#I care too much talk too softly and have a heart condition

[eu-nicola]

the fastest driver part 3

summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc

warnings: take of pills

word counter: 7364

author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request, thanks for the comments 🤍

tags: @ilovechickenwings @amortentiaaaa @ananyasribughead @supertrashbread @amalialeclerc @rawr-123s-stuff @wierdflowerpower @malvikareader @freyathehuntress @sweetmuffynsblog @vjbillno

Endless hours passed after the accident before the first clear update about your condition reached the media and the paddock. Everyone was anxiously waiting for news about your health. The uncertainty left fans, journalists, and especially those who truly knew you in a state of tense anticipation.

Finally, a statement from the hospital's medical team brought some relief: you were stable and conscious. While initial tests had ruled out serious spinal injuries or significant fractures, the impact had been severe, leaving you with a moderate concussion and several internal bruises that required monitoring. What concerned the doctors most were the potential psychological and emotional aftereffects: the nature of the crash, the impact, and all the built-up stress could take a toll later.

Hours later, you woke up in a hospital room softly lit by the afternoon light. Everything was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside your bed. Your body felt heavy, like it was filled with lead, and the headache was sharp and constant. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed someone sitting nearby.

It was Charles. He was there, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, as if praying or just trying to calm his own nerves. When he saw you stir slightly, he lifted his head, and his expression changed a mix of relief and worry crossed his face.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, as if he didn’t want to scare you. “Thank God.”

You hadn’t expected to see him there. In fact, you hadn’t expected to see anyone. And yet, here he was.

“Charles…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out as barely a whisper.

“Shhh, don’t talk too much. The doctors said you need to rest.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, ignoring his warning, even though just talking felt like needles stabbing your skull.

He shrugged, offering a light but sincere smile.  

“Someone had to make sure you were okay.”

Charles stayed by your side for hours, even when the doctors came in and out to check on you. He answered questions from the journalists crowding outside the hospital, desperate for a statement, and refused requests from photographers trying to get a shot of you. There was something unusually warm and protective about the way he acted.

As you lay back, eyes closed to avoid making the headache worse, you heard his voice.

“You scared me, you know? I’ve never seen anything so…” He paused, searching for the right word. “So violent. Not since Jules. And when I saw the crash on the screen, I thought the worst.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. There was sincerity in his face, something you hadn’t expected.

“I’m okay… sort of.” You tried to joke, but the pain turned it into a grimace.

“No, you’re not okay. But you will be. You have to be.”

As Charles stayed with you, messages started pouring in. Your phone sat on the bedside table, just out of reach, and Charles offered to read some.

“Everyone’s worried about you. Here’s one from Lando… and even one from Toto. Seems like the entire F1 world is waiting for you to get better.”

“Who else?” you asked, almost dreading the answer.

Charles scrolled through, his expression hardening briefly before softening again.

“Max,” he said simply.

Your heart stopped for a moment. You didn’t know what to expect. Since the accident, you’d assumed Max was too caught up in his own world to care, but the fact that he’d written at all was enough to twist your stomach.

“What does it say?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though you knew Charles could see right through you.

He hesitated before answering.

“‘Hope you’re okay. Sorry I wasn’t there sooner. Let me know if you need anything.’”

The neutrality of the words didn’t match the intensity of what you felt hearing them. You closed your eyes, trying to process it all. What did that message even mean? Was it just courtesy, or was there something more behind those words?

Charles noticed your discomfort and set the phone aside.

“You don’t have to reply if you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you said quickly, though part of you knew that wasn’t true.

As night fell, Charles finally said goodbye, promising to return the next day. There was something comforting about his presence, how he’d set aside any competitiveness or formality just to be there for you. Yet, when you were left alone, the thoughts began to overwhelm you.

The crash, the messages, the worries it all tangled into a mess of emotions you couldn’t unravel. The only thing clear was that while you were physically stable, emotionally, you were far from okay.

After that day in the hospital, Charles became a constant presence in your life. His support wasn’t limited to encouraging messages or occasional visits. He went beyond that. Where others saw a moral obligation or an opportunity to score points with the media, he saw something else: a chance to show you that you weren’t alone.  

The medical team made it clear you could return to racing, but not without certain restrictions. You had to stick to a strict combination of medications after every race: anti-inflammatories, painkillers, and supplements to manage the physical and mental stress you still felt after the accident. Charles was the first person to offer to help you with this. It wasn’t his responsibility, but he seemed to take on the role without hesitation.  

The first race after the accident was a mental and physical challenge. As you prepared to get back in the cockpit, fear swirled in your chest. The accident was fresh in your memory, and even though you knew you were capable, there was a shadow of doubt you couldn’t shake.  

The day before the race, Charles showed up at your hotel. He had a small bag in hand and a calm expression, almost as if it was meant to soothe you.  

"I thought you might need this," he said, placing the bag on the table.  

Inside, there was a box of relaxing tea, a small book about mental strategies in sports, and a handwritten note. When you opened it, you found a simple phrase: "You’re stronger than you think."  

"Thank u," you said, moved by the gesture.  

"You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to know I’m here, okay? If you need to talk, if you need anything..."  

You nodded, grateful for his sincerity. For a long time, you’d felt alone in this world. It was strange to realize someone was willing to stand by your side without asking for anything in return.  

Race day was a whirlwind. Even though you tried to stay calm, every time you sat in the car, the memory of the crash resurfaced. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, reminding yourself you’d done this thousands of times before, that you were capable—one of the best.  

The race wasn’t easy, but you finished in a solid fifth place, a result any other driver would’ve considered a success under the circumstances. When you got out of the car, exhausted but relieved, Charles was the first to approach you.  

"Well done," he said, patting your shoulder.  

After every race, Charles made sure you followed the medical protocol. Sometimes, when you forgot the pills, he’d show up holding the box, reminding you that your health came first.  

"How do you even know I haven’t taken them?" you asked one day, half-joking.  

"Because I know you well enough to know you hate depending on this stuff," he said with a smile, handing you the water and pills.  

It was strange how his presence had gone from sporadic to constant. He wasn’t just there for the serious moments; he also found ways to make you laugh, to lighten the weight on your shoulders.  

It wasn’t something you’d planned or even imagined after everything you’d been through, but your friendship with Charles was good for you. So much so that you felt comfortable asking him something after noticing he’d been off for a while. You’d seen his behavior become quieter than usual, even in the paddock, where he usually managed to keep up appearances in front of the cameras.  

"Are you okay? You seem... off."  

His response came almost immediately.  

"Do you have time to talk?"  

You invited him to your place, where you saw a different side of Charles. He’d shed his usual composure and looked... vulnerable, almost like the facade he kept in public had cracked.  

"Thanks for this," he said, sitting on the small couch as you handed him a bottle of water.  

"You don’t have to thank me, Charles. What’s going on?"  

He sighed, fiddling with the cap of the bottle before speaking.  

"It’s... complicated. Ferrari doesn’t feel like my team anymore."  

You frowned, surprised by his words.  

"What do you mean?"  

"Since Lewis joined this year, everything changed. I knew it would be different, it’s Lewis Hamilton, of course but I didn’t think it’d be like this," he confessed, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I feel like everything revolves around him. The strategies, the resources, even the engineers’ attention... It’s like I’m a shadow in my own team."  

You felt a pang in your chest hearing that. It was almost an exact replica of what you’d felt when you shared a team with him at Ferrari.  

"Charles... you don’t know how much I get it," you said, sitting across from him. "That feeling of being invisible, like your efforts don’t matter... I went through the same thing with you."  

He looked up, surprised by your honesty.  

"Really?"  

"Yeah. Do you remember all those team orders? All those moments where no matter how fast I was, they always put me aside to favor you. It’s... frustrating. It makes you question everything you do."  

Charles nodded slowly, processing your words.  

"I guess I never saw it from your perspective. I always thought the team’s decisions were fair, but now... now I know what it feels like."  

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.  

"Charles, I know how hard this is. But what you need to remember is that your talent doesn’t depend on them. Ferrari is just one team, one stage in your career—it doesn’t define who you are as a driver."  

"How did you deal with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.  

"At first, I didn’t," you admitted. "I kept everything inside, let the frustration eat me up... until I couldn’t take it anymore. But I learned something: you can’t let them take away what you love about this sport. If Ferrari doesn’t value you the way they should, then prove your worth on the track. Force them to see you."  

Charles nodded slowly, as if your words were beginning to sink in.  

"It’s easier said than done," he said, with a bitter smile.  

"I know. But I also know you have the talent to do it."  

The conversation went on for hours, shifting from serious topics to shared memories and stories from your days at Ferrari. It was strange, but comforting, to share that space with him. He’d gone from being the rival who overshadowed you at your lowest to someone you could fully trust.  

When he finally stood to leave, Charles paused at the door and looked at you with an expression you hadn’t seen before.  

"Thank you for this. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."  

"I’m always here. You know that."  

As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Charles was so much more than you’d ever thought. And somehow, he’d brought out the best in you too.

While you were helping Charles find his way in a team that relegated him to second place, you couldn’t ignore the fact that your own demons were still lurking. And, as if that wasn’t enough, Max remained a constant presence both on the track and in your personal life.  

Since your move to McLaren, the rivalry with Max had reached a new level. If before you shared moments of camaraderie and confidences, now every interaction was loaded with tension. And not just on the track.  

The championship was on fire. You and Max were leading the standings, swapping first and second place race after race. On every circuit, every corner, and every straight, it felt like only the two of you existed. It didn’t matter who else made it to the podium; the battle was always between you and him.  

During qualifying, both of you pushed to the limit, but an incident in Q3 left Max without a lap time. As soon as he got out of the car, Max stormed straight toward you, visibly furious.  

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his voice sharp as he closed the distance between you in the paddock.  

“What was what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though you knew exactly what he was referring to.  

“You blocked me on my flying lap.”  

“Max, you were too far behind when I started my lap. I didn’t block you.”  

“Of course you did!” he insisted, stepping even closer. His blue eyes burned with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.  

The argument caught the attention of journalists and members of both teams. You knew that one wrong word could make headlines the next day, so you chose to stay calm.  

“If you have a problem, take it up with the stewards, not me,” you said before turning and walking away, leaving Max with the words stuck in his throat.  

But the tension wasn’t confined to the track. It had started to bleed into your personal lives. Even though both of you tried to avoid each other outside of race weekends, coincidences were inevitable especially at sponsor events or official meetings.  

At one of these events, an FIA gala in Monaco, Max couldn’t resist looking for you in the crowd. When he finally spotted you, you were talking to Charles, laughing at something he’d said. The sight seemed to ignite something in Max, and he couldn’t hold back as he approached.  

“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting into the conversation.  

Charles glanced at you, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution, before stepping back to let you decide.  

“What do you want, Max?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.  

“You and Charles, what’s going on between you two?” he asked quietly, though his tone carried an accusatory edge.  

“What kind of question is that?” you replied, crossing your arms.  

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing it, but… every time I see you two together, I can’t help thinking that…”  

“That what?” you interrupted, annoyed. “That maybe someone else can actually support me and understand me in this chaos that you chose to ignore?”  

Max pressed his lips together, clearly feeling the sting of your words. But instead of responding, he looked away and muttered:  

“You still know how to twist everything around.”  

The conversation was left unfinished, but the night didn’t end there. Later, as you tried to avoid him, you found Max alone on the terrace of the venue, staring out at the sea, his figure illuminated by the lights.  

“Why do you do this?” you asked, walking toward him. Your tone was no longer defiant but tired.  

“Do what?” he asked without looking at you.  

“Show up, disappear, demand things from me that you can’t even give yourself. You’re still with her, and yet…”  

Max closed his eyes, as if your words were too heavy to bear.  

“I don’t know how to handle this,” he admitted finally, turning to face you. “You and me… I don’t know how to handle it.”  

“Then maybe you should stop trying,” you said, though your voice cracked at the end.  

The silence between you was deafening. Too many unsaid emotions, too many decisions both of you refused to make. Finally, Max stepped back.  

“It’s easier said than done, isn’t it?”  

And with that, he left, leaving you alone on the terrace, feeling like the two of you were trapped in a vicious cycle neither of you knew how to escape.  

In the days that followed, you tried to focus on racing and your friendship with Charles, who had become a kind of refuge in the chaos. But every time you saw Max, every time your eyes met in the paddock, you felt the storm lingering, waiting for the right moment to break again.  

The rivalry on the track only grew more intense. Max and you raced as if every race was the last, as if the championship depended on who was stronger, more determined, more ruthless. But off the track, you both continued to grapple with the same internal conflict: what you felt for each other and what the world expected of you.  

You and Max were the top contenders for the title, and every race turned into a war. The media called it “the battle of the century,” comparing it to the legendary Senna-Prost rivalry. Every overtake, every strategy, every word in a press conference was scrutinized.  

At the Brazilian Grand Prix, things came to a head. From the first lap, the fight between you and Max was fierce. You knew every one of his tricks, every weakness, every strength. There were moments when the cars seemed to touch, pushing the limits of competition to the extreme.  

On lap 43, you attempted an overtake on the inside of Turn 1, but Max, in his trademark aggressive style, shut the door almost recklessly. Your front tires brushed his, and though both of you managed to maintain control, the incident was enough to set off commentators and social media.  

“This is unacceptable!” your engineer shouted over the radio. “We’re reporting it.”  

But you didn’t want to win the championship through a penalty.  

“Leave it. I’ll settle it on the track,” you said, with a determination that surprised even yourself.  

In the end, you finished second, behind Max, but the battle was epic. Fans were divided, some siding with you, others defending Max. But in your mind, one thought started to take root: maybe you’d had enough of this world.  

After that race, you decided to take a break. You flew back to your hometown to spend time with your family, seeking comfort in their presence. One night, sitting in the garden of your parents’ house, you opened up to your mom.  

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you admitted, staring at the stars. “Every race feels like a battle not just on the track, but inside me, too.”  

Your mom, always wise and patient, looked at you with gentle understanding.  

“Then why do you keep going?”

You stayed silent for a moment, searching for the words.  

“Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Since I was a kid, my entire world has revolved around racing. But lately… lately, I feel like I want something more. I want a normal life, a family. I want to stop fighting all the time.”

“What’s stopping you?.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what that life would look like, or who it would be with.”

It was the first time you’d said those words out loud. The idea of giving up Formula 1, of walking away from everything you’d worked so hard for, was terrifying but also freeing.  

You couldn’t help but think of Max. Even though your relationship was broken, and the rivalry had reached its peak, there was still something about him pulling you in. But the question that haunted you was: did he feel the same?  

Max was still with his partner, at least publicly. But his actions, his looks, even his comments during races, hinted at something more. Could you build a life with someone who seemed incapable of facing his own feelings?  

“Maybe it’s not Max,” you muttered to yourself that night, curled up on the couch in your childhood bedroom. “Maybe it’s someone else. Or maybe I just need to find myself first.”

When you returned to the paddock for the US Grand Prix, something had shifted inside you. You hadn’t made any final decisions, but you knew this chapter of your life was nearing its end. Still, as long as you were in F1, you were going to give it everything you had.  

In the pre-race interviews, journalists bombarded you with questions about your rivalry with Max.  

“Is it personal?,” one of them asked with a sly grin.  

“Everything in Formula 1 is personal,” you replied with a wry smile, offering no further explanation.  

Max, sitting next to you at the press conference, shot you a sideways glance but said nothing. The tension between you two was palpable, even in front of the cameras.  

That race turned into yet another head-to-head battle between the two of you. During the final laps, the radio chatter grew more intense.  

“He’s losing rear grip. Push him.”

“I already am!,” you snapped, pushing the car to its limit.  

In the last lap, you pulled off a risky overtake that left everyone stunned. You won the race, and as you stepped out of the car, you felt a mix of euphoria and exhaustion.  

While celebrating with your team, your thoughts drifted back to your conversation with your mom. Maybe this was the ending you’d been searching for, or maybe it was just the start of something new.  

Max watched you from the podium, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t decipher. In the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder: could you ever leave it all behind, even him?  

The next race, under the scorching Qatar sun, felt heavier, both in the air and in the paddock. Everything about this second-to-last race of the season felt like a countdown to something inevitable. You and Max were tied in points, both neck and neck after a season of epic battles, controversies, and moments that had pushed you to the edge emotionally.  

The tension in the McLaren garage was palpable. Though your relationship with your team was excellent, you knew the pressure was on you. Lando tried to lighten the mood with his usual sense of humor, but even his energy couldn’t cut through the wall of your thoughts.  

“Come on, don’t be so serious. We could both use a win today,” he joked while adjusting his gloves.  

“Sure, but if you win, I won’t complain,” you replied with a faint smile, though you both knew that wasn’t true. This race meant everything to you.  

Meanwhile, Charles had sent a message that morning: ‘Remember, one race at a time. You can do this. You’ve already proven you’re the best.’ His unwavering support had become one of the few things keeping you mentally afloat during this emotional rollercoaster.  

From qualifying, it was clear this race would be another direct battle between you and Max. Both of you blocked every attempt the other made to set the fastest time, ending up on the front row: Max on pole, you in second.  

The start was clean but intense. From the first corner, Max showed his usual aggression, shutting you out in an attempt to stay ahead. But you knew this game; he had taught you how to play it. You used the slipstream on the main straight, and on lap five, you overtook him with a surgical move in turn 6.  

For a moment, the world seemed to stop as you led the race, but you knew the real battle had just begun.  

Midway through the race, things heated up. Teams began to play with strategies, and tire choices became crucial. On lap 32, as you exited the pits after a tire change, Max appeared beside you. The overtake that followed was so tight the two cars brushed slightly, sparking an explosion of shouting over the radio.  

“That was way too close!,” your engineer protested, but you were too focused to respond.  

Max didn’t back down. In the following laps, he kept relentless pressure on you, looking for any weakness in your defense. On lap 48, he attempted an inside overtake on a tight corner, but you managed to hold your position with a move that left everyone on the edge of their seats.  

In the final laps, your mind was torn between the adrenaline of the race and the mental exhaustion you’d been carrying all season. Max was glued to your diffuser, but he made a small mistake on the second-to-last corner, giving you just enough of a margin to cross the finish line first.  

Your team’s shout over the radio was deafening:  

“Victory! You’re incredible, what a race!.”

But you didn’t have time to celebrate. As you parked the car in parc fermé, reality hit you: this victory only meant you were still tied in points, and everything would come down to the final race.  

The journalists were in a frenzy. In the post-race press conference, the questions came at you like bullets.  

“How do you handle the pressure heading into the last race?.”

“Calmly. One race at a time.” you replied, echoing Charles’ words, even though calm was the last thing you felt.  

Max, sitting beside you, spoke after you.  

“I always knew this season would be decided in the end. I’m ready for it.”

His gaze met yours for a second, and in that brief moment, the tension between you two felt more personal than ever.  

Back at the hotel, you tried to disconnect, but it was impossible. Your mind raced, replaying every detail of the race and anticipating what was to come. Charles called to congratulate you but also to remind you to rest.  

“Don’t let this consume you, okay?,” he said, his tone serious but kind. “You’ve done an amazing job, and you have everything you need to win.”

“Thanks, Charles. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t know what you’d do without me either,” he joked, managing to make you laugh.

However, when you hung up, you kept staring at the ceiling of your room, wondering if you were truly ready to face everything the final race was about to bring.  

