expression on his face change. He visibly clenched his jaw and straightened his back again, regaining himself as he nodded, not saying another word about it.

Vincent admired him so much. He knew many people, though none of them had the level of self-restraint in them as Vitali, and especially since he himself still often struggled with controlling himself and his emotions he had immense respect for Vitali and the way he was able to keep it together.

But he was also well aware Vitali had been struggling lately. It was visible in his appearance- the dark rims around his eyes, the dark roots of his hair showing much more prominently than he would usually allow for- and in the way he would sometimes be barely present- either lost inside his own head, or remnants of Arasaka’s brainwashing- yet he was still making it through and handling the situation better than Vincent ever could.

‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’

A familiar voice, right behind them.

Vincent flinched and turned around but was immediately met with Viktor’s back as he stepped in front of him, and Vitali instantly jolted forward and stumbled into the larger room to create as much distance between himself and the voice as possible.

Matvey Dobrynin.

Fuck.

Vincent immediately followed Vitali, raising his gun steadily at the mercenaries inside the moment they looked up in confusion; Dusty immediately raised his own gun too but the others stood unmoving, merely staring at the two of them, and watching as Viktor too entered the room, walking backwards, keeping himself positioned between Vitali and the Broker.

‘Took you long enough,’ Matvey said, his voice booming through the room as he slowly entered after them. ‘Have been expecting you for some hours now. Your priorities lie elsewhere?’

‘Some…situations that required my immediate attention,’ Vitali spat back, steadying himself and cocking his head up, chin pushed forward. ‘As you are most likely well aware.’

‘Vito,’ Vincent quietly mumbled, stepping a little closer until their shoulders were pressed against each other. He was still facing the other way and nervously watched while the mercenaries wandered closer, Dusty up front.

‘So you really are back, huh?’ the short man said, half a smile lingering on his lips as he walked around the two of them, completely unfazed by Vincent’s gun pointed directly at his head. ‘Hey, boss. Missed me?’

The mocking tone of his voice made Vincent’s stomach turn and he instantly noticed a dark shadow washing over Vitali’s face. Dusty was merely staring at him- and the smile on his face only widened upon seeing Vitali’s frustration.

‘Pathetic piece of shit!’ Vitali spat at him and took a step closer- and within seconds the other mercenaries had their guns out too and Vincent grabbed Vitali’s wrist to stop him from moving any closer.

‘Come on, now, Vitali- no need for such language,’ Matvey calmly said, and Vincent finally turned his head to look at him; white shirt, top button undone, no tie, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back out of his face-

A knot took shape in Vincent’s chest. In appearance, Vitali truly was his father’s son.

‘You have no say in that,’ Vitali said, the sharp edge to his words startling Vincent a little. He had taken a step closer to Vincent again, but the way he composed himself told Vincent he was still ready to attack at any given moment. ‘What happened between me and my mercenaries is none of your fucking business.’

‘I think it is my business, considering they are no longer your mercenaries but mine.’ Matvey gestured at the mercs to lower their guns and they listened instantly- it made Vincent nauseous.

Told you to just flatline ‘em.

Not the time, Johnny.

‘Being upset about my departure is one thing, but turning on me and trying to kill my mercenaries crosses a line,’ Vitali continued, but Dusty instantly cut him off.

‘It’s not about you leaving,’ he said, ‘it’s about us losing our safety net. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about you running off to wherever you went! But you provided us with a lot more than just cash- and Mikhail sure as hell didn’t follow through with all of that in your absence. Do you have any idea what it’s like to suddenly just be left to your own fucking devices?’

Vitali’s face hardened and he glared in his father’s direction.

‘As a matter of fact, I do.’

The tension in the air surrounding them was suffocating and Vincent briefly lowered his gun as well, arm suddenly a lot heavier than before. He tightened his grip on Vitali’s wrist and he turned to look at Matvey again when said man cleared his throat.

‘It is all in the past now,’ he merely said, and despite it being obvious he was referring to Vitali’s mercenary situation Vincent couldn’t help but notice the heaviness of his words. ‘There is no use in trying to undo what has already been done.’

‘But you can stop!’

Vitali’s voice broke.

‘Stop all of this- this madness!’ he said, wildly gesturing around with his free arm. Vincent was up close enough to notice his eyes filling with tears. ‘Tell your mercenaries to pull back, leave Night City out of this!’

‘This is not all about you, Vitali,’ Matvey slowly said, his voice low.

‘Truly so? I fucking doubt it!’

Vitali’s voice echoed through the room and a strangled sob left his throat.