Even though you hadn’t seen Max since the press conference, you knew he was just as restless as you. Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t help but think about him, about how this rivalry had consumed everything you once shared.  

Is this really what you wanted? To keep fighting, keep competing, keep losing yourself in the process?  

You closed your eyes, trying to calm your thoughts. Just one race left. One final battle. And after that, maybe you’d finally have the answers you’d been searching for.  

The last week of the season was a whirlwind of emotions, preparations, and a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The entire paddock was on edge. Everything would be decided in Abu Dhabi.  

Escaping the media’s attention was impossible. Cameras followed you everywhere, looking for any reaction that could turn into a headline. The atmosphere at McLaren was optimistic but tense. You’d brought the team to its highest point in years, and that was already a monumental achievement. But for you, it wasn’t enough. You wanted that title.  

During the press conferences, the questions were relentless. You and Max were the center of attention. Though both of you kept calm outwardly, the discomfort between you was obvious. Every word, every gesture was analyzed by the journalists.  

“How do you feel heading into this decisive race?” they asked you during one of the press rounds.  

“Focused. This is what we’ve worked for all year. I just want to do my job and see what happens,” you replied diplomatically, though inside your heart was racing.  

Max, sitting next to you, simply said:  

“I’m focused too. We both know what’s at stake. May the best win.”  

There was a moment when your eyes met, but it was fleeting. There were so many words left unsaid between you, and the weight of that silence felt unbearable.  

In the final strategy meeting with your team, the tension was palpable. You knew every decision would matter, every detail could be the difference between winning and losing. Your race engineer, always meticulous, reviewed the plans calmly, but even you could tell he was nervous.  

“I believe in you. You’ve proven you can do this,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder before you left the garage.  

Lando, on the other hand, tried to lighten the mood with a joke.  

“If you don’t win, can I keep the consolation trophy?” he said with a cheeky grin.  

“There won’t be a consolation trophy,” you replied with a smirk.  

That day, Yas Marina Circuit was lit up like a jewel in the desert, and the atmosphere was electric. Before getting in the car, you took a moment for yourself. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and visualized every corner, every move. You knew you had to give it everything.  

The anthem played, and the world seemed to pause for a moment. Max was beside you on the grid. Though you didn’t speak, you could feel his presence, his energy. You both knew this race wasn’t just about the championship but also everything that had happened between you.  

The start was flawless. From the first corner, you and Max were locked in an intense battle. Neither of you gave an inch. Every lap was a fight, every overtake a statement. The rest of the drivers might as well have been racing in a different category; it was as if this championship was meant to be decided between just the two of you.  

On lap 35, a slow pit stop almost cost you the race, but you quickly recovered, overtaking Max in a spectacular move on lap 42. The crowd went wild.  

But Max wasn’t going to give up. On lap 50, he took the lead back, forcing you slightly off the track. It was an aggressive move, but clean—classic Max.  

In the final five laps, both of you were at the limit. Your hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline, but your focus was unshakable. In the penultimate lap, you found a gap on the main straight and passed Max on the inside. This time, he had no answer.  

When you crossed the finish line, the world seemed to stop for a moment before exploding in celebration. You’d done it. You were a world champion.  

Your team screamed over the radio, their voices full of tears and joy.  

“You’re the world champion! You did it!”  

As you climbed out of the car, the emotions overwhelmed you. Your team surrounded you, celebrating. Lando was one of the first to hug you, shouting:  

“I told you! I knew you’d do it!”  

As you stood with your team, your eyes instinctively searched for Max. He was there, watching you from a distance. Slowly, he approached, his steps a mix of pride and resignation.  

When he reached you, he extended his hand.  

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.  

“Thanks, Max,” you replied, shaking his hand. For a moment, his eyes reflected something that looked like regret, but he said nothing more. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.  

That night was magical. There was laughter, tears, toasts. The tension of the entire season melted away in a whirlwind of emotions. Charles called to congratulate you, and his genuine happiness was like a balm to your heart.  

“I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice full of sincerity.  

As the celebration went on, you took a moment to reflect. You’d reached the pinnacle of the world, but you knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your life. The future was full of uncertainty, but that night, you decided to enjoy the present, savoring every moment of your triumph.  

The emotional hangover the next day was overwhelming. It wasn’t physical, nor from the celebration, but a deep emptiness you hadn’t expected to feel after achieving the dream of your life. You’d won the Formula 1 World Championship, the peak of your career, but instead of feeling complete, you felt lost.

You woke up in your hotel room, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Around you, there were remnants of the celebration: a half-empty champagne glass on the table, the dress you wore last night carelessly thrown over a chair. The trophy, shiny and imposing, sat on the nightstand, but as you looked at it, you didn’t feel the euphoria you’d imagined for years.  

You got up and walked to the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was different from the one you were used to. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion from the season; it was something deeper a sense of disconnect with yourself.  

You spent the morning avoiding your phone, even though you knew the notifications had to be flooding in. Messages of congratulations, articles from the media, videos of the highlights... but you weren’t ready to face it yet. Instead of feeling celebrated, you felt isolated.  

The idea had been lingering in your mind for weeks, maybe even months. The crash, the endless emotional struggles, the pressure to always be the best... it had all left its mark. And now, after achieving what you’d always dreamed of, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep going anymore.  

During breakfast with your parents, you decided to share your thoughts. You’d avoided bringing it up before, afraid of their reactions, but now felt like the right time.  

“I’ve been thinking about something... important,” you said, breaking the silence while fiddling with your coffee mug.  

Your mom looked at you with concern.  

“Are you okay? Does this have to do with Formula 1?”  

You shook your head.  

“No… well, partly, yes. Like I said, I’ve been reflecting, and I think... I don’t want to keep racing anymore.”  

The silence that followed was heavy. Your dad, ever the pragmatic one, was the first to speak.  

“Are you sure? You’ve worked your whole life for this.”  

“I know, Dad. But I’ve also given it everything I had. And now I feel like if I keep going, it’ll just be out of habit, not because I really want to.”  

Your mom took your hand.  

“We’ve always wanted you to be happy, no matter what you do. If you feel this is the time to stop, we’ll support you.”  

That conversation was the turning point. Over the following days, you talked to your team, Lando, and even Charles, who, although surprised, understood your decision. Lando tried to convince you to stay for one more year.  

“Are you really going to leave me here alone? We were just starting to have fun!” he joked, though there was genuine sadness in his eyes.  

“It’s your time, Lando. I’m sure you’ll do amazing things,” you replied, hugging him.  

Charles, on the other hand, was more serious.  

“I didn’t see this coming, but I get it. Just… promise me you won’t disappear completely.”  

“I won’t. I’ll always be here, even if it’s just as a spectator.”  

That same night, after hours of figuring out how to word it, you sat in front of the camera in your room. You were nervous, not about the decision, but about how the world would react. You wore a simple t-shirt, your hair tied back. You wanted the message to be honest, without distractions.  

‘Hi, everyone. I know this isn’t the video you were expecting after the incredible season we just had, but I wanted to share something important with you...’

You took a deep breath before continuing.  

‘I’ve decided to retire from Formula 1. This year has been the most exciting but also the most exhausting of my life. Winning the championship was a dream come true, but it also made me realize it’s time to close this chapter and start a new one.’

You paused, letting your words sink in.  

‘This wasn’t an easy decision. Formula 1 has been my life for so many years that I barely remember what it was like before. But I also know I want other things. I want time for myself, for my family, to explore who I am outside of this sport.’

Your voice wavered slightly, but you kept going.  

‘I want to thank my team, my teammates, my rivals, and, of course, the fans. Without your support, none of this would’ve been possible.’

When you finished, you turned off the camera and fell onto the bed. It wasn’t immediate relief, but there was something freeing about putting an end to that chapter.  

The video was released the next day and, as expected, caused a storm. The media debated your decision, fans flooded social media with messages of support and gratitude, and some even expressed disbelief.  

Charles sent you a text:  

“I saw it. I’m proud of you. You’ll do amazing things, no matter where you go.”  

And Max, who had avoided talking to you since the last race, also sent a short message:  

“You were the best. I always knew it. I hope you find what you’re looking for and that you forgive me.”  

Even though his words were few, they left a lump in your throat.  

That night, while staring at the stars from your balcony, you realized that, even though the future was uncertain, you were ready to face it.  

Weeks passed since your decision, and life finally seemed to find its rhythm. The constant noise of racing and the pressure to be the best slowly faded. But deep down, you felt like something or someone was still missing.  

Your house, now quieter than ever, became your sanctuary. You spent those days focusing on yourself, resting, discovering what you truly liked outside the track. But even in the peace of your own thoughts, Max lingered in your mind. He wasn’t a constant thought, but you’d remember him, especially when news of his breakup with his girlfriend started circulating. That, unexpectedly, stirred something in you, a knot in your stomach.  

Late one night, your phone buzzed. The name on the screen made you hesitate for a second. Max.  

The message was short, direct.  

“Can I see you? I need to talk to you.”  

You didn’t think much about it. You knew this conversation needed to happen eventually. You’d been avoiding it, but now it felt like the universe was putting it in your path.  

You agreed to meet at your house the next day, and when the door opened, there he was. Max, with that intense, direct gaze that had known you for years. Now, though, there was something different something more vulnerable.  

“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual.  

You invited him in, and he settled on the couch like it was his own home. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unresolved emotions.  

“I don’t know where to start,” he began, with a nervous smile.  

“Neither do I,” you replied, sitting across from him.  

The two of you just sat there, watching each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Max spoke.  

“Breaking up with her... wasn’t easy. I knew it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t keep lying to myself. The truth is… I never stopped thinking about you.”  

Your heart skipped a beat, and a lump formed in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. Max, always so sure of himself, seemed completely different now.  

“Max... I don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve been on such different paths. You… always so focused on F1, on competing… and me too. Things were never easy between us, and now… I don’t know if any of this makes sense.”  

He nodded, understanding what you meant.  

“I know. I’ve been an idiot. I thought I could keep everything under control, but in the end… I lost what mattered most.”  

He looked at you intently, and in his eyes was a sincerity that made you question everything you’d been thinking until that moment.  

“But that doesn’t mean I forgot about you. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about what we had. If anything, it’s taken me time to realize that… maybe there’s something here we never really figured out.”  

You stayed silent, processing his words. The tension was thick, but something in his voice made you want to listen, even though you knew the situation was complicated.  

“And what is it that you want, Max?” you asked, your voice a bit shaky.  

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a small, sad smile. “I’m not asking you to forgive me or to go back to what we had. But I think… we should at least try. Not now, not right away, but… maybe we can see what happens, without the pressures of F1, without everything that kept us apart.”  

You got up and walked to the window, staring outside without really seeing anything. Max watched you from the couch, waiting for your response. The atmosphere between you had shifted somehow, and for the first time, it felt like you had both let go of the fight to always be the best.  

You turned to look at him.  

“I’m not sure I’m ready to start something new. After all, I made the decision to retire for a reason, Max. I’ve spent so much time on F1 that now I need to rediscover myself. And I don’t know what I want.”  

Max got up from the couch, slowly approaching you.  

“I get it. I’m not expecting it to be easy, or for everything to be resolved right now. But I want you to know I’m not pressuring you. I just… wanted you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll be here. And if someday you decide what we had is worth another shot, I’ll be ready to try, no matter the past.”  

A deep silence followed his words. You knew there was still so much to figure out between the two of you, but something about his attitude, about his willingness to wait, struck a chord within you.  

You didn’t say anything else. You walked toward him, and for a moment, words weren’t necessary. The look in your eyes said it all. Still, there were no promises, no certainties just a silent understanding that, maybe, the future could be different. Maybe even together.  

“We’ll see what happens,” you finally said.  

Max nodded, not pushing, knowing that time would have to decide the course for both of you. And with that response, the future remained suspended between you, open, uncertain, but carrying a possibility that hadn’t existed before.

[svartalfhild]

In case anyone was wondering what the vibe is at my job, today I had to stop a fistfight between two 7 year olds while attempting to convince another two to stop saying inappropriate things before I run out of chances I'm willing to give them. This is a normal Tuesday. I'm a reading tutor.

[f1goat]

roommates ; lando norris + part five

In which you have to live with your brothers best friend who you really don't like, Lando Norris, and his many 'girlfriends' for a while, but there's always a thin line between love and hate.

masterlist - playlist

lando norris x fem!verstappen reader tw: nothing much yet expect that Lando is a player + i don't proofread + smut will come next chapters!

The following day you’re not surprised by the way you’re feeling. After standing in the pouring rain yesterday it doesn’t surprise you that you’re feeling sick. After wearing your soaked dress for way too long, it only seems logical that you’re not feeling that well right now. It does however annoy you. You don’t feel like getting out of your bed. You’d rather stay in your bed for the rest of the day. However, Lando did already sent you multiple texts about grabbing breakfast together somewhere. After yesterday you don’t want to say no to him. So, with a big sigh you get out of your bed. 

When you leave the comfort from your bed, the cold air is quick to hit you. It reminds you that you really don’t know how to dress yourself. Then you notice Lando his sweater laying on your floor. When you were shivering in the car next to him yesterday, he eventually pulled of his own sweater and gave it to you. Without giving it a second thought, you pick it up and put it on. You grab some pants from your closet and continue to get dressed. More effort then this isn’t in it today. You skip doing your make up and start to walk out of your room. 

Lando is quick to give you a confused look when he sees you coming towards him. “Are you okay?” He asks you. In the mean time he can’t look somewhere else then at the sweater you’re wearing. It makes him feel all fuzzy on the inside that you’re wearing his sweater again. 

“Good morning to you too,” you softly chuckle, “I’m feeling okay.”

“You don’t look okay,” Lando quickly replies. 

“I’m okay,” you repeat your earlier words.

“You’re lying,” Lando states.

“Let’s go for breakfast?” You try to change the subject. Lando lets out a soft laugh. You notice how cute his laugh can be. Then he shakes his head at you. “Babygirl,” he softly says, “it’s pretty clear that you’re sick. We’re not going out like this.” 

You wonder how Lando noticed in this short amount of time that you’re not feeling well. He barely saw you and already figured you out. Even Max isn’t this fast with seeing right through you. Lando keeps amazing you lately. Yesterday night was also one of those moments. When you came back at his place after the disaster with your ex, Lando made sure he took care of you for the rest of the evening. Together the two of you watched some movies, while Lando made sure you were feeling comfortable. Eventually you ended up falling asleep on him, only for him to wake you up and bring you to your own bed. He keeps confusing you. 

“But you wanted to get breakfast,” you reply to Lando.

“And now I want you to feel better,” Lando is quick to reply.

“Why?” You ask surprised. Lando confuses you again with his words. It’s not that it’s bad for him that you’re sick, right? Or is he afraid that you will infect him as well? Maybe it’s about that. Then you should get back to your room you guess.

“Because you need to join me to the race this weekend,” Lando states.

“I need to join you?” You ask surprised.

“Yes,” Lando replies. He’s not making things more clear. Why does he want you to join him? You want to ask him that question and a lot of other questions, but Lando is already talking again. “What about pancakes for breakfast?” He asks you. 

You laugh about the way he changes the subject, but you do accept the pancakes. “One condition,” you quickly tell him, “You’ll let me help.”

“No, no,” Lando replies, “I’ll make the pancakes, go sit down babygirl.”

You feel your heart flutter at the nickname. It reminds you about yesterday. Maybe your ex was right. It only feels right when Lando is the one who calls you babygirl. That can’t be good.

“No offense Lan, but you can’t even cut up some onions. It seems a bit more safe for me to help you.”

Lando chuckles and makes room for you to join him at the counter. 

+++

The rest of that day, Lando makes sure you’re close to him. It’s surprisingly sweet how close he keeps you to himself. He hasn’t left you alone once today. You overheard one of his friends calling him and asking to do something, but Lando was quick to say no. It kinda feels like you’re his priority today. You can’t deny that it makes you feel good. 

For now he has you pulled on top of himself on the couch. You’re watching one of your guilty pleasure reality shows. Lando is making fun of the people who participate, but doesn’t complain about the show itself. In the mean time he focusses on playing with your hair. He has you closer on top op him then last night. Maybe it’s because you’re sick and in the need of comfort, maybe it’s because you slowly start to realize that you like Lando, but you let him hold you exactly how he wants to. Meaning that you’re on top of him, with your head on his chest. 

Eventually you fall asleep on top of Lando. The tiredness of being sick caught up with you. Lando is quick to notice it. He hears the soft snores which you’re letting out caused by your cold. It’s cute according to him, although he’s sure you won’t agree with him on that. While you’re sleeping, Lando continues to play with your hair. 

Lando has sunken deep into his own thoughts. He can’t stop thinking about the progress he made. Max would be proud of him. It has always surprised him how supportive Max has been about his feelings for you. What once started like a small crush, has developed into a massive one for now. Max once told him about your ex and how he really disliked the guy - something Lando strongly agrees with since yesterday. But, because of that Lando always thought Max would be protective and wouldn’t be a fan when he told him about his crush.

“You’re the worst you know,” Max tells Lando with a soft chuckle. Lando is quick to watch away from you and to focus his attention on his friend. He really should stop staring this much at you. In the mean time you’re walking away. Lando can’t help it and watches you once again. 

“The absolute worst,” Max continues.

“Hm?” Lando asks, “Why am I the worst?”

“Your eyes are practically glued on my sister,” Max states. 

Lando wants to deny the words of Max, but he can’t even find words to do so. Max is right. He only hopes that Max doesn’t connect the dots further. Max laughs when Lando doesn’t respond at first. 

“Don’t stress about it,” Max continues, “I don’t mind your crush on her.”

“My crush?” Lando is quick to ask, “I don’t have a-“

“Lando,” Max sighs while interrupting him. “You don’t have to lie about it.”

“You don’t mind it?” Lando asks, he needs to make sure he heard it right. Max has always been really protective about you, so Lando is surprised with how this is going. 

“If she has to have a boyfriend, then your my first pick.”

It’s the doorbell that shakes him out of his earlier thoughts. Lando opens the app on his phone. You’re still asleep on his lap. He wants to keep it that way. When he sees the person in front of the door, he chuckles softly. What a coincidence. He taps on the microphone and starts to talk.

“Hey Max, there’s a key under the doormat. I’m in the living room,” he says. He notices how Max nods at him and starts to search for the key. It only takes a small minute before Max is walking into his living room. 

When Max walks in, the first thing he notices is you laying on top of Lando while being peacefully asleep. He lets out a soft laugh while looking at Lando and you. “Things are finally working out for you I see?” He asks at first.

While Lando and Max are making some small talk, you slowly wake up as well. At first you wonder to who Lando is talking to, but then you recognize the voice of your brother. You doubt about opening your eyes and showing the boys that you’re awake. They seem to have fun talking together. You decide to give yourself a couple more minutes before intervening in the conversation of Max and Lando. 

“You keep surprising me,” you hear Max tell to Lando, “A couple nights back she kept texting me about how annoying you were and how you were keeping awake, but now she’s sleeping on top of you? And in your sweater?” 

“It’s a surprise for me as well,” Lando replies. You feel how his hand finds your hair again. Slowly he caresses your hair locks. It makes you feel even more comfortable. It can’t be good how comfortable you are with Lando. It surprises you.

“So no more random girls?” Max asks. 

You can’t hear Lando his response. He probably either shook or nodded his head. You wonder which one was it. Max chuckles about it, so you guess he nodded his head. You know for a fact that Lando is a player and will always stay one. It makes your small crush on him only more hopeless. What you don’t know is that Lando never shook his head harder to answer with no to a question. 

“But since when are you this close?” Max asks further.

“I don’t know if we’re this close,” Lando sighs, “There was some drama yesterday night, but she should tell you herself about that. I picked her up and tried to help her. And this morning she was sick, so we did nothing all day expect lay on the couch.”

“Since when can you do that?” Max asks surprised, “Normally you can’t even be home for more then an hour.”

Slowly you open your eyes as well. It starts to feel a bit rude to listen to Max and Lando like this. Although you do feel kinda annoyed that Lando still is having sex with other girls. Not that you care, of course. Max is the first one to discover your open eyes and that you seem to be awake. 

“Hey!” He greets you enthusiastically. Softly you greet your brother back. You try to sit up a bit instead of laying on Lando, but Lando is quick to keep you close to him. He does however let you sit straight, but after that he pulls you into his arms again. You don’t say anything about it, you just let it happen. Maybe you should stop things like this. You remember yourself about Lando and the other girls and slowly move away from Lando. 

In the mean time Max tells Lando and you everything that happened to him lately. You try to focus on his words, but Lando beats you with responding quickly every time. You let it happen. In some strange way, you can’t seem to focus. Maybe it’s still the sickness. 

“What did I hear? You had some drama?” Max asks you eventually with a smile.

“It was my ex,” you softly sigh. Max is quick to lose his earlier smile. You know that he has always hated your ex. There wasn’t any specific reason, as far that you know, but Max didn’t like your ex since the beginning. 

“What happened?” Max asks quickly.

You start to explain everything to Max what happened last night, giving more details this time then Lando even knew. “He still had some of my stuff,” you start, “and he wanted to meet up to give it back, so we agreed on grabbing dinner together. At first it wasn’t that bad, but eventually he started about getting back together.”

“He wanted to get back together with you?” Lando asks you annoyed. You show him a small nod. Max is muttering some swear words as well in the mean time. You ignore their reactions and continue with telling them what happened. 

“I told him that I wasn’t interested anymore,” you explain, “but he thought I had a new boyfriend. He even asked me if it was Lando. I kept telling him that I’m still single, but not feeling anything for him anymore but he didn’t believe me. Eventually he called me a bitch, so I paid for my part and wanted to leave.”

“You should have called me earlier,” Lando mutters, “I should have joined you or something, I knew it was a bad idea.” 

“He kept bugging me while I was waiting for Lando to pick me up. Thank god Lando broke probably every speed law and was there really fast,” you joke, “but when my ex saw Lando, he got even more mad. He called me a slut.”

“He called you a slut?” Max asks angrily. You nod. 

“Then it kinda escalated,” you continue, “Long story short, he called me a slut again, Lando punched him and eventually my ex missed Lando and punched me.” 

Max is quick to stand up. “I’m going to kill him,” he mutters, “What a fucking idiot.”

“But Lando made him scared and then he ran away,” you end the story. 

Max is still angry. He does however turn his attention towards Lando. “This is why,” Max eventually tells Lando. You have no clue about what he’s talking, but Lando seems to get it. Lando even shows him a small smile. He knows that this is Max telling him why he does approve of him trying to get with you. 

+++

Later that day you feel a lot better then before. Even good enough to have an argument with Lando. It annoys you that things always have to go like this. Everything went well today, but now you’re feeling angry with him again. You don’t even know how it happened, but you’re almost screaming at Lando right now. Fuck. 

Lando just told you about his plans to have some drinks with friends tonight, meaning that he would leave you alone for the rest of the night. You couldn’t help yourself and made a small remark about him coming home again with a girl. Which Lando denied, according to him he hasn’t done that since the last girl you heard. Something you don’t believe. 

“Why don’t you believe me?” Lando sighs. 

“Because you’re a player,” you reply annoyed, “you don’t change like that.”

Lando lets out another loud sigh. He doesn’t know what to say. Of course, he realizes that your claims aren’t coming from nowhere. Maybe he even thinks he deserves it, but still… he wants you to believe him. 

“Why do you even care about this?” Lando eventually asks you a bit hopeless. He doesn’t know why you’re arguing with him about this. Of course, he hopes that you do care about it, but the chances are kinda low for that. 

“I don’t care about it,” you are quick to state. 

“Then why are we arguing about this?” Lando continues to ask.

You don’t have an answer for that question. Lando is right, if you claim to not care about this then it’s stupid to even talk about it. But having this argument with him, is less scary then confessing that you actually do care about it. 

“So correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t care if I’m bringing home a girl?” Lando asks further. He’s pushing it this time. Of course, he hopes that you’re going to deny his words but he’s afraid that you won’t. 

You doubt about your answer. Maybe you should just be honest. You do care if Lando brings home a girl, because you really don’t want it to happen. This time not because you’re afraid that the sounds will wake you up, but because you’re afraid for your own reaction when it happens. It annoys you that you can’t seem to trust yourself around Lando anymore. There’s a small part inside of you who’s dying to disagree with Lando his words, to tell him that you do care about it. But the small part doesn’t win, you’re not confessing. 

“I don’t care,” you state.

Lando takes one last look at you before walking away. He shakes his head in disbelief and sighs while walking away from the living room. In the mean time he decides that this was it. It has no use to walk after you and to wait until you’ll give him a chance, if that would ever happen. You don’t care about him fucking with another girl, so why would he hold back anymore? He really needs to forget about his crush on you. It can’t go like this any longer.

Later that night, you can’t seem to fall asleep. You’re still annoyed by everything that happened. Maybe you’re even so annoyed that you’re still sitting on the couch and scrolling on your phone, instead of being in your bed and catching some sleep. You feel your fever rising up again, but you don’t let yourself go to bed. 

You need to know if Lando brings someone home.

Lando didn’t text you, you also didn’t text him after he walked away. You don’t know if he’s coming home late, you can only hope it won’t be that late. You know that this is weird. This isn’t healthy. But still, here you are - sitting on the couch and waiting for Lando to come back home. Maybe you should talk about this with Max? You really need some help.

Before you can make up your mind, you hear the front door opening. It only takes two seconds before you have the answer on your burning question. 

It’s the innocent giggles of another random girl that forms the answer to your question. Of course, he bought someone home with him.

a/n; sorry took a bit longer this time :( kinda busy with workkk. hope everyone likes this chapter, the next one will have something more happening :))))

part six

taglist: @booksandflowrs @hiireadstuff @likedbygaslyy @dreamsarebig @f1fantasys

@samantha-chicago @sweatrevenge5436-blog @queenofmanydreams @fionamiller123

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@lifesass @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @insunia

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

Taking care of Jude after his shoulder surgery and trying to comfort him from the idea of not playing for 2 - 3 months, he is out of mood but you know how to cheer him up (maybe a bj)😉

Remedy

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Jude is sulking because of his injury and you have the perfect remedy to cheer him up.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 3.1k

Warnings! NSFW! FLUFF, slight domestic fluff, pouty Jude, he's hurting🥺 SMUT (18+), oral sex (m receiving),

He's quiet.

Has been since you came back from the hospital. The silence that now wraps around him is different from the comfortable, familiar quiet you used to share. It's thick, heavy, and it feels like a dark cloud is following you around.

He doesn't talk much. You're not sure if he even wants to. Every time you try to bring up something about the surgery or football, he just shakes his head and change the subject. You're starting to get worried; this isn't like him. You've seen him upset before, but he was never like this.

The doctor had said he'd be fine after some rest. That it was normal to feel this way after the surgery, especially given the length of his recovery time. Two to three months out of the game was going to be tough for anyone, let alone someone as dedicated as Jude.

You knew that this was going to be hard for him, but you were ready to support him. If that meant taking care of him and doing all the things he hated, then you were happy to do it.

You knew it wasn't just about the surgery, or the recovery time. It was everything else. Being away from his teammates, away from the game, it was hard for him. He felt useless. Inactive.

The only thing that brought him a little joy was you. He always smiled when you were around, and you were always happy to see him. Even if he was still in pain, even if he wasn't talking much. You could see it in his eyes. He was happy to see you.

And right now, he needed you more than ever.

The room is dimly lit when you walk in, casting a soft, amber glow over the furniture. The faint hum of the air conditioning mingles with whatever show he's watching on the TV.

Jude lies in bed, his left shoulder heavily bandaged and propped up with pillows. His face is still pained, but he's not using the morphine anymore. He's trying to tough it out, and it makes your heart ache to see him like that.

You sit down on the edge of the bed near him, smoothing the blankets with your hand. The sheets are crinkled, the bed is a mess, and you think about making it for him, but you know he doesn't want you to fuss. So, instead, you just smooth the blankets down, running your fingertips lightly over the fabric.

His eyes flicker over to you, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Hey,” he says, his voice raspy from lack of use.

You smile back, leaning over him. “Hey,” you say, pressing your lips softly against his forehead. He closes his eyes at the touch, a sigh escaping from between his lips.

“Do you want anything?” you ask, running your palm down his arm. “Painkillers? A glass of water?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I'm fine.” He smiles weakly at you and you nod.

“Are you watching anything interesting?” you ask, gesturing to the TV. The show is some sports documentary, something you're sure he's seen a thousand times before. But it brings him comfort so you hold back from making any comments.

He shakes his head again, reaching up to run his fingers over your cheek. “Just background noise,” he says. “I missed you,” he murmurs, pulling you close.

You settle next to him, the warmth of his body a welcome contrast to the coolness of the room. His touch is gentle, almost fragile, as though he's afraid to press too hard. Afraid of being hurt. You wrap your arm around him carefully, mindful of the bandaged shoulder.

You smile, running your hand down his side. “I missed you too,” you say.

He hums, turning his head to press a soft peck to your lips. The first kiss he's given you all day. “I'm sorry,” he whispers as he pulls away, his hand sliding up under your shirt.

You look up at him, confused. “What for?”

He sighs, his brow furrowing slightly. “For being a dick.”

You frown, shaking your head. “You weren't a dick,” you say.

He rolls his eyes, giving you a look. “Don't lie to me.”

You shake your head again. “I'm not lying,” you say, cupping his jaw in your palm. “I know you're upset, and you're not handling it well, but you weren't a dick.” He looks away, his shoulders hunching forward slightly.

He lets out a deep breath, like he’s been holding it in for too long. “It’s just,” he starts, but the words seem to get stuck somewhere between his heart and his mouth. He lets out a heavy sigh, his good hand clenching into a fist. "I just… I hate feeling useless. Watching the team from the sidelines, not being able to play… it's killing me."

You nod, understanding more than he realizes. “I know,” you say softly. “And you're not useless. You're healing. But you’re going to get through this. You’re the strongest person I know.”

He looks at you, his eyes tired but appreciative. “I don’t feel strong,” he admits. “I'm scared” his eyes look distant. “I feel like I’m losing everything that made me who I am.”

The honesty in his voice hits you like a wave, and you take his hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone,” you tell him, your voice steady. “You’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get through this together.”

He looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. You can see the worry in his gaze, the fear and the uncertainty. It breaks your heart to see him like that.

You give him a soft smile and press your lips to his once more. This time, he meets you halfway, his mouth opening to let you in. He sighs into your mouth, his arm wrapping tight around your waist as he deepens the kiss.

His kisses are slow and tender, careful not to touch your lips too hard. You let him lead, letting him control the pace as you kiss.

You press closer to him, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. His hands roam freely down your back, squeezing your ass and pulling you into him.

He breaks away from you, his breath hot against your face. “I missed kissing you,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. You laugh, and he smiles. It’s the first real smile he’s given you today.

“I missed kissing you too,” you say.

The room is quiet once more, but this time it feels different. The air is lighter, the atmosphere changed. The cloud that had been following you around has vanished, and in its place, there’s a sense of relief. Of calm.

Jude’s fingers trace light patterns on your back, a touch that is both tender and tentative. His breath, warm and uneven, mingles with yours as you stay close. You can feel the faint tremor in his hold, a reminder of the pain he's so desperately trying to mask.

He’s trying to be strong, to fight through this.

You wish you could take all his pain away. You think for a moment, searching for a way to lift his spirits. An idea forms in your mind, and you smirk. You know just what he needs to cheer him up.

The doctor strictly forbade sex for the sake of Jude's quick recovery. But he never said anything about Oral sex. You internally cackle at your own deviousness.

You break away from him, leaning back to give him a sly smile. He doesn't see you, eyes still trained on the TV in front of him.

You smirk, letting your gaze wander down his body, letting your eyes linger on his crotch. You can just barely see the outline of his cock in his grey sweatpants. He's soft, not aroused, but that's okay. You can change that.

You lean up on your elbow, propping yourself up so you can get a better view. He shifts next to you, his eyes flicking to you. His mouth opens to say something, but he catches sight of the hungry look in your eyes and closes it again.

He smiles, raising his eyebrows. “You’re staring,” he says, his tone amused.

You nod, not ashamed. “I am.”

His smile grows, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You smirk, letting your gaze travel further down his body. “About sucking your cock,” you say, watching as his expression changes from amused to surprised, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline.

He swallows hard, his eyes dropping back to your mouth. “I didn’t…” he starts, trailing off when he catches the look in your eyes. You smirk, biting your lip, and he trails off once more.

He looks up at you, his face still surprised, but there’s something else there now too. Desire.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Do you want me to?” you ask, watching as he shifts next to you, adjusting his position in the bed.

He licks his lips, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard, trying to act nonchalant. “I mean,” he starts, “if you want to.”

You grin, leaning over to press your lips to his once more. This time, you kiss him harder, more urgently. He groans into your mouth, his good arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. You're careful of his shoulder, mindful of the bandage.

He lets you lead, following where you take him. Your hands slide up under his shirt, your fingers tracing over his abs. He's lean, his muscles defined from hours spent working out. He shivers beneath your touch, his cock hardening in his pants.

You pull away from him, giving him a heated look as you straddle him. You lean up, running your tongue over his bottom lip before biting it gently. He groans, his hips jerking up into yours.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to watch the trajectory of your hand.

You chuckle, leaning back to run your palm over his cock. He lets out another low groan at the touch, his eyes closing as he throws his head back. “That feels so good,” he says.

You hum, your fingers brushing over the waistband of his pants. He shifts beneath you, his cock twitching in response. You lean over him, running your lips down his neck. “Do you want my mouth around your cock?” you ask.

He gasps at the question, his eyes flying open. “Jesus,” he says, his voice hoarse. He nods, his head bobbing up and down. “Fuck yeah, I do.”

You grin, leaning down to press a kiss to his neck. “Good,” you say.

His hands slide up under your shirt, running over your back. “Take your clothes off,” he says, his voice still hoarse. “I want to see you.” You smirk, leaning up to pull your shirt over your head.

He groans, running his hand up over your breast. “Fuck,” he says, squeezing your nipple between his fingers. “You’re beautiful.”

You smile, leaning back to take off your pants. “I’m going to take my clothes off,” you say, sliding the fabric down your thighs. “But then, you have to take your pants off.” He nods, his hand slipping down your stomach as you slide off the bed.

He shifts next to you, his eyes following your body as you move. You kick your pants off and stand up, your fingers hooking into his waistband as you lean over him. “Your turn,” you say, pulling his sweats down.

He lifts his hips for you, wincing slightly as you tug the fabric over his cock. The skin sensitive from the lack of use in the past few weeks. “Sorry,” you say, trying not to hurt him.

He shakes his head, smiling. “I’m fine,” he says.

You hum, leaning over to press your lips to his thigh. He shudders beneath you, his hand sliding up to rest on your head. “Please, baby! Don't tease.” he says, his voice a low whine.

His cock is hard, standing straight up from his body. The head is a deep, angry red, his veins visible under the skin. A drop of precum glistens on the tip, and you can't help but lean closer, your tongue darting out to lick it away.

He moans at the touch, his hips jerking upwards. You smirk, running your tongue around the head before licking down his shaft. He groans again, his head falling back onto the pillows.

You lean down further, licking the sensitive spot underneath the head. His hips jerk up again, his thighs clenching around you. He groans, his hand tightening in your hair. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You hum, licking him once more. You want him to feel good, to take his mind off the pain and the surgery. You want him to focus on the pleasure.

Your fingers trail down his shaft, curling around him to hold him in place. Your tongue moves faster, flicking against the tip of him before licking down to his balls. They’re heavy and swollen, hanging loose under him. He groans when you touch them, his hips twitching with each brush of your lips.

You tease him for a minute, licking and sucking at his balls before moving back to the head. You swirl your tongue around it, sucking the head into your mouth. He groans again, his hips rocking into your mouth.

You take him deeper, sucking harder as you bob your head on him. His hips jerking upwards as he groans. His hand tightens in your hair, holding your head in place. “Fuck sweetheart. Take me deeper, be a good girl,” he gasps, his cock twitching in your mouth.

You hum around him, sucking harder as you move your head faster. He groans again, his thighs shaking under you. “You're so good at this baby. Don’t stop, please,” he says.

You don't plan to, sucking him deeper into your mouth. Your lips slide down his shaft until they meet his trimmed pubes at his base. The dark hairs dust your nose, tickling it. Your mouth is stretched around him, the tip of his cock bumping against the back of your throat.

You swallow, your throat closing around him. He gasps, good hand coming to cover his face, the pleasure too much for him. His shoulder starts to ache behind his jerky movements but he doesn't care. He wants more. “Fuck, that feels good,” he says, his hips rocking up into you.

You pull back, your mouth popping free of him. His cock is shiny, slick with your spit. “Gonna make you cum down my throat,” you say, looking up at him. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at you.

"Yeah?" he whispers, his voice a low growl. "Go ahead then. Take me all the way in that pretty little mouth. Gag on it." His words send shivers down your spine, your own body growing hot in response to his. You're soaked, your pussy dripping wet and aching to be filled.

You lean down, sucking him back into your mouth. His head falls back, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

You gag on him, the tip hitting the back of your throat. Tears fill your eyes as he fucks into you, using your mouth as he likes. He’s rough, his hips slamming upwards to meet you as you bob your head on him.

You gag again, drool soaking his cock as you choke on him dripping down his thighs. It's messy, wet. Just the way he likes it He groans, his cock twitching in your mouth. “Oh shit, baby, I’m close,” he says.

You suck him deeper, your tongue working overtime as he fucks into your mouth. He’s getting closer, his movements growing more erratic as he teases the edge. You can feel the pleasure building in him, the muscles in his thighs tensing under you.

He’s so close now, his cock twitching in your mouth as he gasps. “Baby,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m about to come.” He moans again, his hips jerking up to meet you.

You swallow around him, taking him deep. He cums down your throat, his cock jerking in your mouth. His hips slam upwards, filling your mouth with his seed. You swallow it down, taking it all as he comes.

When he's done, you pull back, gasping for breath. He relaxes back on the bed, his head falling back on the pillows. His chest is heaving, and a light sheen of sweat is covering his skin.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice breathless. “That was so good.” His cock is softening now, tip red, pulsing and glistening with spit.

He sighs again, his eyes opening to look down at you. “Thanks baby,” he says, his voice low and soft. “That was amazing.”