‘You get fired, and this is what you do?’ he said, and when Vincent let his own hand slip into his, he gratefully interlocked their fingers. ‘And you blame me for it. And you claim I abandoned you- I called! I called every fucking day, dad- I tried to reach out, I didn’t want to- I didn’t want you to-‘

He was unable to finish his sentence.

Vincent’s eyes darted between Vitali and Matvey, breathing shallow and heart beating rapidly in his throat as he watched a shadow wash over the Broker’s face. His expression had changed- yet remained unreadable to Vincent, and he quickly regained himself the moment he realized Vitali was no longer speaking.

‘It was your mother’s decision,’ he bluntly said. ‘But enough of that. I think- this should be enough for now. Sanders, give them the signal. We’re leaving.’

That’s it?

Vincent had no idea what to think anymore.

It had felt like a trap. It had looked like it, too; but now it was suddenly over, just like that, as if it hadn’t even been a big deal to begin with. Not to mention Matvey’s words; telling Vitali it had not been his decision to ignore him after he had left home- what did it change?

‘Not so fast,’ Viktor suddenly said and Vincent’s head snapped up again. Matvey had stepped forward and Viktor had positioned himself in front of him once more, effectively blocking his path.

‘All of this- for what?’ Viktor continued; and Vincent could not help but notice he wasn’t holding his gun anymore. ‘Because you believe your son walked away from you?’

‘One does not walk away from family,’ Matvey instantly spat back, voice slightly raised, and for a second it was as if they were looking at a completely different man the way sudden rage overtook his face. ‘First he left, and then he took everything from us. You have no idea what you are talking about- tread lightly.’

‘Ever wondered why he left?’ Viktor interrupted him. ‘Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you had somethin’ to do with that? Or that maybe you getting fired was out of his control?’

‘Vik, stop,’ Vitali quietly said, but the ripperdoc didn’t hear him and instead took a step closer, to the point the mercenaries, who had started to turn away, stopped in their tracks and turned back, watching them carefully.

‘Kids grow up,’ he slowly said. ‘Leave the nest at some point in their lives. You know what sounds like abandonment to me? Not answering their calls. Ignoring their attempts to connect. Feels like you got some o’ the detes of your story twisted, dad.’

Everything happened so fast.

Matvey swung at Viktor but was too slow and Viktor caught his punch with ease- then balled his fist and went for a swing himself and he hit Matvey right on his nose. Vitali flinched when it happened, and the mercenaries all started yelling, reaching for their weapons once more.

Vincent instantly looked up at the hanging ceiling lights above their heads, rapidly scanned them and triggered a quickhack- the bulbs exploded all at once, causing the mercs to scatter before they could fire any shots; and he jolted forward, pushing himself past Viktor and Matvey and dragging Vitali along with him, back into the hallway, to safety.

‘Fuck!’ Vitali cried out and tugged on Vincent’s hand as if he was trying to slow him down, but Vincent was having none of it. With all of his strength he managed to drag Vitali back to the room they had entered the building through and they stumbled back outside, the sunlight briefly blinding him.

‘We have to go back,’ Vitali said, his voice still unstable. He stumbled back towards the door, but it instantly swung open again and Viktor barged outside, seemingly unscathed, startling Vitali to the point he jumped back into Vincent.

‘What the fuck was that about?’ Vincent yelled, nearly losing his balance from the impact of Vitali’s body against his own. He wasn’t even angry, Matvey had it coming- but they had gotten what they had come for and if anything this had just put them in unnecessary danger.

‘Someone had to do it,’ Viktor simply responded, briefly glancing behind him. ‘I don’t think they’re comin’ after us, but- let’s bounce before more show.’

Vincent was speechless.

He sucked in a deep breath and tried to get his heartbeat to slow down but his body was having none of it, still believing they were in danger- and truly, he had no idea if they were safe or not. They had been inside for such a short period of time, yet so much fucking happened- and he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

And like that, they were walking away again.

But it did not feel right.

Vincent remained silent as he walked, eyes glued on Vitali, a little bit ahead of him. He was walking fast; visibly struggling a little, despite the leg brace, but he said nothing of it as they made their way through the street again, back to where he had parked his car.

Vincent’s dad loved his job too.

A little too much, if you’d asked Vincent- to the point he would always excitedly tell his wife and four kids about the crimes he had solved that day over dinner, in such great and vivid detail it would almost make you wonder if he was even allowed to talk about all of that.

And- highly unsuitable for kids, of course. Vincent could perfectly recall many occasions in which he’d ended up with nightmares because of the overly graphic stories of his asshole cop of a father, and to say he cared about his old man would be a fat fucking lie. It’s why he had not bothered to try and stay in touch with his parents, after he had left home.