You smile, crawling up his body to rest your head on his chest. “Welcome,” you say, kissing his skin. “I’m sorry again, about your shoulder. It's going to suck not being able to play.”

He hums, his good arm coming to wrap around you. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath your head is a soothing. His breath, steady and deep, caresses your cheek, and you can feel the faint pulse of his heartbeat as you nestle in closer.

“I’ll be alright,” he says. “I just need some time.” His fingers run through your hair, his touch comforting. You lean into him, your body relaxing. You’re comfortable here, wrapped in his arms.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, looking up at him. His eyes are closed, his chest still rising and falling in a slow rhythm. “Jude?”

He opens his eyes, looking down at you. “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I could eat.”

You smile, crawling off the bed. “I’ll go make some lunch,” you say, bending down to pick your pants up off the floor. His hand slides up the back of your thigh as you stand. You shiver, your body responding to the touch.

You straighten, pulling your pants on, still shirtless. “Don't even think about it,” you say, laughing watching his eyes glued to your chest. “Your shoulder needs to heal.”

He sighs, flopping back onto the bed. “Fine,” he says, grumbling.

You laugh again, pulling your shirt on. “Be good,” you say, walking over to kiss him. “I’ll bring your food up.”

He nods sulking, but smiles. “Love you,” he says, his voice soft and low.

You smile, leaning down to kiss him again. “Love you too,” you say. You walk out of the room, him watching your ass sway with each step. He’s smiling when you leave, the pain and frustration forgotten.

For now, at least, he’s happy. And that's all that matters.

-Bianca🌻

[dernier-mystere]

! SPOILER WARNING FOR 2.5 UPDATE! READ WITH CAUTION ! summary: the yaoqing trio returns back to the yaoqing, though things are a little different, being an alchemist in the alchemy commission, you receive the instructions and diagnosis from the cauldron master of the luofu, lingsha, about jiaoqiu's condition and what needs to be prepared for him and his treatment plan. despite being someone who worked a few times with the healer, you find yourself assigning treatments to him for once, despite his stubbornness and negligence when it came to his own health. pairing: jiaoqiu x alchemist!foxian!reader (afab) warnings: slight gore, injury descriptions word count: 3.4k a/n: how are we feeling jiaoqiu fans? a mess? :,) me too <3 so we need some comfort yes <3 the idea is based on an idea oc that was an alchemist and as the xianzhou yaoqing is mostly foxians, it makes sense right? hope you enjoy it <3 sorry for the medicinal rambling too! sorry if this may seem ooc, I feel so rusty with writing these days... ^^; I plan to write some proper fluff, I apologise this isn't lovey dovey, if anyone has suggestions please send them please support me by following or sharing! it's much appreciated! <3 twitter/x: @derniermystere ao3: Dernier_Mystere

The diagnosis was almost painful to read, you knew the trio was reckless, and a part of you thought it would be the Merlin’s Claw that would come back with the injuries, not Jiaoqiu. Even Moze who lingered in the shadow of the General had his incident report of injuries, most of the events that had occurred on the Luofu remained on the hush, so unfortunately, it left you and numerous other healers in great distress when the commission received the outpatient details and care instructions for the pink-haired foxian. Toxins in the wounds have caused surrounding flesh to decay and atrophy… acute shock from severe blood loss…? Disturbed blood circulation from Tumbledust results in disturbed blood circulation, massive internal bleeding, neurological atrophy and optic neuropathy, leading to… blindness. These were just a few lines written in his injury reports, you felt your eyelids flicker in concern at the words, each description made your lips crease further into a frown, your heart wavering as you could only imagine the pain he would’ve struggled with in that short period, not only ingesting a lethal amount of Tumbleweed but also baring the injuries sustained by the Borisin Warhead, Hoolay. Not to mention there were found traces of Lupotoxin still present in his bloodstream, in short, he danced on the thin line between life and death, a second too late, and he would have died an agonising death.

As you sat in the cool room of your examination office, the rhythmic ticker a counterpoint to the steady hum of the medical equipment in the room still trying to convince yourself how Jiaoqiu remained in such good spirits, and oddly with a good appetite despite his situation… his calmness and sly exterior made you fear the worse, after all, he hid a lot of his emotions, using his fox-like smile as a mask to pretend all was fine, even if inside he could have been begging for a semblance of hope. Your e/c gaze flickered up to the Foxian who hummed softly, sitting on the examination table with a Gaiwan* in his hands, as he curiously took in a whiff of the scent of the tea, swirling it occasionally in his hand as he tried to depict what herbs were in it. “Not much to say honestly, I feel quite fine besides the fact, I have been told not to eat spicy food… it’s truly a torturous treatment,” his voice was calm, yet the mention of not being allowed to eat his favourite food made him click his tongue, one of his long ears flicking in annoyance, “But, other than that, I am quite alright,” 

Your eyes squinted as you observed him talking to the pot plant in the corner of your examination room while you were seated on the other side of him, yet… you felt your insides soften that, he was still adjusting to his new condition after all. “Master Jiaoqiu, you know ingesting amounts of spicy food will only increase inflammation of your wounds.” You spoke softly, choosing not to comment further that he was talking to the plant rather than yourself. Jiaoqiu’s ears flicked in your direction rapidly, as he quickly adjusted himself to face the direction your voice came from, acting as if he knew the whole time you were seated there, it made you softly giggle in amusement as you slowly lit a stick of Dreambranch Incense in the office, in hopes of providing calmness to the mind during his routine follow up examination.  

“You always say you’re quite alright to avoid unnecessary long appointments, who dropped you off today? Was it the Merlin’s Claw or Moze?” You teased, prepping the small station beside him with all the necessary tools and treatment needs. Jiaoqiu’s tail flicked in annoyance as he crossed his arms, followed by a tiny pout on his lips, “I will have you know, no one dropped me off, Thank you.” His tone was almost childish and petty, “I came as instructed by the Cauldron Master of the Luofu, nothing more than a routine check-up.” He clarified, yet the creases in his brows seemed to convince you further that someone made him actually arrive at his scheduled appointment. “For a healer, Master Jiaoqiu… you should always look after yourself before treating others.” You commented, your fluffy tail swaying behind you in amusement as you spoke, enjoying the small amount of petty banter with the Foxian healer who had left the field a while ago now. Being a long-life species, a mere few years seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, but when one formed friendships or any kind of relationship when they left or moved on, it felt as if they had left for centuries, this was no different to Jiaoqiu. His sassy nature and his usual greeting with a cunning smile were oddly something you missed, but deep down, you knew the losses on the battlefield tore and ate away at his heart, leaving nothing but emptiness, a path of Nihility to creep in. Some days, you found yourself sitting on the stairs of the commission, looking at the fake night sky of the Yaoqing, wondering if your research and treatments meant really nothing in the end. Countless patients slipped between your fingers like sand, no matter how hard you tried to grab the delicate granules, it would still slip through. The many nights where you prayed to Lan or any aeon to hear your pleas and silent begs to help a young patient that was slowly succumbing to the effects of Mara, the way their limbs twisted un-naturally, root-like appendages growing from his body like a deformity as they slowly lost their mind day-by-day, yet none of them cast their gaze on you or your pleads… they always replied in a numbing silence. You felt his pain… you sympathised with his feelings for those who were lost in battle… You could treat a thousand patients, but what was the point if they returned to the battlefield and lost their lives in the end… was their sacrifice in vain? These were the many questions that went through your mind on a daily, and something you assumed most alchemists thought. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as you shook your head to dismiss the darkening thoughts, you forced yourself to read over the letter submitted by Lingsha. As written in his treatment plan, you were to clean his wounds with Pathovore bugs, before applying liberal amounts of medication and dress them up firmly. As well as take a deeper examination of his blindness and relay any suggestions to her for possible treatments of his blindness. “Well, I know you want this to be done quickly, so I will start with the treatment of the wounds, Master Jiaoqiu, then if possible, I would like to examine your eyes…?” You asked hesitantly, your h/c ears pinning back against your head as you cautiously asked him, you honestly didn’t know why you were nervous, it was your job… but he had only recently just lost his vision, was it a touchy subject? Or maybe would flat-out refuse and say it was nothing.  

Jiaoqiu simply remained silent as he continued to hold on to the delicate clay cup, he gave the tea one last sip before he gently pressed the edge of his hand along the surface of the table to confirm he could safely place his cup upon it, “Why are you concerned, Y/N? it’s your job after all. Do what you need. For once, I am simply the patient, and you’re my healer now, are you not?” He spoke up, turning to face in your direction, though you could hear the slight hesitation laced in the last few syllables of his words but you slowly nodded in reply, not that he could see it. 

The initial examination was rather simple, you had to look over his wounds, the deep lacerations on his chest, the state of his collarbone, checking him for any signs of Lycanthropic symptoms which came in the forms of excessive hair growth, elongation of the canine teeth, hostility (namely to Foxians) and a heightened increase of Lupitoxin which are evident in a blood rage. Further examination of his red blood cell, Platelets and the protein count in his plasma, to gauge how well his blood would coagulate over time, while the effects of consuming Tumbledust has significantly lowered the count, he was slowly making progress as there were some improvements. While it wasn’t much, it was better than none… 

“So far, you seem to be on the road of recovering… slow, but I am sure we can get there eventually, there has been a minimal increase in your plasma counts, and platelets, but not much to say you can return to handling sharp objects… I am hoping you’re not, Master Jiaoqiu, and you have no signs of Lycanthropy so that rules out any further conclusion of you becoming a borisin.” You explained, all while scribbling on his patient forms that would be sent back to Cauldron master Lingsha, and further approval by Head Alchemist on the Yaoqing, Yingyue. “With this, I would like you to be placed on a higher dose of anti-inflammatories, to help reduce the swelling in your wounds. That, or need I remind you that you are not to ingest spicy foods, Master Jiaoqiu.” You slowly raised a brow at him as he turned to you, pulling out his fan that was underneath his alchemy commission uniform that he had removed so you could treat his injuries. He delicately fanned himself a few times, before hiding his lips behind the coloured feathers. 

“I would never betray the doctors’ words, no knives or spicy food here. Are you insinuating that your patient ingested spicy foods? Y/N you wound me… I would never,” He stated with a cunning smile pulling at his lips behind that fan, his tail swaying behind him as he took in the results of his examination. “But is it really my fault that Moze had hotpot, I couldn’t turn down such a request, even Feixiao was there.” He soon added, nodding his head innocently as his ears twitched in your direction. 

“So you did have Spicy food, is that what you're telling me?” You pressed, raising a brow as he kept fanning himself, concealing his smile. 

“I never said that, I just said that Moze might have offered it to me. But as such a good patient, I never touched a drop. I instead had to sit and watch my so-called friends enjoy a hotpot in front of me, it was quite cruel, really…” His fluffy ears drooped down, as he dramatically acted as if it had taken a toll on him that he couldn’t have some. Your expression fell into a deadpanned glare as he kept innocently fanning himself, humming all innocently, you knew that this sly foxian had made the hotpot himself and threw the blame at Moze to get off any kind of lecture. You feigned a sigh in defeat as you allowed him to win at his little game, “Alright, whatever the patient says… but know your slight increase of white blood cells, and redness on your laceration tells me otherwise,” You simply pointed out as you began working on removing the now loosened bandages around his shoulders and chest, you had seen your fair share of injuries and wounds, but the deep claw marks along his chest with lingering parts of decaying flesh seemed to leave a deep pang in your heart… reading about his injuries were bad enough, but seeing them in person was just as bad. 

The audacity he had as he simply hummed in reply and with a nonchalant shrug, “I have no idea what you’re insinuating here, doctor,” He added, placing his fan down to reveal that sly fox-like grin, as he lifted his head proudly, more so that you could work on his wounds better. But upon sensing your concern with his wounds, Jiaoqiu slowly fell into silence as he turned away, “This is nothing. I can handle this, there is no need to look at me with… pity.” 

You felt an all-familiar annoyance stir inside you as if small flicking flames lapped at the insides of your chest as your movements slowed down, “It isn’t pity… it was concern Jiaoqiu when the incident reports were handed to us, it was worrying… especially when there was no news or context from the Luofu. I knew something was covered up, and it involved Hoolay, something for sure went wrong… it may not be my place to ask what happened, but… You shouldn’t bare yourself to a wolf's fangs… and ingest Tumbleweed… even if you had a plan.” you whispered, gripping the bundle of bandages in your hands that you had removed, “You could have died, then what-” 

“I would have died fulfilled and content, Y/N.” He cut her off, a heavy sigh ruminating from his chest as he still refused to face you entirely, his brow furrowing in annoyance as he refused to accept your concern for him. 

“Would you really say that?” You pressed, your shoulders slouching as you continued to remove the last of the bandages to fully observe the wound in its entirety. Yet unlike before, you weren’t phased, instead, your heart simply felt like it was crumbling at his words. However, Jiaoqiu remained silent when you pressed him, his ears folding back a tad, it was a sign that you were right in some way. Despite the deafening silence, you continued to work on him, applying the Pathovore Bugs onto the rotting parts of his wounds, all while she delicately ran her scalpel over the unhealthy flesh to promote excess skin growth. Jiaoqiu grunted softly, leaning back onto his arms as he tried to push himself through the uncomfortable sensation, he didn’t want to be seen as weak or vulnerable, even though he was the one knocking on death's door. Yet his stubbornness to admit anything or the fact that for once he required treatment was unyielding, even when he was in pain. 

The silence continued to hover between them, once playful banter turned to a darkened cloud of tension, but, Jiaoqiu managed to face Y/N once more, parting his lips as he tried to find the words to say something, “Why do you care so much. Don’t they say laying your life out on the path of the hunt is a blessing…?” He managed to whisper out, his voice almost weak and one could even say vulnerable. Y/N glanced up, but unlike the look of annoyance or a frown, she offered him a compassionate gaze, “We are both healers, different kinds sure, but in the end, we are here to help those in need. I know you have lost many patients, as have I… I may not have been through or seen what you have on the Front Lines… but we share the same burdens of what we do is the right thing…” Your voice was soft, yet anyone could hear the way your words seemed to break through the ragged breaths you took in as you tried to formulate each word with sincerity, “But… we… no, you shouldn’t allow yourself to go through such measures… General Feixiao is already strong on her own, and your patient can only go as far as they can if their healer is also healthy, I have seen too many people die over nothing to claim they did so in the name of The Hunt… but it felt like they were throwing themselves away.” 

You gently removed the bugs, placing them in a glass beaker as you kept talking, “As I said… I don’t know what happened on the Luofu… but I know, you shouldn’t have risked yourself at such a high stake. There is always an alternative, another way to do things, picking the dangerous path isn’t always the right way.” You whispered, head now falling downwards as your ears drooped once more. You had seen so many soldiers come back from the battlefields injured and proclaiming proudly that if they died, they did so for The Aeon Lan, but, it more so felt like they were throwing themselves at the denizens of Abundance without another thought of a better strategy. Y/N slowly bit on her bottom lip as she continued with the treatment by applying liberal amounts of the ointment onto his wounds, before securely wrapping them up in bandages. 

During the quiet moment as Y/N worked, Jiaoqiu found himself sighing once more, shaking his head as his expression softened slightly to that of contentment. “You might have been right, I could have found another way… but I made it, did I not?” He replied in a lighter tone, even if you swatted his side with the flick of your fluffy tail, “You’re just as reckless as the Merlin’s Claw, she is rubbing off on you. You know… there would be a lot of people upset if you had died… I am sure even Moze would be upset in his way… you may have been fulfilled as you say, but what about the others that care for you?” you added, making sure that each one of his wounds was fully covered, before you soon sat back in your chair, your mind also wanted to add ‘what about me?’ yet, you didn’t. The Foxian offered you a sad smile, as he turned to the direction of the pot plant, “You’re not wrong, Y/N.” He reluctantly whispered, his voice holding a sense of vulnerability yet again, each word spoken like a prayer, with an ear twitch he turned back to you, this time with a more genuine smile.

“I am sure you would have been deeply hurt. To think during your training you said you hated me and my spicy food you could smell from a mile away…” His demeanour shifted to his usual self, sly and jabbing, which seemed to stir you up, evident as your tail swished around in annoyance as you finished up with his wounds, giving him the space he needed to change back into his clothes. “Stop being snarky… you seriously need to take better care of yourself.” You huffed as you turned to clean your instruments, all while he resumed fanning his delicate face once more, his soft pink hair flowing with each motion of his fan as he continued that same mocking smile. “I know. I can’t promise anything.” He hummed, for once he spoke truthfully, “But, I will do my best, I have no guarantees.” 

“That's all I wanted to hear, Jiaoqiu.” Your shoulders eased up and relaxed at his words, her heart feeling ever so lighter. 

“You know, you dropped the formalities halfway, this is quite intimate, Y/N, I am almost flattered, after many years and now you call me by my name and not Master Jiaoqiu,” As usual he tried his best to get under your skin, still calmly fanning himself. He expected you to retaliate or shoot back another snarky comment, yet you did something that surprised him… You gently hugged him, wrapping your arms around his lower torso to avoid touching his wound, as much as he wanted to open his eyes in surprise, the Foxian instead felt his expression melt into a soft fondness, one that wasn’t all that often seen. “You were that worried?” He finally admitted, moving one of his hands to delicately brush against your back soothingly. 

“Just promise me you will be more careful next time,” you whispered faintly, near one of his long ears that twitched at your words, his tail swaying side-to-side. 

“I can’t guarantee anything… but, if I get hugged like this, I might consider it.” He purred, still fanning the two of you with his fan, blissfully unaware of the edge of the fan catching a lit with the sizzling of fire lapping at the tips. Jiaoqiu quickly moved the fan to stop the fire from continuing with a silent huff of annoyance, “Maybe we could even go for some hotpot sometime?” 

You wanted to say he wasn’t allowed spicy food, but you were content from his words, you simply hoped that one day, he would take your words to heart, if not for your own sake, but maybe for those that were close to him…

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii! Can you do one with emperor caracalla and what he would be like as a father?? I’m in a drought of carcalla fics 😭

Emperor Caracalla as a father

Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : fluff, hurt/comfort, mention of family problems, a bit emotional, kissing

info : Anon I love you thanks for the request, Caracalla is just such a ray of sunshine he's only better as a father ;) I hope you enjoy reading and sorry for not having a cover, but today was exausting.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything has always been ours, never his. He may have been the younger one, the one with the problems, the madness and the insufficient seriousness for politics, but that didn't mean everything had to be ours, did it?

No, it didn't have to be because where Geta was in charge of politics and dealing with the Senate, it was Caracalla whose position was used to provide an heir, a marriage to a princess only the best for the human gods. A marriage that didn't bother him a bit, he loved his wife with all his heart, from the moment he saw the golden dress, the jewelry but above all her loving nature was what had won him over.

His sun was at its greatest and the happiness of the imperial family was only surpassed when the priestess announced his wife's pregnancy...a pregnancy that would soon make him a father.

°Caracalla as a father from the moment he heard that his beloved was pregnant from him he cried, not breaking out of his madness for the first time and apologizing to her, ,,I-I...I'm responsible...as much as I'm happy...what if our child goes into madness?" a question he asked her kneeling, his head resting on her lap and his hands clutching her tunic. The moments in the here and now were hard enough and his condition touched her, her hand stroked his head and gently made him look at her, ,,Even if the gods are not merciful, Caracalla it is our child, our little one it would not change anything” she assured him and pressed a gentle kiss on his head.