But he knew that if Richard had been fired for whatever reason, he would not have put the blame on any of his kids. And he knew- it had happened before, when his brother Jason had suddenly left home when Vincent was twelve- he knew he would never accuse them of abandoning the family, even if they were to leave in a hurry, even if they would never call again.

But at the same time, if Richard had been in Matvey’s position, doing what he did- endangering Vincent’s friends, seemingly hunting them down for sports- Vincent would not have hesitated to deal with him the easy way.

It was a complicated situation. Vincent did not know all the details on Vitali and Matvey’s relationship and from what he could gather it was a lot more complicated than he had initially assumed. If it had been up to Vincent, he would have already pulled the trigger-

But it was not up to him. At the end of the day, Vitali was still his boss- but he was also his boyfriend, his best friend. Vincent had no right to make that decision for him.

He bit the inside of his lip and briefly glanced behind him at the warehouse. He noticed several cars driving in their direction and he immediately reached for his weapon again, readying himself for another fight- but the cars stopped at the warehouse and the mercs who had still been inside left the building.

Matvey was nowhere to be seen.

It would be so easy- so easy to turn back and go back inside, attack him when he’s all by himself- but when Vincent looked back at Vitali and noticed his clenched, shaking fists and the thousand yard stare plastered on his face, he knew it was of no use to try and suggest it to him.

So instead he jogged up to him and gently took his hand again, thumb reassuringly running over the back of his hand as he gave it a light squeeze, and he allowed Vitali to slightly lean in to him while they walked for support.

‘We got what we came for,’ he quietly said, leaning in to give Vitali a kiss on his cheek. ‘It’s over- for now.’

‘I don’t know,’ Vitali quietly replied. He briefly looked at Vincent, but was unable to hold his gaze and he quickly turned his head again, eyes wandering off to the distance as a shallow exhale left his chest.

‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

Vitali’s head hurt.

They’d arrived at a rendezvous a few minutes ago- a small apartment in Japantown, sometimes used as a safehouse by Vitali’s mercs- and had reunited with Shiro, Huxley and Panam and her squad. Viktor had sat himself down on the couch the moment they’d entered and had not moved since; and Vincent was in the kitchen, slowly trying to wash some dried up blood off his arms.

Had Vitali been a little more present, he would have helped him.

But he was lost inside his own thoughts, standing at the window and staring down onto the busy streets as his eyes darted from the left to the right, looking- searching, for anything out of the ordinary, anything that would tell him his father’s mercenaries had decided to get back to work.

It had all stopped, after they had visited the warehouse. Lauren had reported back to Vitali, telling him the ongoing confrontations had stopped and she was gathering footage of the sudden retreat, to hopefully be able to trace it all to a single location for their next move; whatever that would be.

He was cold.

Freezing, actually- it was a decent temperature outside and the apartment was full enough at the time to warm up by itself, yet Vitali found himself shivering and he could barely feel his fingertips.

He did not understand Matvey’s anger. It was unreasonable to the point Vitali could barely believe he was awake; truly all of this, because he had left home? Because his parents had been fired, indirectly because of him?

He took everything from us.

A soft, sudden scoff left Vitali’s lips, startling himself. Everything- yet money-wise Matvey was still doing just fine, business-wise too, and despite it all he still had his wife and daughter.

Was he truly so blinded by his hatred for Vitali to see?

‘Fuck you,’ Vitali mumbled to nobody in particular and dropped his head against the cold glass of the window with a little bit more force than he had meant for. ‘All I ever did was try.’

Words he wished he could say to him. Words he wished he could have said to him a long time ago; but he had simply never been able to, whether it was because he was too afraid or because Matvey wasn’t listening or because he just wasn’t there.

All he had ever done was try, and now he was doubting it. Had any of it been worth it? Was it still worth it? Wouldn’t it be easier to just give up?

But what would happen then? Vitali still had his friends relying on him; he still had his business to take care of, and the Council was also still there, expecting him to take care of his responsibilities despite rarely taking care of their own. Would he move on, pretend nothing was happening?

How many more people would get injured? How many more people would die?

Vitali turned his head to look at Viktor. He still hadn’t moved- leaning back into the cushions, head resting on top, eyes fixed on the ceiling- expression unreadable, but Vitali knew he was mostly just trying to catch his breath.

He had punched Matvey. It’d given Vitali a visceral reaction- but he was unsure why.