°The months leading up to the moment of birth were up and down for all three of them, Caracalla getting more and more nervous, seeming to switch back and forth between delusion and his mind. His wife helped him as best she could, praying to the gods that it would not destroy him, and a Geta who took care of both of them. But from the construction of the nursery, the preparation for their birth and the cuddles, it was a time of harmony and love. Every day Caracalla put an ear to her belly laughing whenever he thought he heard something and helping his wife as much as he could, even Dundus seemed calmer and not too demanding of his owner as if they all knew what was at stake.

°The further her pregnancy progressed, the more excited he became, talking to her and his child as if it could already hear him, ,,Of course it heard us! It's a little monkey as often as it moves,” he said, kneeling in front of his wife, who was mostly still sitting or lying down because of her belly, not to mention the pain and discomfort. Whenever he saw the moving and kicking he let his hand wander over it with hers, ,,Just as excited as his father,” she said softly and gave Caracalla another reassuring kiss, giving her everything she needed, almost as excited as the child itself seemed to be...until the moment of birth.

°The late night was filled with screams, in the empress's room the midwives helping her as much as they could and outside a crying Caracalla whose worries were growing, ,,What if she dies brother? A child without a mother? It's my fault, my madness? The midwives will die if she dies” he mumbled to himself, pacing up and down, waving a sword only to throw it away, his brother's words barely calming him down. He looked as exhausted as his beloved when the door opened and he interrupted the woman, ,,Is my sun alive?” he asked ignoring his child and running to the bed, his hand seeking hers and only calming down when he saw her exhausted smile, ,,Yes...I'm alive and so is our little monkey” she said and the midwife gave her the little boy wrapped in a cloth. A little boy with his blue eyes and her hair, a little baby who smiled a smile that infected his father.

°From that moment on, he was smitten with his son, little Solis ortus, who everyone called Solis, from the Latin for sunrise. The little one was born with the sunrise and came from his mother the sun itself, he was the joy of his parents a little baby who almost always seemed too happy, ,,He is so loving...and not full of madness” Caracalla said and wiped away a few tears when he saw the now small child crawling on the floor and playing with a few small figures, ,,Yes he is perfect just like his father” his wife said and once again held his hand.

°The years passed quickly and even though the madness in him did not diminish, erupting again and again and more often, this did not even happen in front of his son, ,,Father is fine Solis don't worry” he pressed out and retreated to his chamber, where he could go about his business surrounded by swords and blood without hurting his wife or son or Geta. In the hours he was gone Geta took care of his nephew in the little free time she had to give the Empress some rest, ,,It seems there are often two to take care of,” she said, giving Geta a grateful look as she turned from her son to her husband.

°The hours with Caracalla were hours of grief and love, she held him through the madness, took the sword away from him and if he cut her, shouted at her or even hit her, she didn't hold it against him. ,,It hurts, but having you back with me again for sanity, with Solis, is more important,” she reassured him as they sat together leaning against the bed, his head against her chest, mumbling words to himself and he kissed her body apologetically and she held him. Before both parents slowly reappeared and took care of the little prince who was their pride and joy.

°Apart from the madness, Caracalla was a good father, the skills he didn't have in politics like his brother or the talent for music and writing like his wife, he made up for with fighting and wit, with understanding and love for animals. For every hour that the ever-aging Solis spent with his uncle in the senate, with his mother on the harp, he spent twice as much with his father in the arena studying and training the animals. Dundus belonged to Caracalla but Solis, at not quite ten years old, had a mature lion, the beast of a ruler, powerfull as a sun and yet always playful at heart. Solis would become the best of his parents and whenever Caracalla noticed that the madness was not in his son, he was genuinely happy and gave his wife a kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @somepallings , @userchai , @ohburrryoureabsolutelyridiculous

[levandright]

BEST FOR YOU ✦ P.SH

pairings : ex! sunghoon x fem reader ୨ৎ content / warning(s) : hurt with comfort, sunghoon gets closure ୨ৎ word count : 1.5k ・ archive

synopsis. sunghoon reflects on his past relationship with you, feeling the weight of your breakup and the distance that has grown between you. as he sees you move on, he is reminded of your shared memories and the love you once had. coming to terms with the changes in your lives, sunghoon finds peace, wishing you well as he lets go of the past and the connection you once shared. lev notes : this is inspired by the song best for you by slchld <3 i actually cried when i first finished writing the draft which was shorter (around 700 words) and this is my first ever angst!! hopefully it doesn't dissapoint >.> i genuinely had such a hard time writing some parts but i pulled through with the power of friendship!!

sunghoon sat in his room, the dim light of his desk lamp casting shadows against the walls. the air conditioning hummed softly, the only sound filling the silence of the quiet evening. he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as his gaze drifted to the window. the stillness in the air matched the quiet that had settled within him—a feeling he couldn’t shake, no matter how many times he tried to distract himself.

there was something about the loneliness tonight that felt different. it wasn’t just the silence that made it seem so heavy, but the creeping ache in his chest that had been growing for months, ever since your breakup. sometimes, in the middle of a busy day, he would forget that the person who used to be at the center of his world was no longer there. but in moments like this, when it was just him and solitude, the reality of it all hit harder than he cared to admit.

the soft glow of his phone screen illuminated his face as he unlocked it, absentmindedly scrolling through his instagram feed. it wasn’t like he was looking for anything specific—just trying to fill the emptiness in the room with something, anything. his thumb paused when he saw your post. you were smiling brightly, laughing with your friends at some outdoor café. the image felt almost surreal to him.

he had never been the type to go through his ex’s social media, not anymore. but today, something had drawn him in. he couldn’t help but wonder how you were doing, how you were living your life without him. it had been a while since you breakup, and he had been trying his best to move on, to accept that things were over between you two. but seeing you this happy, living the life you’d always dreamed of—it hurt.

your smile was the same as it had always been, bright and effortless. but now it wasn’t for him. it wasn’t because of him. that realization hit harder than he expected. his heart clenched, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

he continued scrolling through your feed, stopping at another post—a picture of you and him, taken months ago at the park. he remembered that day so clearly, the way the sunlight had filtered through the trees and made everything glow. it had been a perfect day, one that had felt like it would last forever. how naive he had been, thinking that nothing could tear you apart.

but everything had changed.

back then, you and sunghoon had been inseparable. high school sweethearts. you had shared everything with each other: dreams, laughter, and even the inevitable frustrations of growing up. you were each other’s safe haven. but life had a funny way of pushing people in different directions, of breaking apart the very things that once seemed unbreakable.

he remembered the late nights he’d stayed up studying, only to have you call him crying, talking about how much the distance between you two was weighing on your heart. and then there were the times he was too exhausted from his part-time job to really listen, too caught up in his own world to hear the desperation in your voice. he was juggling university, work, and trying to hold onto a relationship that was slowly slipping through his fingers.

sunghoon had never been good at balancing everything. he had never been great at handling the outbursts or the tantrums that sometimes came from the overwhelming pressure of your long-distance relationship. back then he had only been able to offer quick reassurances, tired words that meant little in the face of your pain. and when the break-up came, it felt like a punch to the gut.

the reason you drifted apart was simple, yet so complicated at the same time. you both had grown, and in that process, you had grown away from each other. the person he was back then, caught between uni and a part-time job, he had failed to truly see the depth of what you needed. and now looking back, he wished he could have done better.

"i should have tried harder," he whispered to himself. "i should have been there more."

but that didn’t change anything now. he couldn’t go back in time and fix his mistakes. all he had now were memories, and the reality that those memories would never become anything more.

the pain of that realization had hit hardest after the breakup, it felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. for so long, he had imagined his future with you. suddenly, he was adrift, lost in a world that no longer made sense. he remembers nights lying awake, replaying the last few months of your relationship, questioning what he could have done differently, feeling anger, confusion, and heartache twist together inside him.

eventually, he learned to let go of the resentment, to see things with a little more clarity. you both had grown, and sometimes people simply grow in different directions. even now, he knows that his feelings for you haven’t faded, that part of him will always love you in some quiet, unspoken way. but he’s come to accept that you’re better off without him, that he needs to let you go fully.

and then, one night, it happens. he’s scrolling mindlessly again when he sees it. a new photo—one that’s different from the rest. you’re standing next to someone, a guy with an easy smile and a warm, gentle presence. jay.

jay, sunghoon had heard about him from mutual friends. he was kind, thoughtful, everything sunghoon wished he could have been for you back then. and now, it was clear: you had found someone new. someone who made you happy. someone who could give you everything he couldn’t.

sunghoon sat back in his chair, feeling a lump rise in his throat. it felt like the final confirmation that you had truly moved on, that his place in your life was nothing more than a shadow now. he’d always imagined a future with you. he’d imagined growing old together, supporting each other through everything life threw at you. but now, all he had were his memories—and even those felt like they were fading, slowly but surely.

he looked at the photo again, your smile still as bright as ever, but this time, it wasn’t for him. it was for jay. and a strange peace settled over him. you had found love again. you were with someone who made you feel the way you deserved to feel.

sunghoon took a deep breath and opened your chat. he had been avoiding it for so long, unsure of what to say, but now he knew. he wanted to reach out one last time. he didn’t expect anything in return, but he needed to say what was in his heart. after all, he had never been good at letting go, but it was time.

his fingers hovered over the keyboard as he searched for the right words. they trembled slightly as he types:

“hey y/n… i saw your post. i just wanted to say, i’m really happy for you. you deserve all the happiness in the world, and i know jay will treat you the way you’ve always deserved to be treated. thank you for everything, for all the memories. i’ll always wish you the best.”

he paused, staring at the message for a moment before pressing “send.” a weight lifted off his shoulders as soon as he did, his heart heavy yet at peace. by saying goodbye in that simple message, he was letting go, wishing you well—even though he knew he’d never see your smile in person again.

sunghoon sat back in his chair, his eyes drifting back to the photo of you and jay, the one that had started all of this. for the first time in months, he wasn’t angry or sad. he wasn’t resentful. instead, he felt an odd sense of closure, a peaceful acceptance that the two of you were no longer meant to be.

his mind wandered back to the first time he saw you, in the school library. you had been sitting at a table, a pile of books in front of you, your head slightly down as you concentrated. when your eyes met his, you smiled shyly, and something in him had shifted. it was as if the world had slowed down just for that moment. that smile had been the first spark, the first flicker of something that would grow into an overwhelming love. that first smile had stayed with him, a memory he carried through every moment you shared.

“i fell for you right then,” sunghoon whispered to the empty room. “and i think, a part of me will always love you.”

he closed his eyes and leaned back, letting the memory of that smile wash over him. it was bittersweet, but in that moment, he finally understood. you had been his first love, and though that chapter had closed, it would always be a part of him. and that was enough.

he whispered a final goodbye to himself, letting the memory fade into the stillness of the night. with it, he carried a silent promise to move forward, even if it meant holding a small piece of you with him forever.

as he drifted off to sleep that night, he silently wished you well, hoping that wherever life took you, you would find everything you were looking for and more.

perm taglist. @honeychocos @honeybelleee @manaah02 (open!)

©levandright

[neoameba]

It is necessary to escape the routine sometimes!

F. Toji x Ftm! Reader

Warnings: This is a trans man/boy centered post, but you (fem, gn, and non-trans) can still safely interact with the post. Toji and reader were not a romantic couple before reader turned 18. It's more for comfort, made especially to give those silly smiles.

Summary: Naturally, every rich man needs a heir. And it’s obvious that it wouldn’t be any different for someone who works directly in the Japanese government. That’s where the problem lies. Being the vice president of a country and doing so much for the poorest and most needy people, while taking away unnecessary privileges from rich people, makes his head a target and his family as well.

When [Name] was born, his mother fell ill due to blood loss, and soon died from complications in the surgery that was supposed to save her (it is important to mention that, after her death, a bounty on the woman’s head was announced in the deepest areas of the internet, It is not known whether the mission was accepted). This generated extreme fear in the man and, as a result, he ended up becoming extremely protective of the inheritance that the woman in his life left for him.

All of this only got worse when [Name] revealed he was a trans boy at 15 years old. The reason why the vice president of Japan was even more scared (thankfully) is not because he is trans, but because of what people would do if he found out. Think about it, if people already wish the boy’s death just because he was his son, imagine if they found out that [Name] is a trans boy?

Of course, the man did the impossible to erase [Name’s] old image, to pass him off as a cis boy. Still, it’s difficult to stop the rumor from spreading.

That’s where Toji Fushiguro comes in.

It's curious to think that Toji, the sorcerer killer, could actually be tasked with protecting someone. But that’s exactly what happened, [Name]’s father actually put Toji as the boy’s bodyguard. And this went on for 6 years.

“Hey! Can you stop pulling me, I have legs and they are very functional!”

[Name] says, only to continue being pulled towards some place unknown to him thus far. He didn’t understand anything, and Toji didn’t want to explain what he was doing either.

Finally, the two stop in front of a house. It wasn’t ugly, it just looked like it wasn’t well looked after from the outside.

“Huh? Is this your house?”

“Yes, and I want to introduce you to my son... What was his name...?"

Toji says the last part quietly, but it still gets a low laugh from [Name], who thinks the older man was just joking. Even he knew Megumi's name because Toji said it himself. And after all, who would forget their own child’s name?

As soon as the tallest one opens the door to the house, [Name] is faced with a heart-wrenching sight. There was Toji Fushiguro’s son, eating snacks for breakfast in complete silence and alone, in na environment clearly not prepared for a child

As soon as [Name] sees this, a slap is landed on the head of the man next to him, who moans softly in pain. The slap was weak, but Toji didn’t want to be so mean and say he didn’t feel any pain from the impact.

“How dare you leave a poor little child in these unsanitary conditions?!”

“It’s not my fault if I have to spend the whole day with you. Besides, the kid knows his way around, you see?”

Megumi turns around, looking at his father with disinterest, but then looking at the boy next to him. This time, he seemed more interested, and got up to walk towards the boy.

“... You’re the guy he talks about so much, right? Cool. Nice to meet you.”

Little Fushiguro says, surprising [Name]. It’s a lot of education for just one child (especially for a child who is the son of a man like Toji).

“Nice to meet you too! You're very polite, right?"

When [Name] goes to shake the boy’s hand, he realizes that although it may not seem like it, Toji probably takes care of the boy, as he shows no signs of being thin beyond what is healthy.

"Tell me something, little Megumi...Does Toji take care of you or just leave you to your own devices?"

Megumi shakes [Name]'s hand, and shrugs, indicating that it was a little of both. Obviously Toji pays for food and a few other things, but Megumi is the one who cleans the house and already acts like an adult.

"I'm very busy, if you must know."

"That doesn't give you the right to leave him to his own devices."

"You're really just here to judge, ugh."

Before [Name] could counter argue, he chose to remain silent. He holds Megumi's hand and prepares to tidy up the house and make good, dignified food, since it seems unlikely that Megumi has eaten anything healthy these past few weeks.

"Megumi, let's tidy up this whole house. And you Toji, we'll talk about it later."

Toji seemed to be both unsatisfied and happy. Unsatisfied because he couldn't imagine being scolded like that, and happy to see his son and his boyfriend getting along so well. He sits on the couch as he watches the two boys tidy up the house (and no, he doesn't plan on helping).

And speaking of a boyfriend... He would never have imagined that he would date someone of the same gender as him. He never even considered being with a man, but destiny can always surprise. Everything has been so peaceful after he and [Name] started dating, he can just sit on a couch and watch a good television show while cuddling with his boyfriend. [Name] actually managed to get Toji over the loss of his wife, which is a miracle.

While he is absorbed in his own thoughts, Megumi and [Name] finish tidying everything up. This made for a good few hours, and by the end, both the youngest and oldest boy were dead tired. Megumi goes to his own room and throws himself on the bed, while [Name] throws himself into Toji's lap.

"... That was so tiring... You could have helped!"

"You didn't call me, I didn't think I needed to help with anything."

The man says, as he gently squeezes one of [Name]'s cheeks with his left hand, and with his right hand he squeezes his waist. The smell of cleaning products on [Name]'s clothes were incredibly good, and Toji didn't even remember buying them. He buries his face in the crook of the boy's neck, eliciting a laugh from [Name].

"Of course we needed your help! But it's okay, the food is up to you, go make it soon because your son is hungry. And try to take good care of him, unless you want me to slap you again."

[Name] says, as he gets off Toji's lap. He wanted Toji to make the food so that at least Megumi could eat something his father lovingly made. Well, he still doesn't know that Toji is terrible at cooking.

And everything goes like this. [Name] going to take a shower, only to almost faint when he felt big hands on his waist, Toji burning the food and [Name] having to redo everything together with Megumi, Megumi accidentally revealing that he likes watching Barbie movies, and in the end, everyone watching Barbie in the living room.

Sounds like a perfect day, don't you think?

[soft-persephone]

A Fresh Start 1

Mother’s Milk x Fem!Reader

M // WC: 1.3k // warnings: eventual smut, potential descriptions of mild violence, but mostly fluff, mostly sweet, typical romcom shenanigans // masterlist

“I don’t wanna go to the party.”

You sucked in a breath, holding back a sigh of frustration.

“TT, you need to make friends.”

Life was not what it should be, especially when 8 year olds are worried about your social life and general well being.

“Momo, I’m an adult,” you started softly, mustering all the cool calm collected and comforting and safe space energy you could, “and I take care of you. Not the other way around.” You put a hand on her shoulder, sliding it up and down her back.

“Thank you for thinking about me and caring about me. I love you just as much.” You studied her, hoping you weren’t making anything worse, “but you don’t need to worry about me. There’s nothing to worry about. Go have fun with your friends and I’ll be here when you’re ready to go or the party ends. Deal?”

“Will you at least be on your best behavior?”

You sighed.

“Go play with your friends.”

“But I just—“

“Now, Mo.”

Kids. You shook your head and grabbed the tray of food you made per the list that was sent out.

“You made it!” One of the mom’s wrapped her arms around you. You did your best not to look as uncomfortable as you felt.

“Thank you for having me.” You smiled and gave her the tray.

“Uhm, Sweetie. . . What are these?”

“Pigs in a blanket. Slightly charred A grade beef sausages, the mini ones of course, wrapped in a croissant dough, dusted with a caramel Dijon mustard and pepper sauce.”

“They’re third graders.” Sheila blinked at you.

You pouted with a huff.

“They’re just pigs in a blanket!”

“Sheila stop giving her a hard time.”

“Hi, I’m Tracey.” She looked back to you with a smile.

You introduced yourself slowly to all the other parents.

“So you’re Monice’s mother?”

You squeezed your hand.

Of course they all knew. At this point who didn’t.

“Uhm,” you took a breath for courage, “I’m actually her Aunt. Her mother didn’t make it through the accident.”

That’s what you had to call it, but it was far from an accident. Your dead sister in law and your brother in critical condition in a comma is not what you call an accident. Especially, when the forces that caused it had enough power in the world to prevent it if they weren’t such careless fucks.

But you couldn't say that part out loud or you’d get sued.

Some people gasped and you wanted to shrivel up and disappear. You wanted everyone to stop looking at you like you were about to break because you were, but it’s hard to keep it all together or at least just look like it with so many eyes on you.

“How are you holding up through all this?”

“We’re uh, we’re good. Monice obviously needed some therapy after what happened, and she wouldn’t do it unless I did it with her, but I honestly needed it too.”