He kept his eyes on the ripperdoc as the events from earlier began replaying in his head. He did not understand why Matvey had let them walk away again; did not understand why it had been so easy to get him to stop. He doubted Matvey had been so moved by what Vitali had said to him that it had changed his mind- no, it had all been planned, like a game of chess, once again one step ahead of him-

But for what? Why had it been so easy?

Vitali felt his heartbeat begin to speed up again and quickly redirected his attention to the TV, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. But if anything, it made him feel worse; the news was showing footage of the attacks of earlier that day and his stomach turned.

A fixer, dead. Plenty of mercenaries as well- some well-known names even, though Vitali had not even bothered to ask who the fixer in question was. Nobody on the Council at least- he wouldn’t have stopped hearing about it if so.

He knew Matvey had bigger plans for all of Night City, yet for some reason he still felt responsible. It was still his father, after all- but at the same time his father’s problems with the city were not Vitali’s fault. Not in the slightest.

The others were talking too loud. Too much noise surrounding him- and his breath got caught in his throat and his eyes started burning again, tears welling up in the corners as his environment finally overwhelmed him to the point he felt like he was going to either throw up or pass out.

No situation had ever done this to him before. The aftermath of the Heist came close; yet somehow this was worse, much worse, and drawing comparisons with the failed gig from the year before was not helping either.

‘Vitali? I think you should…turn on the TV for a sec.’

Vitali blinked upon hearing Lauren’s voice and he quickly regained himself, exhaling sharply as he pushed the thoughts out of his head. He walked over to the coffee table, then grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. The second he did, the others all went quiet instantly and directed their attention to it as well.

‘Lauren, what’s happening? Talk to me,’ Vitali said, not patient enough to try and piece the situation together from listening to the reporter.

‘NCPD’s investigating the attacks, MaxTac on the scene as well,’ Lauren quickly replied. ‘Looking into the source of the problem- where the mercs are coming from.’

A silence washed over the room and the puzzle pieces slowly began clicking together in Vitali’s head, and a sharp exhale left his body as he stumbled back until he hit the wall next to the window he’d been standing at.

‘They don’t have much to go on, but the Council does,’ Lauren quietly continued. ‘Pickin’ up chatter from within the network- lots of your old mercenaries, right?’

She did not need to say more, really.

‘They’re tracing the attacks back to you, jefe.’

No.

Vitali shook his head, as if Lauren could see him; as if it would change anything; as if it would set everything right. And he laughed- truly it was just a joke, right? The Council couldn’t really believe that he was behind all this; why would they?

He looked at his friends, and the smile faded from his face. They were all looking at him- some worried- some scared.

Were they scared of him?

‘What are they saying?’ Vitali quietly asked, eyes finding Vincent’s; his boyfriend could not hold his gaze and quickly looked away.

‘Talkin’ about your time with Arasaka. Both when you worked for them, and- last year. I get the sense they don’t know what happened there. Don’t know about the brainwashing.’

‘Rogue knows, she was there!’ A pause, a deep breath. No need to raise his voice. ‘I- I’m sorry. Can you connect me through?’

‘Don’t think so. It’s not a direct connection- just tellin’ you what I’m picking up “he-said-that-she-said” style. I can ping them to arrange a meeting, if you’d like?’

Vitali was no longer able to answer her.

He took everything from us.

He slowly walked forward, eyes still locked on the TV screen as it showed him footage of the burning docks of Wellsprings. Each step he took, his leg protested painfully, and he nearly lost his balance a couple of times.

The Council blaming Vitali for these attacks would have dire consequences for him, and he was well aware. The sole purpose of the gathering of fixers was to ensure the safety of the innocent people of Night City, and if they believed Vitali was behind the attacks they would put a price on his head.

He would lose everything.

‘He isn’t trying to kill you,’ Viktor suddenly quietly said, and Vitali couldn’t stop a single tear from rolling down his cheek.

‘He’s trying to take everything away from you.’

#nuclearwriting #rbs much appreciated :) <3 #last chapter of part 2 babey the dots have finally connected >:^)#it's all coming together very nicely if i may say so myself. i am not doing any chapter planning so i'm glad it's working LMAO #that's also why like. if i Do end up being inconsistent a little bit. i'm not planning out any of this i'm just going with it #but i think it's going pretty well! either way. tee hee and so on #viktor my beloved... and [redacted] is here too for a little bit. even though it's not really him anymore #something about vitali at the start of all this wanting to find out who the broker is to deal with the root of the problem #but now he can't pull the trigger. something about that. much to think about #obviously it's because of like. matvey being the broker. but also. does it really take care of the rest of the problem if he kills him?#the mercenaries are still there. will they stop at some point? will they not? what is nadya's role in all of this? and roksana's role?#much to think about!! and all of that will be relevant in part 3 and 4 babey!!!!!#taking a break for a little bit right now to do at least a Little bit of chapter planning because i do want to do this right #there's an interlude between part 2 and 3 maybe i'll write a little timeline summary post for that :) more detes coming soon!#ch:the broker

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cherrysnax · 11 months

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I love Peter Parker right? kill him. Kill him to death. let him be dead fr there is no point in continuing his story if they’re just gonna disrespect his character like this over and over again

#miles college years RISEEEEE #but also I just want peter to have a writer who does him and his side characters and the citizens of new york justice again #I put down the jms run because there is a trans misogynistic joke every two fucking pages and I want him dead for that #+ the shit with Gwen and everything leading into one more day #but the early writing with Pete being a teacher at his old school may dealing with the fact that peters been lying to her since he was a kid #mj and her career and her choices and Pete’s choices on how they wanna develop their relationship with no secrets no jealousy etc #the world felt alive if that makes sense #hell even the shit with Ezekiel was fun #despite uh everything that came from it #Pete’s little team ups with doctor strange and loki of all people felt #idk it felt real?? and it mostly wasn’t just riding on the tails of PETER OARKER HAS TO SUFFER #he was able to talk to uncle Ben for just a few minutes #when after he got his ass handed to him #and it felt good and rewarding and -_- I miss spider-man #and now that they’re banking on miles and MILES IS IN HIS BAG #it seems like the best time to just. pull the trigger #miles was one of the best things to come out of ultimate universe #abd while I have problems with it ultimate Spider-Man is a wonderful take that keeps getting fucking adapted #but still #it feels like natural progression #ditch multiverse let Peter die #BUT KEEP HIS IDENTIY A SECRET TROM THE PUBLIC #UGH #man they need to reboot or SOMETHING

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nos7evin · 1 year

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there’s something to be said about the way slevin thought it’d be easier to fake his gf’s death than to just… have a conversation with the man who raised him and tell him how he feels. the way he doesn’t argue, doesn’t falter, when goodkat says they need to kill her but immediately begins scheming alternatives when his back is turned.

#♞ › you can only kill me once : character study .#the sad reality is that he’s known goodkat longer than he knew his own father.#just because goodkat showed him mercy as a kid doesn’t mean shit when he’s seen the carnage the man leaves behind.#the violence he’s capable of.#he may be a psuedo father figure but he’s still a world class assassin and slevin hasn’t forgotten that.#he still sees him as the man who drove him out to that field all those years ago and held him at gunpoint #he’s still just a boy waiting for the trigger to be pulled.#he knows that after all he’s done he’s not a good person.#but lindsey is.#his parents were.#there’s nothing he could have done to save them but her… he can save her. he can make sure one good person survives.#the whole movie is about him taking back the life that was ripped from him and that includes the sense of normalcy lindsey offers.

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punishwar · 1 year

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someday i will get into and write just how much his friend, his brother, billy russo's betrayal blindsided him and its effects on him moving forward.

#god damn billy i love #and hate you #i barely have gotten to write with any billy russo muses #mostly in part it's hard to not have #these two not want to fight #do i see the ending of s2 with frank killing him as canon #no russo was dead either way #frank just leaves him to bleed out #like he left him and his family to die #i also think part of him that once held love and respect #for his ' brother ' wouldn't pull the trigger #i may go back and forth on this #but i swear i don't think #they're is any going back #frank isn't a forgiving man #it's just frank is who he is and who he always was #and so is billy

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feelslikegold · 2 years

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Sorry I’m just now catching up…. did he block them just because they’re an HL update?

I don’t think so?? like that just doesn’t make any sense to me bc they’ve been around for years and the only thing that’s changed in their behavior is having the option to charge fans for rumors lmfao. and if louis’ shown us anything, it’s how big of a pet peeve it is for him when anyone scams fans especially a platform of that size. they’re also scamming fans in his name technically bc it’s an account based off 30% 50% of him??

so no I definitely don’t think he blocked them just because they’re an HL account, he would be blocking people left and right 🤪 and also he’s clarified many times that he’s grateful for all of his fans no matter how we feel or how annoyed he probably gets at times so really it must’ve just been a build up of things?? and that was the final straw lmao. I don’t think it’s festival related either bc they weren’t the first nor only UA to post about it 🧍🏻‍♀️

it’s nothing deeper really than louis just saying fuck HLD we hate HLD in this house 💆🏻‍♀️🧘🏻‍♀️❤️