Someone had made you a plate.

The pasta salad was amazing and the ribs spectacular. It was good to be around your people. You ignored the growing ache of your family. You all had been in shambles since the accident. Your mother barely talked to anyone. Your father was angry, but somehow rather a calm in the eye of a storm. He was holding it together for everyone, but at his age, he did not need to be doing anything like that, and nothing you said calmed either of them down.

“And you’re doing this alone?” Someone chimed in with a hand over their heart.

“Well, I had a boyfriend, but I guess he,uh wasn’t ready. He basically said he couldn’t be there for me.” You realized that might sound harsh, so you continued in an effort to diffuse the reality of your words, “he took me on a date to this beautiful restaurant we loved.”

You smiled at the thought, fighting tears.

“It was all so nice. . . And then he just started talking about how emotionally draining being with me was. How he didn’t want to start living with a kid and change his whole life around. That he still wanted more time and that it was just too much for him.” You picked at the roll on your plate.

“I always thought I had more time too, but none of that matters. Momo’s entire life has been turned upside down and she doesn’t know if her father will ever come back into her life or not. She’s scared all the time.” Your voice cracked.

“And this past Monday I was on the phone with my therapist just opening up trying, just trying, to get to a good place so I can be there for Mo, but she overheard me say I Feel like I’m alone and drowning with everything and that I just want my big brother back and now she’s so worried about me being alone and always asking me about my friends not being there for me like they were before and I just—“

Fuck you didn’t mean to say all that. You don’t mean to cry.

“Should we?” Sheila looked at Tracey who only shook her head.

“Maybe you should talk to Marvin?”

That’s all everyone in this community says.

“I heard Monice used to go to a different school?”

You but your lip. Unsure what to say.

“She was suspended.” You said matter of factly.

“After everything she’s been through?” Tracey asked.

“Everyone experiences trauma different. I want to curl into a ball, stay in my bed, and cry all day.” You sighed at nothing in particular, “Momo gets angry. Other kids still love superheroes and she lives in a world where superheroes took her family away. Long story short I’m in an office and they're telling me she’s a bully and has to go because her behavior is unacceptable.”

“That can’t be right.”Sheila said, aghast. “She’s a little black girl. It must be some sort of a mistake. You know how they are when we aren’t perfect all the time and I heard it was a pretty prestigious school.”

“I’d love to believe that was the case, but it’s not. She owned up to it. Told me everything and now we have to face the consequences of our actions, so bye bye old school, old friends, and all the other stuff.”

Everyone kind of stared at you.

Fuck.

You said something wrong. Or you don’t look so heartbroken and beaten down and broken enough, Or was it your parenting?

It was probably all of it.

You got overwhelmed, you wanted to chill out, you wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, but you got through it.

You looked out at the kids running around with large bubble wands and toys galore.

Momo seems to be having the grandest time with another little black girl. They chased each other with large bubbles, attempting to pop them on each other’s head.

She made a friend.

All of a sudden your shoulders were falling back and down into something relaxed. You were exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Were you that tense the whole time?

You shook your head and made your way to the desert table once more.

There were these croissant donut things or some type of pastry. It looked so good, but you couldn't tell which one you wanted most. Between the decadent looking chocolate and the mouthwatering matcha strawberry. You couldn’t tell which one might taste better.

You only wanted one.

“You must be related to Monice?” A rich deep voice interrupted you.

You slightly turn around to meet warm brown eyes and equally comforting dark skin.

Butterflies filled your stomach. You chased the feeling down by fiddling with your fingers, still looking at him so it doesn’t come off as awkward as you felt.

“What gave it away?”

“You both stick your tongue in your cheek and pout when you can’t decide between more than one thing.”

You huffed a laugh through your nose. Your eyes rolling dramatically around not sure what to look at.

“I do not pout.” You crossed your arms. “I’m not a child.

“Well you're acting like one.” He picked up both croissants with a napkin and placed them on two plates. He gingerly cut both in half with a knife and swapped one of the halves. “Here, now you can have both.”

You held out both your hands. Looking at the plate and back up to him.

“How-how?”

“What do we say?” He ignored you. Taking a step into your space, leaning down so his face was in yours and staring.

“Stop.” You laughed but he didn’t move.

“Ugh, fine.” You smacked your teeth. “Thank you.”

“I’ll take it, but you could sound more grateful.”

“Mm.” You grunted at him and took a bite of the matcha one first.

He followed as you sat on the edge of the patio to continue to watch the kids play outside.

“Why don’t you come back in with the rest of them?”

“You mean inside with the women?”

He gave you an unamused look.

“You know what I meant.”

“Well, they started playing fuck marry kill for the Vaught dummies.” You picked at the corner of your paper plate, “and I excitedly yelled kill Homelander before anyone could say anything.”

You expected him to empathize. Maybe even give you a: damn, that’s tough. In the way some black men talk when they can’t express emotions, but what you don’t expect him to do was laugh.

“It’s not funny.” You muttered into your chocolate pastry as you took a bite.

“What did they say?” He bellowed and put his hand on his stomach.

“Nothing!” You laughed as he wiped a tear. “And that’s what makes it worse. I sorta lied and said I had to go to the bathroom and I’ve been out here ever since.”

“Well it’s nice to not be the only one around here.”

“The only one around here what?”

He looked at you. Really, looked at you.

“Who hates Supes.” He said lowly, leaning in so no one walking by could hear you.

You didn’t say anything and took another bite of the matcha one. You winced and he sort of turned to you, extending a hand as if he was going to hurily fix whatever was wrong.

“It’s fine,” you explained with a lick of your lips, “the matcha one doesn’t taste as good when you take a bite of the chocolate one before it, “it took me by surprise.”

“Oh.. right.” He put his free hand back on his plate, taking the piece of matcha pastry and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, making him look 30 years younger.

A really really big kid.

You wanted to tease him for it.

But instead you handed him a napkin.

He silently took it before popping his thumb in his mouth and placing it on your cheek. You held in a breath as he wiped it across the corner of your mouth.

“I—“ you started.

“bad habit. I have a—

“DADDY!!”

A little girl squealed and ran up to you both.

You held a hand over your eyes to block the setting sun.

The man you wished you had asked a name of did his best to discretely lean away from you without his daughter noticing how close you were.

His daughter didn’t notice, but Momo was studying his every move.

Fuck, how were you about to explain this? Or rather, what is it that she thinks she saw and were you about to have a conversation you did not want to have. . . How much did she see?

“This is my new friend Monice! She goes by Momo or Mo!” His daughter went on and on to her father about every little fact about Mo, filling you with absolute glee.

Kids had that effect on you.

Whatever they were feeling just filled you up to the tips of your toes on steroids. Whatever she was about to ask him for you hoped he said yes. Who could say no to her? Certainly not you, but other adults seemed immune by this supernatural power obtained by every child. How? You’d never know.

It was your kryptonite.

“Can she spend the night?”

“Or can she spend the night at my house TT?” Momo excitedly interjected.

You looked up at, Daddy from where you were sitting on the patio. He had his arms crossed in thought but as he looked down, you could feel him telling you to pull yourself together.

You bit the inside of your cheek whenever you were deciding how to parent.

“Maybe some other time when me and Mr. . .”

“Milk” He filled in for you.

“Can talk about it? Okay?”

“What she said Janine.” Was all Mr. M said.

Janine was about to open her mouth to say more, but Momo knew better and pulled her away with a sigh.

“I can never have anything!” She frantically exclaimed as she dragged her friend away.

“But we —“

“No. We can’t!” Momo yelled back just to make sure you heard her.

Kids.

“You let her act like that?”

You narrowed your eyes and bit back a smile.

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about.” He stuffed the other pastry in his mouth and brushed his hands together to get rid of the excess crumbs, making sure they didn't hit his clothes, “you’re spoiled too.”

“What makes you say that.”

“Spoiled children raise spoiled children.” He said it matter of factly, like it was wise somehow, and pulled a wet wipe out of his pocket. He handed you one as well before neatly putting the packet back in his jacket pocket.

“Sounds really funny coming from you.” Was all you said in the same casual tone he used before, taking the wipe and cleaning the excess sugar and sticky residue from your hands.

“Oh yeah.” He challenged, crossing his arms.

A cheeky grin slowly formed on your face. .

“Not when your daughter is clearly a Daddy’s girl.”

“Let me stop you right there—“

“—Who clearly gets everything she wants and more from you.” You raised a finger to his chest and he leaned in letting it touch him.

You don’t realize how excited you had got. Your cheeks were puffy with tears from laughing and your chest heaving from raising your voice for so long.

“And you love it.” You added with a huff and parted lips.”

“Takes one to know one.” He huffed. Perfectly still and unaffected, a wall of calm, but you saw the twitch of his lip.

“Look who’s pouting now.” You smirked.

He pulled away from you with a smack of his teeth and a groan.

“You got lucky.”

You curled your feet in the grass before you. Taking in the sounds and sights around for the first time, letting them wash over you, truly enjoying them since the first turn you arrived.

You were lucky.

.

.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in next chapter:

@megamindsecretlair @nerdieforpedro @planetblaque @chaithetics @notapradagurl7

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

fallout (pt. 4)

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: you work with skz in chernobyl. everything is fine....until it isn't.

tags/warnings: gruesome and horrific material, explosions, gory kind of? sorry if i missed anything.... still putting it together.

a/n: guysss skz is coming to my city! the tickets sold out in 12 hours tho lmao its in june?? but the resale tickets are CHEAP like 60 dollars lol! gonna see if i will get one

btw im thinking of continuing without you!! im just continue from where i last was....hopefully yall can put the pieces together 😭😭 sorry yall

also sorry this is so short...i feel terrible for getting minho like this 😔

The stale air of the meeting room weighs heavy, thick with tension and the faint metallic tang of burnt metal. You've barely slept since the explosion, the haunting imagery of flames and debris seared into your mind. But there's no time for rest. Not when Minho’s condition worsens with every passing hour.

You sit at the edge of the cot in the medical tent, staring at his pallid face. His breaths come shallow, his lips a faint grayish tint. It’s hard to reconcile this fragile figure with the Minho you know—the sarcastic, sharp-eyed man who always seemed untouchable. The radiation doesn’t care about invincibility.

“His temperature’s still climbing,” Chan murmurs beside you. His voice is hoarse, cracked at the edges from days of barking orders and endless meetings. “The doctors... they don’t know what else to do.”

You glance at him, searching for even a flicker of reassurance, but all you see is the weight of guilt on his shoulders. You hate that he blames himself. None of this is his fault.

Minho stirs, his eyelids fluttering weakly. "You guys..." His voice is barely audible, a shadow of its usual self. "Stop... hovering. It's annoying."

You laugh softly despite the tears burning your eyes. “Shut up, Minho. You’re lucky we’re here.”

His lips twitch into the faintest ghost of a smile before his face contorts in pain. He grips your hand tightly, and you can feel the tremor in his fingers. “Promise me...” His words trail off as another wave of agony overtakes him.

You swallow hard. “What?”

“Promise me you’ll figure out what caused this. Make them pay for it.”

The sheer resolve in his tone makes your chest tighten. “I promise,” you whisper, gripping his hand back just as tightly. “But you’re not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together.”

Chan steps forward, his jaw set. “I’ll talk to the others. We need to find out how much exposure we all had. If it’s worse than they’re letting on...” His words trail off, but the implication is clear.

“Chan...” Your voice cracks. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

He turns to you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, heart-wrenching moment. “I have to. If I don’t, who will?”

Back at the command post, you find Felix poring over blueprints and diagrams of the reactor. He looks up as you enter, his face pale but determined. “There’s something wrong with the data they’re giving us,” he says, pointing to the charts. “The exposure levels they reported—they’re way lower than they should be.”

“How much lower?” you ask, your heart sinking.

“Enough that it looks intentional,” Felix replies grimly. “They’re covering up the severity of the leak.”

Chan exhales sharply through his nose, pacing the room like a caged tiger. “We need to act fast. If they’re lying, there could be more people at risk.”

As the pieces begin to fall into place, you realize the scale of what you’re up against. This isn’t just about an accident—it’s a fight against time, deception, and an invisible enemy that’s already wreaking havoc on the people you care about.

And Minho is running out of time.

[silent-stories]

Vampires can't cry

(Vampire!Eddie Munson x gn!reader)

The wood was always calm at night but was never completely silent and after several late night outings to meet Eddie, you had gotten used to crickets chirping rhythmically, frogs croaking in the distance, and the occasional hoot of an owl.

Lovers Lake had become your meeting point for the last few weeks, maybe because when Eddie was not yet aware of a dimension full of monsters beneath Hawkins, that had been the place where you had had your first date together or maybe because it was easy to find during the darkest nights without getting lost.

“When are we going to tell Wayne?” You asked the boy sitting next to you, his gaze on the moonlight bathing the water, creating a silver sheen that stretched across the lake's surface.

"I've been thinking about that for the last few days." He replied after a brief moment of pause, shifting slightly as if to get away from you.

It was something he did often, you had noticed. His shoulder no longer touched yours when he sat next to you and his pale hands didn't seek out yours to play with your fingers like they once did. When you had asked why, he had said that his skin had become cold and no longer gave off that typical warmth that you liked so much before he became... whatever he had become. Vampire,was the more correct term. Monster, he used to call himself.

"And?" You questioned.

"And I think it's best if he doesn't find out."

“Eddie,” You said softly, you knew full well why he didn’t want to tell him he was still there and it made your heart ache every time he reminded you, “he still thinks you’re dead.”

"I'm not?"

You opened your mouth to reply, then stopped. You couldn't deny it, Eddie was dead, his blood was no longer circulating, his skin was as pale as it had ever been, he wasn't eating, he wasn't sleeping, he couldn't stay in the sunlight.

The cool breeze of the night sweeped through the air, causing the leaves of nearby trees to rustle softly and you wrapped yourself in your leather jacket, the one that once belonged to Eddie and that he no longer needed.

"I talk to him often, Eddie. He's hurting, he's grieving. You should... you should let him know that you're not... that you're still here. That he can still talk to you, that he can still hug you, and that even though things are no longer the same, even if they may never be the same again, you are still like a son to him."

Eddie shook his head, a few dark curls falling into his eyes. His hair seemed longer than it was a few months before but you knew that it had probably stopped growing.

You reached out to move them, waiting a moment before your fingers touched his cold skin.

He didn't move away this time.

He closed his eyes as if, after weeks of avoiding your contact, he had reached the point that he could no longer bear to be away from your touch.

"It's better to be dead than-"

“No,” you grabbed his hand, you didn't care that it was cold, “don't say it. No one would rather you were dead. We spent days mourning you. Me, the kids, your uncle, even Steve. I felt like I was dying too, so don't say it would be better if you were dead. You're back. You're here. I can still talk to you, I can still hold your hand and I can still tell you that I love you."

His eyes glittered in the dark. You knew it was only because of his new "condition" and not because of the tears that might form in them.

Vampires couldn't cry, you read.

"How can you still-"

"Love you? Trust me, I can."

His hand moved into yours and for a moment you feared that he was leaving it, that he was about to run away like that time you took Dustin into the woods with you, but instead his fingers slowly intertwined with yours.

"I'm scared." He whispered.

“I know,” you drew circles on the back of his hand with your thumb, “I know.”

“I don't have a heartbeat anymore,” he said after a few moments, bringing your hand to his chest, where a heart had been stopped for about three weeks, “but I'm sure I still love you.”

"I know that too."

In the dark, you swore you saw a tear roll down his cheek.

Impossible, you said to yourself.

Vampires can't cry.

[anything4mymoony]

It's Alright (r.l x reader)

Professor Lupin x reader (not rlly)

( Fluff, hurt, comfort ) this isn't really a x reader, its more of a tender moment between a student and teacher, remus being the caring professor he would have been if he didn't leave Hogwarts.

trigger warnings: slight mentions of self harm and suicide

~ ~ ~

Remus lupin knew how it felt to be ignored. He knew how it felt to be drowning and screaming into an endless void where no one can hear him. He knew what it was like to always be the therapist but to never have anyone listen to him. As a professor, he tried to pay careful attention to his students, and when those begun to struggle, he would leave little bars of chocolate for them to find on their desks, encouraging notes scrawled on the wrapper. He knew it wasn’t much in his eyes, but to his students, it meant the world to them. 

So it wasn’t a surprise when he had begun to catch on with the strange behavior of one of his students

During class he had noticed your vacant stare. How it seemed like too much effort to even lift your quill to take notes. At first he figured that it had been a late night for you. That you had stayed up studying and now faced the consequences. But it wasn’t until he saw the briefest wince at the slightest shift of your arm, as if a fresh wound had rubbed against the fabric of your robes. 

Now, Remus had always been taught to look out for the warning sings of depression, but he never thought that he would have to intervene. Of course, depression was always a thing and could happen to anyone. It happened to him after Sirius was sent to imprisonment and when Lily and James passed. So he knew the feeling, and it broke his heart to see one of his students feeling the same way. 

You were young. And the world should have been bright for you. He couldn’t imagine what trials you would have been facing to sit in his class with such a vacant stare in your face. One of the things he had looked forward to his classes was seeing your face light up whenever you learned something cool. It inflicted a sense of pride inside of him, that maybe despite his condition, he could lead a normal life as a teacher. Now, he missed that look. He missed the way your eyes would light up- just any sort of emotion that would come from you. 

So he made a mental note to check up on you after class. 

You didn’t have anything to pack up, yet you remained in your seat. Your chest felt heavy and all of your limbs felt as if they were made of stone. It would take a great deal of energy just to walk out of your dorm. You debated skipping the rest of your classes and lying in the comforting solitude of your darkened room, staring at nothing. But then, a golden beam of light came to you. 

Professor Lupin sat down in the desk in front of you, concern filling his dark brown eyes as he watched you, long fingers folded together. 

“Y/n,” he said softly. 

you gazed at him, “yes, professor?” 

“I…” he wet his lips, trying to find the right words, “how are you doing? Are you alright?” 

“I am, professor.” The words came out before you could even think. Such a robotic response to the question asked. It was a little more believable than a “I’m fine.” But, something deep down inside of you was beginning to cry out. Something that wished to be let loose. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to dump your problems on someone else. Everyone always had It worse, so why bitch and moan about feeling empty and like a failure? Everyone did. What made you so special and different?

Professor Lupin shook his head, “no, you’re not alright. if you don’t feel comfortable sharing with me what’s going on, that’s alright. You don’t own me an explanation, but please do not lie to me. I care about your wellbeing and your safety.” 

But that’s always it isn’t it? You thought. It’s always your well-being and your safety as if you were going to throw yourself out a window at any given moment. Oh no- don’t upset poor y/n or you might drown yourself in the black lake. Don’t critique you too much otherwise you’ll cry. 

You didn’t know what you wanted, but that wasn’t it. 

You made a move to pick up your bag and leave, your eyes had begun to sting. 

“I care about you.” Professor Lupin’s voice was soft and gentle, “and I want you to be okay. I don’t want you to feel so sad.” 

“I’m not,” you whispered, “I’m not doing so well.” 

you forced herself to look up at him, your eyes swimming with tears. Just seeing his face, hearing his words- it was enough to all at once feel the pain once more. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I…everything is just too much. The world- life…me. I feel like I’m in this vacant shell and there is this hole inside of me that nothing can fill. Nothing can make me happy and I’m just sinking. The more I try to pull myself out the further I sink down.” 