#he’s a queen for that ❤️#and I looooooove all the little mold spores fighting for their lives defending them but they either magically forget they were scamming fans #or quickly brush over it like ‘yeah that may have been wrong but LOUIS IS SO 🗣🗣🗣’#like………you’re really fighting for your lives over an UA??? 😭 and attacking the person who the UA is dedicated to??? 😭 ok I hope he blocks #all of you ❤️ he probably would too 🫣😚#lthq should pull the trigger and take down the Fake lthq website™️ run by miss queen mold spore herself <3 #I would rest peacefully forever #anon

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sttoru · 3 months

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.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. it’s late at night and you try to cuddle with sukuna. keyword; try.

wc. 1.2k

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. fluff, angst (+comfort). heian era. size difference (readers referred to as small). sukuna’s a bit mean, but he also has a soft spot for you. miscommunication ? it gets solved. reader gets called ‘woman, doll’.

“what are you trying to do?” sukuna sighs. you’re up to something again, he figures. his red eyes follow your body as it crawls up to him on the bed.

you’re both tired after a long day of fulfilling some duties here and there around the estate. all you need is a big beefy man wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and safe.

the perfect man for that is sukuna. those four arms of his wrapped around your small body feel like heaven.

“it’s called cuddling,” you retort. the sarcastic tone you used triggers a deep sigh from the sorcerer. sukuna holds back the urge to say something sarcastic as well.

he doesn’t utter a single word once you snuggle up to his chest. you’ve taught him how to cuddle during the first time you asked him to hold you. sukuna was awkward with showing any type of affection back then.

. . he still very much is.

“hug, please,” you remind him. the cold-hearted man scoffs, though listens to your polite request. all four of his arms imprison you against his chest, your small body nearly disappearing behind his limbs.

that’s what you like most about those cuddles you share together; how you fit so perfectly in his strong arms. it’s much more comforting than you thought it would be.

a pair of hands rests on your waist, the other pair on your hips. sukuna glances down at you and immediately notices that smile on your lips. even after all this time, he still cannot fathom why you’re so carefree around a monster like him.

and that inability to understand you and your love for him is accompanied by an urge to push you away.

“you got your hug, now get up,” sukuna interrupts the silence. his voice is cold and devoid of emotion—he uses that voice when he talks to other people. not with you, “i have better things to attend to.”

thus, it hurts. when he talks to you like that. like you’re not the person he secretly cherishes most. though, you remind yourself of sukuna’s own words. the ones you heard him say a while ago.

‘love is meaningless’, he said. you remember. and yet you kept hoping that he’d change his mind about that statement. you hoped and eventually saw exactly that: your presence and your affectionate gestures mellowed his heart of steel.

but all that effort seems to go down the drain every time sukuna pushes you away.

you know it’s because he’s unfamiliar with the feelings of love. he may not say it nor show it, but you know that sukuna’s afraid of hurting you. so, he creates a gap between you two every now and then.

you know and yet you’re patient.

“oh, ‘kay,” you nod in understanding. you pull away from his embrace and get up from the bed. your bottom lip trembles.

sukuna is not gullible. he’s anything but oblivious. especially if it’s about how you feel and act. he notices every single change in your mood; whether you mask it or not.

you walk to the sliding doors—ready to open them and step out into the hallway. your eyes are a bit watery, but you quickly blink the tears away and take a deep breath in. you reach for the door.

“come back here, woman.”

sukuna’s booming voice makes you stop. you glance at his form over your shoulder. he’s leaning against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

is he. . . upset?

“why? you said you had better things to attend to.” you answer with a shrug. you try your best to not make it seem like his earlier words had effected you. you turn your head towards the word with a huff, “go on, then.”

sukuna narrows his eyes. he sucks at communicating what he actually desires—what he actually wants. right now that want is for you to stay. even though that completely contradicts his previous words.

the sorcerer doesn’t know what to do. when you’re with him, he pushes you away out of guilt. when you’re away, he wants you back with him.

love is complicated.

“you. . .” sukuna grunts in frustration. all those feelings for you inside of his heart are playing with his rational thoughts. he doesn’t like seeing you upset. he wants the usual you back, “tsk. fine then.”

silence, followed by the creaking of the bed frame. seems like sukuna’s getting up to do whatever ‘business’ he needed to attend. at least, that’s what you thought.

you slide the door open and set a foot outside of the chambers. before the other could follow, you’re suddenly lifted up in the air by a strong pair of hands. your vision turns upside down as your body is effortlessly hoisted onto a shoulder.

“woah!” you gasp and feel the blood go to your head. your eyes are fixed on the back of your lover. you kick your legs in protest, but only get a smack to your ass in response. you whine at that, “put me down!”

“watch it, doll,” sukuna hisses at your fierce demand, a warning to fix your tone. he puts you back down on the soft mattress. he’s surprisingly gentle when he settles you in place—not throwing you on the bed or anything similar, “should’ve listened when i told you the first time.”

your eyes meet sukuna’s and you notice how much they’ve softened. that alone makes the lump in your throat disappear. your love for him isn’t one sided—you’ve always kept that in the back of your mind—yet your thoughts made you overlook the little things he does for you.

his actions speak louder than his words. that’s the kind of man he is.

sukuna’s trying to open up more, though that process is slow. you’re fine with that.

especially when there’s that faint pout on his lips as he stares at you. his eyebrows are still furrowed, his crimson eyes sharp yet warm.

“oh, you want me back in bed this bad?” you tease once you get the opportunity. the man in front of you clicks his tongue and grabs your cheeks with one hand, turning your head up to face him.

sukuna’s eyes are focused on yours. the eye contact is intimidating, but you’re hypnotised. you physically can’t look away. he leans in and bites your lip with his sharp canines, “shut up.”

that raspy whisper alone confirms your assumption. you giggle at his attempt of refuting your point. you’re used to all those intimidating words and actions he pulls to get you to stop your teasing.

those empty threats—it’s becoming rather cute with how hard he tries to deny everything. he fails nearly every time, however.

“come,” sukuna lays back against the pillows after placing a quick and sloppy kiss against your lips. he pulls your body against his and presses your head against his chest, right where his heart is beating, “continue with your.. ‘cuddling’ thing.”

he put your ear right above his heart, because he remembers listening to his heartbeat calms you down. you told him that a while back. sukuna doesn’t understand why you like it, but his fingers massage your scalp either way.

that’s also something that brings you comfort.

you’re surprised by how much he knows about you, but appreciate it anyway. he remembers both the big and small things about you. ‘that’s how he probably shows his love,’ you conclude silently.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk fluff #sukuna x you #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff

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buckyalpine · 1 month

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Imagine the fluff of Bucky retiring from the avengers because he met you, the sweetest thing on the planet, the woman he's down on one knee for ready to marry in a heart beat. He's built a house from the ground up, a quite place for your little growing family because not long after the wedding, he has a baby boy on the way. It’s all perfect.

The absolute angst of him losing you when complications arise during the delivery and the doctors and nurses chase him out, not giving him a chance to hold you and comfort you. The last thing he sees is your labored breaths and dropping pulse.

He hears the cries of his son moments later but his happiness is short lived when the med bay is forced into an emergency evacuation because of an attack on the compound. He sees a blur of doctors rushing you to a different wing and in the midst of the chaos, his new born baby is placed into his arms. He pleads to be able to go with you but he's dragged out with no answers with the building crumbling and bursting into fire and flames behind him moments later.

He's inconsolable.

Completely distraught.

The memorial service held for you leaves Bucky in shambles, clinging onto the tiny bundle wrapped up in his arms, the only thing he has left to live for now. He doesn't want to go on without you, it's just him and his little boy in the world. He know he has to be strong for his son so he carries on as best as he can. His heart hurts when his baby boy asks for his mama.

He visits your grave often but he never truly feels peace.

There was never even a body for him to bury.

Bucky comes out of retirement when Tony calls him about a mission. He knows its serious because they wouldn't ask him to come for just anything. He doesn't want to fight again but he does it for his son; the world has to be safe for his baby.

"Daddy will be just fine" Bucky reassures his now 5 year old, pressing a kiss to his head, leaving him to stay with Sarah while he's away. When he's back at the compound, he's given a briefing on what they're up against. They leave the next morning.

"I've got them in the west wing, headed towards you Steve" Bucky may have been out of the field for a couple of years but his skills and training still run in his blood. He trails behind the target, gun in hand, catching a knife that's thrown his way before dodging another. He gets them cornered in an abandoned ware house, ready to end it all, justice be damned, he just wanted to get back home to his baby boy. He's about to pull the trigger but that's when he sees it.

The red skull with tentacles surrounding it.

He freezes.

He blocks a punch that comes his way, grabbing their wrist and holding them in place, shoving them against the wall. All he can see are their eyes.

Bucky knows those eyes.

No.

He rips the mask off and nearly sobs, his hands trembling as he continues to hold them with all his strength knowing it was hurting them but what choice did he have.

"Doll?"

Just a thought, okay love you, bye.