Out of instinct, you pressed the pad of your fingertip to the wound on your arm under the desk, you winced. 

“Do you hurt yourself, love?” 

You felt embarrassed, ashamed. Everyone managed to keep their motions in check, why couldn’t you? It was stupid, hurting yourself because you either felt too much or couldn’t feel anything. But it wasn’t that. Sometimes, you got so stuck in your head there was so way of coming back. You felt yourself sinking and sinking the pain was the only way to keep you afloat. 

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, voice breaking. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s alright.” Professor Lupin cooed, reaching out to gently grab your arm, “it’s alright you hear me? You have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer this long, you don’t deserve it.” 

A tear slipped out from the corner of your eye and rolled down your face. You felt it splatter on your lap. 

“I…” your throat was tight and burned. You kept your gaze down on the dark splatter of your lap. You shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t be crying in front of your teacher like a little kid. You were older now for goodness sake, start acting like it. 

Remus cooed softly before he stood up from the desk. You were so sure that he was going to send you to madam promfey to become someone else’s problem, but to your surprise, he hugged you.

He actually hugged you. 

You were swept up in a warm embrace, his long arms curled around you as if he was going to protect you from the world’s hurt. He carefully rested his cheek on the top of your head, whispering quietly as more tears fell past your eyes and ran down his bare wrist. 

You ached, and your heart yearned. You shut your eyes for the briefest of moments and tried to revel in the tender moment, of feeling….loved. 

It wasn’t the kind of love that was lustful and vain. It wasn’t the kind of love that was mistaken by infatuation, or the kind that was withheld at every given moment, or the type to be earned. This kind…was tender. It was tender and pure and it came from someone who cared about her. It wasn’t feigned or because they had to care. It was because he wanted to care about you.

When her tears finally dried, he pulled away, kneeling down to face you.

“Listen, I’m here for you, okay? One of the worst aspects of depression is how it convinces you that you are alone. i never want you to feel that way again, okay?” 

You nodded, rolling your lip between your teeth as you played with your hands in your lap. 

“You can always come to me, as a friend or a teacher. And it doesn’t have to be about what’s going on. If you don’t feel like being alone or need a place to breathe, my office always welcomes you, alright?” 

you nodded again, this time a small bashful smile creeping on your face. 

Professor Lupin gave you a soft smile before he reached up and gently wiped away a stray tear on your cheek. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Better.” And this time you weren’t lying. 

He nodded before standing up, a soft grunt coming from him as he stretched out his legs. “Atta girl, now get to class.” 

You smiled wider this time as you picked your bag up and begun to head out the door. 

“Y/n?” Professor Lupin called out. 

You peaked over your shoulder, hand pressed against the door to go. 

“I’m very proud of you.” Remus smiled at you.

~ ~ ~

If you or anyone you know is experiencing thoughts about sucicide, self harm, or experiencing any kind of depression, anxiety, please know that help is always available. There are numerous recourse on the internet to help you get the help that you need. 

Keep going my strong, and brave warriors. The world may not be kind but you certainly are and we want you to stay. I promise you there will be a day where you won’t feel like this anymore. 

Warmest hugs and gentle kisses, 

Portia 

[smolwritingchick]

I'm Here

Summary: Jennie comforts Jungkook when he nearly faints from exhaustion during the Wings Tour. This will take place during Burn The Stage

Author's Note: I have been thinking of Burn The Stage when Jungkook overwhelmed himself on stage. Perhaps a private moment between JenKook filmed while they weren't aware and when it makes it on the show it could be a viral JenKook moment and show fans that their love and care for each other is undeniable. Brainstorming like usual.

Some smol angst but ends fluffy. And like always for this, the commentary/interview parts of the show are in parenthesis

-----

Jennie (Shit…it was so hard to keep my emotions in check on stage when my boyfriend nearly fainted from exhaustion. When I tell you I was losing it and tried my hardest to finish the concert…I…that night was rough for me. I'm just a kid you know and being in this group has been so fun and rewarding. Touring has been a blast but seeing my loved ones in that state during this fun time…I just felt so helpless when I saw him like that…all I wanted to do was remain by his side.)

Hearing the news that Jungkook collapsed caused the breath to be knocked out of Jennie's lungs as her heart rate quickened. As soon as the show was over and he was on the floor backstage while the staff cooled him down, everyone rushed to get an update on his condition.

When the staff heard Jungkook murmur Jennie's name, they announced that he was asking for her and she immediately ran past everyone to be by his side.

She was scared as she watched the staff assist him and fan him down. She had never seen him in this state before and began to feel overwhelmed.

"Hey…hey…I'm here. I'm here," she said in a soothing voice as her chest tightened.

Hearing her voice caused Jungkook to smile with his eyes still closed. The way he immediately began to feel at ease as he was getting cooled down was a good sign as the members observed the way he reacted to her.

Jimin smiled softly as he watched Jungkook squeeze her hand lightly when she grabbed it for a moment. That was another good sign that he was going to be ok.

Jungkook (I didn't know I'd collapse like that. It's the first time that happened to me. I was very flustered. But all I wanted was to hear my girlfriend's voice. Hearing her talk to me gave me comfort as I was recovering)

Jimin (Jennie truly loves Jungkook. She always does her best to take care of him. That night she was really worried.)

J-Hope (She stayed by his side the entire time until he was able to get back on his feet.)

Once he was cooled down, Jungkook continued to rest while Jennie was alone with him in the room while a camera filmed them from afar while they weren't aware. She sat on the floor by his side as she watched him.

Unable to hold it in, she began crying. "Kook…" she called out in a shaky voice.

She caressed his face as he leaned into her touch, enjoying the coolness of her hand with his eyes closed.

"Did I worry you?" he asked tiredly. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. It's okay. What matters is that you're okay. Just please…please just slow down. ARMY will appreciate everything you do on the stage. No matter what. I just want you to be all right and not overexert yourself like this,"

"I'll take it more easy,"

"Glad to hear,"

"I could really use your cookies, right now," he sighed as he rested.

She suddenly laughed and sniffed. "I bet my cookies would give you those bonus health points, huh? The fact that you're thinking of my baking at a time like this,"

He chuckled lightly at her reply.

"I will bake you whatever you want," she added. "Just rest up and stay hydrated first, okay? I love you…so much…I just want you to be OK,"

"I love you, too. I am now with you by my side,"

She leaned down to kiss him softly, keeping her lips against his for a moment before pulling away.

"Can you keep talking to me? Talk about smarties or Marvel. I just want to keep hearing your voice. It's comforting,"

She chuckled softly and nodded as she started to ramble, fulfilling his request. "I'm really enjoying sour smarties. They're pretty good. And I just found out there's chocolate smarties. Apparently from the UK,"

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hello! <3

This request will be strange, but can you do the reactions of Jack, Odin and Hades when they find out that a teenage reader comes from a dysfunctional family? Her parents are always fighting, her brother has threatened to kill or hit her since she was little and has even hanged her. He doesn't talk much because he considers it "normal", especially since his parents ignore his brother's behavior.

If it bothers you, don't do it. And thanks in advance for reading this, take care. I hope you are well 💖

-You sniffled softly, trying to hide your tears, clutching your hand to your chest, the white hot pain bringing more and more tears.

-Your parents were useless, they always have been, ignoring you, ignoring your pleas for help as your older brother tortured you.

-He would hit you, pull your hair, slap you around, just because he could, because he knew your parents wouldn’t do a damn thing.

-He would threaten you, if you tried to ask for help, with even worse, and has followed through a few times, the day he tied a rope around your neck and tried to hang you made a shiver run through your body.

-You had always been too scared to ask for help, going to police, as you were afraid they weren’t going to do anything, as you did it once, and told you to not abuse the police for a big brother picking on you, ignoring the welts on your arms from his hits with his belt.

-Today was your breaking point, he wanted to see what the inside of your hand looked like and stabbed you, your shriek caused your parents to yell at you, and when he went to go tell them you just fell, you ran.

-You remember rounding a corner, sprinting, and running into someone, but then everything went black.

-The bed you woke up in was so soft, so warm, you just wanted to lay there for the rest of your life, a soft sigh leaving you.

-A hand on your forehead made you flinch, jerking back as your eyes opened and a soft groan left you as your vision swirled.

-The hand returned, holding a cool rag over your eyes, “Easy now, slowly.”

-You didn’t know the voice but after a few moments, you calmed down and looked up to see a handsome, older looking man, looking down at you in worry.

-He explained that you ran into him, refusing to hear any sort of apology, as he had seen your condition, and when he brought you to his home, he found the other signs of your abuse.

-You were ashamed, not wanting to look at him, before he gave you a smile that seemed like he had a secret, “You’re safe here. Your brother won’t hurt you again.”

-Your eyes widened, “How- how did…” he chuckled softly, “I have my ways. After I patched you up, I followed the blood back to your house and found your brother trashing his room in fury and I saw the knife.”

-It was so strange, being treated so gently, something he was quick to notice as he took care of you, giving you food that you wolfed down, like you were being starved, and ignoring the flinches from his head pats.

-He was furious to learn your parents didn’t do a thing, ignoring you, thinking you were making things up, despite showing obvious signs of abuse, and he grinned, “You can stay here with me, I’ll be your new dad.”

-Your sparkling eyes were the only answer he needed as you agreed.

-He never made you feel like a burden, taking care of you, making sure you were happy and fed, and you had never felt so comfortable before.

-That is, until a knock came to the door, it was the police, your parents, and your brother, claiming (Dad) kidnapped you.

-You hid under your bed, hands over your mouth to stifle your breathing as he let the police in, but not your family.

-The police were concerned, seeing you near a panic attack when (Dad) managed to coax you out from under the bed, seeing the wounds, old wounds, all over you.

-You told the police you weren’t going back to that house, where you brother could abuse you to his heart’s content and your parents ignore you, and if they made you, you were going to run away and never stop running.

-The police called in some paramedics, which freaked your brother out, something your parents didn’t notice, only caring about the staring neighbors now, worried for their reputation.

-After confirming that your wounds were days old, nothing within the past day, except for the stab wound, which was also more than a day old, they all agreed that (Dad) didn’t do anything.

-The police tried to pry, “Why didn’t you go to the police?” you scowled darkly, “I tried- and was told to not abuse the police for my big brother picking on me.”

-Eyes hardened all around the room as they realized you were blown off and forced to endure another two years, since you last called, of torture.

-Your parents tried to demand where you were when the police and paramedics walked out and were promptly shocked when they were placed in cuffs, followed by your brother who almost went feral, demanding to be let go.

-Your parents were stunned at the charges, ranging from child neglect to abuse, while your brother was having attempted murder charges, after you told them about almost being hanged, and getting stabbed.

-(Dad) stood next to the door while you peeked out, glaring at all of them while your parents tried to demand what was going on.

-That’s when they saw you, in a tank top and shorts, showing the bruises, welts, old scars, stab wound, and everything else as you glared, “I’ve been begging for help for years, but you always ignored me and never believed me. Fuck you all.”

-Jack- While disapproving of your language, he let it slide, just this once, you earned it. He lifted a hand to pat the back of your head as they were hauled off, awaiting the investigation of their home once the warrant was obtained, leaving you with Jack after they deemed him safe for you. Jack ushered you back inside, guiding you back to bed, “You’re not allowed to get up for the rest of the day, you went through something very traumatic.” You wanted to pout but he could see your smile as he poked your cheek, making you grin before he went and got some more hot chocolate for you. You melted back into your pillows, sighing gently as you closed your eyes, feeling so content, so safe.

-Odin- He ruffled your hair gently, but said nothing as he stepped forward, stepping in front of you, “You’re first mistakes was harming a child, your second is trying to demand something of a god.” His aura was so intimidating, but to you, you were staring in awe, completely amazed by it, while the cops looked a bit exasperated with his actions. After assuring to let Odin know once it was done, the police went off to search your home, as well as question your family, for any evidence of the abuse. Once they were gone Odin surprised you by picking you up and carrying you back to bed, leaving you with Muninn and Huginn who told you to stay in bed while you stroked down their backs gently, waiting for Odin to come back with some hot tea for the both of you.

-Hades- He looked proud, seeing you stand up for yourself, but even that bit of proudness did little to quell his rage inside, hearing how you’ve been asking for help for years, even from the police, only to be blown off by everyone. Rest assured, he was going to do everything in his power as king of the underworld to find out who responded to you and left you in that hell hole. Hades also demanded to know when the investigation was completed, something he was assured he would be the first to be notified. You disappeared from the doorway and heard you giggling and followed the sound to your room, and he couldn’t help but smile, seeing Cerberus curled up on your bed, taking up all of it, while you were petting him, getting kisses. Hades chuckled softly, coming over to ruffle your hair gently and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling so safe with your new dad.

[yomawiththeboma]

Wish You Were Never Mine

◈ NAMJOON X FEMALE READER

◈ SOULMATES AU

◈ CHAPTER 4: The Lost Had Been Found (3k words)

◈ Find the story's masterlist HERE

Namjoon’s eyes were watering as he took a deep breath feeling his insides tear and twist. He was showering when the pain became unbearable and he couldn’t go meet his soulmate that was torturing both of them.

“Hyung, I can’t. This is getting too much. I can’t open my eyes at this point.” Yoongi looked at Jin who was holding the ice packs to them. He put one on his rib and another over his eye.

“I don’t know, Joonie… I really can’t do anything. That girl is going to kill the both of you at this rate.” Hoseok said, rubbing his face in frustration.

“The doctor is on the way, hyung.” Jungkook spoke coming to sit beside Yoongi who took his cold palm and started playing with his fingers.

“If I saw this Y/N again, I will definitely punch her.” Jin fumed as he changed the almost melted ice pack with another new one. Namjoon’s body ached from pain, his limps burning and his insides churning.

“Then you are being stupid, he will get hurt if you punch her.” Yoongi remarked gaining an earful scolding from the furious hyung.

“Namjoon, you need to find her, she will be the death of you. You need to stop her. You guys have to talk and if she doesn’t want to be with you, at least she should stop hurting herself knowing that another life is depending on hers.” Hoseok ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“This isn’t fair,” Jungkook stated with a pout on his face. “You too wanted to drink and smoke but you didn’t just for her, you didn’t get yourself in any kind of trouble so she won’t feel pain, but look at her! She doesn’t care about you at all! She is so selfish!!” he sniffled looking at his hyung with tears brimming his red eyes. “Hyung, I don’t want to see you in pain anymore. It hurts to see you like this...” tears fell down his face as he quickly wiped them. Yoongi’s eyes softened as he looked at the youngest cry for his older friend.

“Can we stop talking about this?! I know that I am stupid for taking extra care of myself but I love her! I don’t know her but I do love her even if she doesn’t, I don’t care if she hurts me or even kills me! She must be going through hard times to work something like this, like who even likes being in pain?” he felt tears accumulate in his eyes sniffling softly he whined at yet another squeeze to his abdomen.

“Are you out of your mind?! I was going through hard times too but did I ever get myself hurt? Other lives are depending on me, I can’t just hurt them just because I am in some pain!” Yoongi groaned in frustration not knowing whether Namjoon was just too naive or his soulmate was only doing this out of pure hatred.

“Yoongi-ah, calm down. He isn’t in a state to get scolded, you can talk to him tomorrow.” the oldest stopped him noticing that the younger was silently crying.

Jin changed the ice packs again wiping Namjoon’s face in the way. They stayed in silence till the bell rang indicating the arrival of the doctor. Hoseok led the doctor to the room and they all walked outside leaving Yoongi with Namjoon.

“He isn’t injured severely, nothing too serious. As you know the pain he feels is just the same pain that his soulmate feels but he isn’t injured. Any injury caused to the lungs, heart, or any vital organ is the only case when we should get worried other than that he is completely fine.” getting out his notebook the doctor wrote some painkillers before giving the paper to Yoongi.

“There is nothing I can do except give him some Advil tablets, it will numb his pain for a while. Let him take it twice a day.” he said as he walked out of the room with Yoongi following him. “I suggest that you need to talk to his soulmate as soon as possible. His condition only indicates the horrible state his soulmate must be in. The soulmate bond, as you know, suffocates the one hurting both of them especially when it’s done on purpose.” he explained. Yoongi looked at him with confusion written on his face. “Your expression says that’s the first time you heard of this.”

“Yes, I have never thought that the bond could do such a thing.” patting his shoulder the doctor excused himself before leaving.

“Is that true, hyung?” Jungkook asked looking at Yoongi with wide eyes.

“I don’t know Kookie, but maybe it’s like intercourse. Having intercourse with a soulmate is so intense, it’s like ten times better than having sex with anyone. Maybe the bond is torturing her.” Jungkook frowned not knowing what to do. He hated her a minute ago now he doesn’t know what to feel.

“Hyung, let’s search for her. I can’t just stand and watch him die in front of me.” Yoongi suddenly blurted out.

“How will you find her?” the older wondered as he played with his fingers before Hoseok entered the living room with some painkillers for Namjoon.

“You guys are too stressed. We will probably find her in the alley or around it, if she fights there regularly that means that she doesn’t live that far from the alley. The three of us can look for her starting tomorrow.” Yoongi looked at him as if he was talking gibberish, “What? Don’t you want to help him?”

“Yes, yes of course I want to. We can search for her tomorrow.” he repeated the younger’s words before getting up to see his sick friend.

Panting slightly Jin, Hoseok and Yoongi sat on the same table Jimin and Jungkook were sitting on. It was around one in the morning and they have been searching for Namjoon’s soulmate for four hours now. Their legs ached, they were hungry and irritated.

“You found anything?” Jimin asked sipping his macchiato before correcting something in Jungkook’s notebook.

“No, the people there told us that she has been missing for three days now.” Jin huffed resting his head on Hoseok’s shoulder. Yoongi glanced at Jungkook who was clad in all black. The boy’s hair reached his shoulders curling at the end. He had his eyeglasses perched on his nose as he concentrated on his book. When did he get that big?

“We are hopeless.” Hoseok sighed feeling drained.

“Hyung I remember something!” the youngest suddenly spoke gaining their attention.

“Is it something that relates to the lesson I have been teaching?” Jimin asked knowing that this boy has nothing to say but pure blabber.

“No hyung, wait! I remember, Taehyung and I have the same Anatomy class. We share most classes.” he said before getting smacked on the head by a furious Yoongi.

“You brat! We have been searching all day long! Why didn’t you say anything?!” he scolded as Hoseok and Jimin held him down afraid that he might beat the younger if they let him go.

“Sorry hyung but you didn’t ask me!” he innocently looked at them afraid he might get beaten up. Breaking free from their hold, the older held Jungkook in a headlock rubbing his knuckles on his head till Jungkook was whining. “I am sorry! Sorry!”

Yoongi let him go before taking his seat, glaring at Jimin for holding him.

“I forgot to tell you.” Jungkook pouted holding his aching head.

“You forgot to tell us when your hyung is at home feeling like crap. He is on his death bed and you forgot to tell us?!” Yoongi yelled again making the younger scoot away.

“Yoongi hyung, please stop.” Jimin muttered as he put their studying material in his bag calling it a day.

Getting a glare from his only hyung, Yoongi shut up not wanting to get scolded by Jin.