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel angst #avenger fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #avengers

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macfrog · 28 days

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sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.

warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 12k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s September twenty-third.

Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.

The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.

You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.

Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.

This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.

This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.

This time in a year, it –

His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”

You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.

“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.

Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.

He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?

You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”

“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”

Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”

“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”

He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.

“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”

He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”

“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”

He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”

You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.

But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.

You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.

Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.

The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.

“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”

“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”

1:29. 1:29. 1:30.

It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.

Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.

Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.

You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.

The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.

He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.

Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?

Yeah. They’re half you.

You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.

You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.

But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.

Fuck it.

You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.

Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”

Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.

Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.

There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.

As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.

“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”

He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”

You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”

He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”

The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.

This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.

“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”

“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”

You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”

There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.

“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”

His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.

Joel’s panicking.

It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.

“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.

“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”

A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.

“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”

The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”

He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”

You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”

The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”

Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”

“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”

The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.

Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.

“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”

The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”

With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.

“Am I what, darlin’?”

You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.

It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.

Knock knock knock.

Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.

The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.

Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”

She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.

“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”

She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.

You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”

She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”

You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”

She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”

You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”

“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”

“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”

The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.

A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.

Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.

You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.

“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”

The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”

“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.

She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.

Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.

You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”

“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”

“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”

“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”

She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”

Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.

Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.

You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.

Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.

Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.

Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.

Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.

And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.

It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.

And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.

“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.

Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.

“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”

The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.

Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.

Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.

You blink your eyes open.

Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.

“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.

You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”

He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.

But – he’s here. He made it.

The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.

He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.

“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.

“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.

Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”

Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.

“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”

You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.

Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”

He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”

Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”

You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.

He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.

“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.

She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.

Always watching, always listening.

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.

“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”

Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”

“I’ll call,” he assures.

She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.

Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”

“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”

He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.

“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”

“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”

You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”

“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.

Mom.

You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.

The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.

She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.

Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –

You.

Her mom.

“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”

He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.

You turn to look up at him.

He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.

“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.

You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”

“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.

Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.

Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.

You finally fucking get it.

She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.

You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.

Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.

You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.

None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.

Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”

An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.

Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.

Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.

Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.

You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.

The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.

The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.

You shake your head. “I like watching you.”

He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”

“Me, either.”

He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.

You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.

“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”

His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”

You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”

He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.

The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.

You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.

Sarah.

And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.

“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”

The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.

Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?

More than the whole world, Mama.

“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”

“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.

You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –

He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.

And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.

Just for a moment.

Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.

He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.

He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.

He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.

It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.

But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.

You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.

You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.

Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.

“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.

She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.

He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.

“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.

Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.

Every time, it’s a combination of all three.

Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.

You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.

On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.

Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”

He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”

The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.

It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.

Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”

His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.

Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.

His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”

“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.

He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”

“What did she…? Did she say anything?”

Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”

He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”

He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m not.”

“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”

A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.

Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.

She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.

He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.

You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”

Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.

“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”

Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”

Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.

She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”

Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”

“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”

Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”

You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.

“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”

Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.

You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.

“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”

She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.

Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.

She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.

“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”

The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”

You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.

“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”

“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”

Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.

You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”

Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.

She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.

“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.

You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”

Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”

“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.

Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.

She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.

You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”

Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”

Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.

The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.

You linger in the living room.

Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.

Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.

One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.

Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.

A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.

Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.

You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.

Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.

Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.

Almost.

“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”

You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”

“You mean the three of us?”

He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”

He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.

It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.

You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just –”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.

He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.

He takes another unsteady breath.

“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”

His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.

“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”

Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”

He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.

“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”

“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”

“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”

His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”

You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”

“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.

It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.

He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”

Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.

“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.

He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.

“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”

Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.

“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.

Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”

“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.

It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.

He’s hungry.

He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.

Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.

His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.

“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.

He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.

He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.

You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.

Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.

He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.

Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.

He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.

Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.

He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.

You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”

Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”

Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.

And then he pushes in.

He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.

You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.

“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. “Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”

“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”

“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.

You agree, “Tighter.”

He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”

It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.

You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.

Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.

You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.

You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.

“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.

He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”

“Needed a little help, though.”

He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”

You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.

You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.

You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.

“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”

The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.

Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.

“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”

“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.

Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.

Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”

But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”

Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”

He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.

Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.

Made for each other.

You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.

Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.

You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”

Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.

It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.

You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.

“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”

You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.

There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?

“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.

He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.

“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”

You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.

Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.

She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.

“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”

“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.

Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”

“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.

“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.

“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”

You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”

Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.

She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”

He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”

The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.

Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.

“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.

Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.

She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.

Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.

Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.

He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.

And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.

Well. Her, and her little sister.

“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”

A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.

“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”

You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel miller #tw pregnancy

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