“It’s alright, Kookie. Jungkook-ah, when you go to college, talk to him and explain the situation that they are both in. Ask him where we can find her and take his phone number just in case.” Jin explained carefully to the younger.

“I will try my best!”

Getting out of the exam hall Jungkook began his search for the male with ash blonde hair and a mole under his eye. He went to the library, cafeteria, some empty classrooms, and even the rooftop but he couldn’t find Taehyung anywhere. Sighing in frustration he knocked the art room before walking in. He looked at the male with ash blonde hair, a brush between his fingers as he painted on the canvas. Glancing up Taehyung looked at the emo boy who walked in. Jeon Jungkook.

“Taehyung subae-nim!” Jungkook greeted as he bowed to the older male.

“What do you want?” he firmly asked as he got up packing his brushes and tool in his bag ready to leave.

“It’s urgent, please sit.” Jungkook said as he noticed the male get ready to leave. “It’s about Y/N and her soulmate, Namjoon hyung.” Taehyung turned around once he heard his best friend’s name. He took a seat in front of the younger male even though he didn't want to do anything now more than leaving the male in front of him all alone.

“What about her?” he asked already feeling irritated.

“Subae-nim, my hyung has been in the hospital for the past two days. He is condition is worsening by the second and the doctor can’t do anything about it. They keep saying the same thing, it’s the soulmate bond and we can’t do anything about it.” Jungkook looked at his own hands. “I don’t want to see my hyung die. He loves his soulmate so much that he can’t even bear to hear anything bad about her. He wasn’t given a chance to meet her properly or talk to her. She escaped as soon as the tattoo turned golden.”

Taehyung nodded, “I can’t do anything. I can’t interfere in her job or love life.” Taehyung coldly responded before getting up. He knew how much she hated the soulmate system. How she thought it was stupid and not fair.

Jungkook sprung up taking his wrist. “I beg you, please. They are both going to be due at this rate. Your friend and then my hyung. She is in so much pain, pain she can’t control, the bond will keep torturing her for risking her soulmate’s life. Please, just tell me where I can find her.” he pleaded.

Taehyung looked at his doe eyes shining with tears. He snatched his wrist, walking to his bag he took a piece of paper and a pen. Giving the paper to the younger he looked at his eyes with a tint of sadness and longing before looking away.

“It’s not her fault.” he hoped that maybe this Namjoon would change her mind.

“Paradise Casino Walkerhill.” Jungkook said looking at his hyung. “She works at Paradise Casino Walkerhill. She has a break from twelve to one. That’s all he said.” Yoongi nodded as he typed in the place on his GPS.

“You did well, Jungkook-ah.” he praised getting a small grin from the male. “Did you find her, Kookie?” he asked getting an upset ‘no’.

“The name is so strange though, hyung.” he muttered looking at the tattoo that was behind his ears through a mirror in his hand. The words shined blue and he only pouted more.

“It’s fine. I had Jihyo at the top of my butt.” the younger giggled remembering that time they were in the pool and he saw the tattoo in bold red. It was so embarrassing. “Yeah, love me at the top of my butt.” he giggled as well knowing quite well if his wife heard him she will beat his ass.

“Han-sol…” he whispered the name under his breath wondering what might have happened that made his soulmate to make her that upset.

“You sure we will find her?” Jin asked as they walked into the casino, seeing people sitting here and there. Half of the people sat there were drinking and the other half were getting were probably on a date with their soulmates.

“That’s the place.” Yoongi stood for a moment trying to find someone with purple ends in their hair. It didn’t take much to find someone with such a hair. Once she was spotted, Yoongi quickly marched towards her, and before she can acknowledge the situation she was dragged somewhere isolated from the crowd by the collar.

“Finally I found you, I don’t know how you are even still standing with all of these bruises and a broken rib, and I don’t know why the fuck my friend is that desperate to meet a woman like you, but what I know is that you need to let go of your damn selfishness, cause I can’t bear to see my younger brother in pain any-more and if it wasn’t going to hurt him, I would have punched you till you passed out.” he fumed in anger keeping his grip on her tight.

“Leave me.” she demanded calmly, looking at the male who was as tall as her.

“I am not gonna leave you tell you to come with me and fucking apologise to your soulmate!” she rolled her eyes before swinging her fist at him. Holding his cheek, she pushed him on the wall earning a huff before she was holding him from his collar.

“Listen! Don’t meddle with me unless you want to end up like the ones you saw in that alley.” she warned letting go of his collar harshly.

“Noona, can I have a word with you please?” Jungkook who stood on the side spoke getting closer to where she stood.

“On one condition, he and the other guy stay outside.” Yoongi greeted his teeth, “You fucker!” he yelled getting held by Hoseok who nodded at Jungkook and Jin to go inside the casino.

Looking at her opponent she sighed avoiding his hits as much as she could before tackling him down. Giving him a heavy hit in the back with her elbow he was out as she looked at her boss who nodded at her.

Taking the cash she went straight to the changing room. She changed her wounds and old bruises before treating the new ones. She wrapped the white bandage around her elbow which ached. Pulling on the baggy black cargo pants on before she pulled on the black hoodie.

“Don’t look at me like this!” she hissed at Yoongi who was glaring at her.

She sat beside Jungkook in the black UV car fiddling with her wounded, scratched, and aching fingers. She looked at the cut that was on her thumb trying to wipe the dried blood but it was no use.

Looking out of the window she stared at the moon. The moon that never changed, the moon that never left, and hoped she would find hers. She looked at her watch, it displayed four in the morning, almost dawn. She just wanted to sleep and maybe have a smoke or eat some toast.

Sighing she got the pack of cigarettes out from the pocket of her hoodie, she took one cigarette out putting it between her lips. Pushing the pack of cigarettes back into the pocket she took out the lighter, covering the blunt with her hand she lit the cigarette. Watching the smoke leave her lips she sighed laying comfortably in her chair.

Adjusting the bag on her lap she got her phone out sending a quick text to Taehyung informing him to go and check on Minjin and stay with her till she was at school. She knew she wouldn’t return right away.

Smelling the toxic smell of smoke Hoseok turned around to glance at the lady.

“Can you put it out?” he asked politely and got no response. Y/N wasn’t even bothered, she was determined to finish the cigarette.

“Just put it out! Namjoon is dying you bitch!” Yoongi yelled looking at her from where he sat in the seat beside Jin who was driving.

“It seems like you and I won’t be great friends Yoongi-shii.” she provoked him by taking another lungful of the toxic substance.

Parking the car Seokjin patted Yoongi’s back telling him to get down. “Cut it out. I know you are worried but please calm down.” he whispered squeezing his shoulder lightly.

Throwing the blunt on the side road she walked into the hospital feeling her heart beat stronger. With each step she took she could feel the string pull her more and more. She knew his room by herself. She needn’t wait for them to know that he was behind that white door.

“How-” Jungkook looked at Jin who shushed him.

Bringing her shaky hand to the knob of the door she twisted it before walking inside the room staring at the brown eyes that welcomed her.

Looking at his tattoo Namjoon smiled as it shined gold again. “Hi.” he softly greeted a small smile displayed on his dry chappy lips.

Feeling tears accumulate in her eyes, they rolled down her cheeks as she looked at her soulmate tied to many wires and with an oxygen mask on his face. She felt the harsh stab in her heart and the tormenting squeeze to both her lungs. She coughed in her palm knowing well there will be blood.

“I am sorry.” she choked out concerning Namjoon who tried to get up but his legs felt too heavy.

“It’s okay. I am not mad at you.” he comforted her gaining a shake from her head before she was coughing up more blood in her palm. Rushing out of the room to the nearest bathroom she got concerned looks from the men who stood outside.

“Hyung? What happened?” Jungkook asked glancing at Yoongi who told the nurse to follow her.

“She is sick Jungkook.” Namjoon muttered feeling his heart squeeze in pain. “She is in pain too.” Namjoon wiped the tear that fell from his eyes.

“Ma’am are you okay?” the nurse walked into the bathroom looking at the lady hunched over the toilet bowl and throwing up blood. “Oh my god! Please, ma’am, get up. Doctor!” she yelled before getting up and helping the lady to the nearest room. The lady sat on the bed, head bounding, throat with million knives in it, and body on fire.

She knew once she saw him she would deteriorate but she never thought it would happen so fast.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

[softpascalito]

Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Nineteen

Brushing Teeth - Joel Miller/F!Reader

Summary: Grief is cruel and just because you and Joel live in the safe haven that is the Jackson community it does not mean you're immune to it.

Possibly the saddest (but also kinda best) thing I have written so far.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader

WC: 2400

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Established Relationship, jackson era, No use of y/n, Crying, past trauma, Survivor Guilt, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Tooth Brushing, This is like seriously sad pls beware, Author has already scheduled a therapist appointment

AO3 LINK

notes: a huge thank you to my beta babes maria and aura for reading this a month in advance. i love you both so much.

this is a really, really sad fic. it's likely not gonna go the way you think. please continue with caution <3

_________________________________________

Circles

He died just after sunrise.

It had been supposed to be a simple shift, guarding the perimeter from one of the high posts along the fence that stretched around Jackson. The wood had been icy, slippery. There had been a railing. But when his heart had failed and he had collapsed to the ground, slipping over it like an ice rink, it hadn't been able to stop his body from falling.

There was nothing that could have been done. He had been old, older than most. Even with modern medicine, his condition would have caught up to him sooner or later.

Fate had decided on sooner.

Word hadn't reached Joel before he had left for patrol and so he had spent the day clearing Infected and checking the lookouts, unaware of the tragedy that had, for once, struck within the very borders of home. It wasn't until he came back in the early evening, that he noticed something was off.

There were no children bustling around on the playground, no adults studying the notice boards to see which movie was on tonight or who offered guitar lessons. Curtains were drawn shut. It was quiet.

The somber look on Tommy's face, who was waiting for Joel at the stables, was enough to send him into a panic.

Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?

Tommy must have seen it coming because he had already raised his hands, as if surrendering to his brother, ”They're both fine.” Joel nodded solemnly as Tommy explained, repeating the events of the day in a few words.

He could live with that. As long as it wasn 't Ellie. Or you. Never you.

Ellie had spent the day with you, trying to look after you, doing the best she could. She was waiting in the large armchair in the living room, as close to the front door as she physically could.

Joel practically barges in, his gaze quickly checking the adjacent rooms. When he sees Ellie, he immediately relaxes a bit, knowing that at least someone has been here. Someone who kept watch.

“How is she?” He asks, disregarding any need for a greeting towards the teenager. She doesn't seem to mind, instead hopping up from the seat and walking with him, the pair quickly moving through the hallway.

“I gave her some food. I don't think she ate any of it. She wouldn't talk to me either. I'm sorry, Joel, I-'' He quickly shakes his head. He'll take care of Ellie, reassure her that she did a good job, which he undoubtedly knows she did. But Ellie is not the person in this house who needs him the most right now. Ellie is not the person who lost someone today.

“Later, okay?” Joel demands softly. His voice carries an underlying, stern tone that he rarely uses anymore. In other circumstances, Ellie would get mad at him, but she understands. He is in survival mode. He is making sure the people he loves are still there. He is scared.

Joel remembers your form that he had left behind this morning. Still in bed, sleepy, only reluctantly pressing a small kiss to his lips, the sweet promise of a few more minutes of sleep too tempting to ignore. He remembers the night before, the bubbly, talkative personality you usually have, that is a just little too much for him sometimes.

Your world had changed in just a few hours, a few minutes. And he hadn't been here.

Why had he not been here?

“Are you okay?” Ellie asks hesitantly and only then Joel realizes that he's stopped in the middle of the hallway. He continues his steps.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Ellie gives a shrug next to him but Joel barely notices, still too caught up in his thoughts.

He needs to see you. See that you are fine, just like Tommy had promised. Not truly fine, maybe, but alive. Breathing.

As they reach the old, wooden staircase, Ellie stops, taking in Joels gaze, that to her, still seems miles away, ”She wouldn't leave the bed. I barely recognized her.”

Joel just nods, his worry growing with every word. His grip on the banister tightens slightly, knuckles turning white.

“Go see her,” Ellie whispers and gently nudges him.

“Right.” That finally gets Joel to move again, his voice a little higher than usual and trembling slightly. Ellie knows he is close to crying. She presses her fist into his back a little harder and he nods again before he hurries up the stairs two steps at a time.

It's not until he reaches the end of the landing, until he is two steps away from the bedroom door that he slows down. Once again, uncertainty takes over his body. What does he say? Do? He's not equipped to handle this, he's not good with emotions, much less sad ones.

He's not sure what happens. An instinct takes over, steering his body steadily towards the door and pulling his fingers towards the brass handle. Maybe it's some old, parental instinct from before the outbreak, that he still carries buried in the back of his mind. Either way, he sends a silent, thankful prayer that it's there, that it allows him to continue putting one foot in front of the other despite having no idea how to.

The wooden door creaks slightly as he pushes it open. It's a familiar sound, more comforting than unnerving.

Joel is greeted by cold and darkness. He shivers as he steps into the room:'' Jesus Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He doesn't have to wait until his eyes adjust to the light. He can find his way in the darkness. 

He quickly turns the radiator higher, another familiar noise flaring up. Familiar is good. Familiar is safe.

He doesn't want to turn on the big light but he finds the switch for the small lamp in the corner and finally, he can take in the scene before him. His gaze is immediately caught by the bed in the middle of the room.

Whenever he goes out on patrol and you get the bed to yourself, you make use of his absence by occupying the entire bed, sprawling yourself out in the middle of the worn-out mattress. More than once, he had to physically fight you if he wanted his side of the bed back.

Now, however, you aren't in your usual position. You are curled up, tucked into the far corner of the bed, blankets and pillows wrapped around what Joel can only assume to be your body, some of them resting against the headboard.

It almost looks like you are trying to protect yourself, shield yourself from the grief that is knocking on the door downstairs, that is coming the same way he just has, slipping into the dark, cold room. A nest, to fend off the grief. Joel knows it wont work. He has tried.

A few of your limbs poke out from holes in the fortress of pillows and blankets and Joel softens slightly as his gaze wanders over them. He suddenly wants to run again, but he is afraid it'll startle you so instead, he approaches slowly, softly, like one may approach a wounded animal.

The bed dips slightly beside you as he sits down, his strong arms immediately wandering under the covers, searching for you. He finds the fabric of a shirt first, and then there's skin. Soft, gentle skin and he wants to cry with the familiarity of it. Looking down, he isn't surprised to see the shirt he had discarded last night, his favorite green flannel, now wrapped around your trembling body.

The thoughts come back. A small body, wrapped in a flannel shirt. He has seen it often enough to fill several lifetimes. He doesn't mind it anymore.

He knows it's a lie. He does mind it.

They had wrapped Sarah in flannel.

He can still see her. Still see the shirt, stained with blood. There had been so much blood.

Joel thinks about his daughter, his everything, his whole world, taken from him, wrapped in a shirt and buried in a backyard under a tree somewhere in Texas.

Joel knows he can't have these thoughts right now. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs until they feel like they're bursting. He pushes the thoughts away. Later.

His right arm finds your hair and you finally make a noise, whimpering softly at finally, finally having him here with you.

The blanket is gently pulled to the side, allowing Joel to see your face. Your hair is messy, your cheeks tear-streaked, eyes red and puffy from crying. You look like you have just been through hell.

Joel reminds himself you probably have.

His insides clench as he pushes down his own tears. And then you open your mouth.

“It was supposed to be my shift.”

That's all it takes. He hates himself because he's supposed to be there for you, he's supposed to be strong. But the fear is stronger, the knowledge that he could've lost you today gripping him again and not letting him breathe.

He leans forward in an attempt to hide his tears, his face, his own sorrow and you break too, shamelessly sobbing into his chest. You stay entangled like this, bodies pressed tightly together, you crying loudly and him crying silently. It feels like a long time. Your voice becomes hoarse but the sobs wont stop. You're not sure they ever will.

Joel moves, eventually, kneeling down on the floor so that his face is level with yours and he can study your face. His hands remain on your skin, not once breaking contact. He rubs small circles into your skin, caressing every part of you he can reach. 

Nothing can touch you as long as he does.

“Gonna help you a bit. That alright, darlin'?” He mumbles softly. Your answer comes automatically, the same one you've given Ellie throughout the day, ''I'm not hungry.”

“I know you ain't,” Joel mumbles. He lets it slide:” But we should clean you up. Just a bit.” He promises as he leans forward and kisses your cheek. You don't struggle as he picks you up more carefully than ever, hoisting you onto his hips and wrapping his arms around your legs to keep you upright against his chest. It's almost like being carried by a father.

Joel takes you into the bathroom, sitting you down on the counter. There is a bald patch on the wall where a mirror used to be until he gave it to Ellie. He always gives.

Patiently, he waits until the water is lukewarm and then begins wiping your face with a washcloth. You probably smell but you can't bring yourself to care and neither does Joel.

He moves on to your hair, untying the knot that once resembled some sort of hairstyle and brushing through it with his fingers for a moment before tying it back again. His movements are so gentle, so smooth. You watch as he grabs your toothbrush, gently wetting it and putting some toothpaste on, his left hand all the while remaining on your thigh.

Joel gently nudges the toothbrush against your mouth and you dutifully open up, allowing him to start brushing your teeth, still as gentle as he can.

He can feel the sadness again, threatening to overwhelm him. He brushes in small circles.

The last time he had done this was with Sarah. She was eight. She had been sick then, caught a stomach bug at soccer camp and thrown up for days. Joel had dragged his mattress to her room, sleeping beside her.

He moves on to the other side of your mouth. More circles.

Sarah had vomited on him, in the middle of the night, staining both the carpet and his pants. He hadn't batted an eye, just stripped the beds and taken her to the bathroom to clean her up. All he had needed was for her to feel better. And if him enduring it would lessen her suffering, he would have chosen it time and time again.

He doesn't say this. He thinks he may, some day. But not anytime soon.

Circles. Joel brushes in circles.

When he's done, he holds a cup to your lips and you lean sideward, spitting into the sink. He is still caressing your thigh, a constant, reassuring touch. He brings his other hand up to your face, using his thumb to wipe the last bit of toothpaste off the corner of your mouth.

“Let's get back to bed, hm?” You don't trust your voice again yet so you just nod and sniffle a bit. As he picks you up again, you feel another wave, a nauseous wave of grief coming down on you. You think he feels it too because he grips you a little tighter. You start crying again.

You return to the mess of pillows and blankets that still cover half the bed. But now he is there with you. His too large frame under the covers next to you, watching with sad, brown eyes as you curl up against him. He pats your hair, leans down and gently presses a kiss to your forehead. It has been ages.

The small streak of light that falls through a hole in the blankets reflects in his broken watch for a split moment. He looks down at it, the motion so familiar still. And he knows. He knows how you feel.

“Get some rest, babygirl,” he whispers. He'll do right by you. He won't let you go through the things he did. You close your eyes, taking in his smell, his warmth. It feels different now.

It could've been her. It could've been her. Thank god it wasn't her.

You're still in his arms, you're still here, still breathing, chest falling and rising in a semi-steady rhythm. He makes the choice in that moment. Or, he realizes it. He feels like he has made it a long time ago.

He will endure it. He will endure everything if it just takes away a little of your grief, of your pain.

He doesn't need to say it. It's an unspoken truth.

Joel Miller will be there.