#I just remember stumbling on it a few years past and the memory hit me a couple days ago :')

[player-1]

Me, being hit with a late night brainwave: -I know for sure that the N1 protag has a canon name, I know I saw it from one of the concept/teaser/release trailers, but I can't figure out where! I've already combed through in from the official channel and I can't find it! I know his name is perpetually blank in Extinction cause it's a completely different game (and devs just leaving it up to interpretation), of course he's the nameless hero cause he's never mentioned by name in his own game too (though it's extra funny that the Micromon protag had their name mentioned more than five times), but still! I know I don't want to look for the official Discord channel to get it from the big man himself, but I know it exists, believe me!!

[tinytennisskirt]

Let It Linger

Summary: When post-canon divorced! Art goes back to high school for a fifteen year reunion, he’s met with strong memories of the his estranged best friend, the girl he loved those fifteen years ago. He gets caught in a rally between his past and present. A whirlwind of past yearning, casual touches, meaningful conversations and pining rushes back to him like the time never passed when he sees her again for the first time in fifteen years. Turns out not so much has changed.

Warnings: mentions of sex, alcohol, marijuana. casual touching, pining, yearning, MEGA SLOWBURN, a longer fic with time skipping between MRTA! art and POST CANON! art. AU.

Art wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He was parked outside, in some dress shirt he’d owned far too long and the black dress pants he wore for when he did pre-game press. His hands on the wheel, lips pressed into a straight line. This would be interesting, he knew it would be. He was sitting in the parking lot outside the smaller gym of Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy and he could hear the music through the walls of the car and through the open gym door, he could see a purple cast of light from inside.

It had only been fifteen years. That wasn’t much time in perspective, but fifteen years felt like a lot when he remembered who he was that many years ago.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“My mouth, my mouth!” You called, opening your mouth and slowing your running to walking backward. Patrick tossed a marshmallow and you caught it in your mouth as the three of you ran down the hill, Patrick with a bag of marshmallows, you with the chocolate, and Art with the graham crackers.

Both boys cheered loudly and you jumped, triumphantly raising your hands above your head. Art nearly ran right into you with the momentum from the hill and you all ended up laughing way too hard at it, even with the marshmallow in your mouth. Art tried to catch his breath, his hand sliding over your waist as he passed you, trying not to stumble the rest of the way down the hill. Patrick just laughed. “I had no idea my aim was that good,” he said, teasing.

You swallowed the marshmallow, “You’re kidding? Your aim? That was all me.”

Art grinned, “I think it was a joined effort…” He played mediator. You hit him in the upper arm gently. “No, all you. All her, Patrick. Sorry.”

Patrick threw his arms up in forfeit. There was no winning against you. They both knew that. You giggled and shoved a marshmallow right in Patrick’s mouth before skipping down the rest of the hill, leaving both boys behind you. Art watched, a huge grin on his face. The three of you had found a great way to sneak out of your dorms at night. It was 11:42 and you were heading toward the back of the grounds with the ingredients for s’mores, a lighter, and matches for good measure. And maybe the remainder of a pack of cigarettes.

What good was your last year at the academy if not the one you rebel just a tiny bit? You were down the hill humming Groove Is In The Heart by Deee-Lite in your big Mark Rebellato sweater and yoga pants just happy to be out at night. You were fun, carefree, and bright, even in the dark of the edge of the property, away from all the fuss of the school. “You’re so slow!” You called out to them. Both Art and Patrick jogged to catch up to you, finding your regular spot between a few trees.

You sat on your regular log and pulled the blanket from your bag before getting up to drape it over. Patrick got to collecting the twigs from the stash and put them in the hole you three dug the first time you snuck out. Art took the seat next to you on the log, “Crazy, you have like seven tennis balls in here.” He laughed. You shook your head, nudging him just a little while he grabbed the three marshmallow skewers from your bag. He grabbed one of the balls out and threw it at Patrick.

“Can take the girl out of Mark Rebellato but can’t take the Mark Rebellato out of the girl,” Patrick said, catching the ball and throwing it back at Art. He got the fire started and lit one of the remaining cigarettes off of the growing flame. “You guys ready for that test on Monday?”

“Since when are you an academic?” You chuckled, putting a marshmallow on the end of Art’s stick.

“Since he found out Lydia Jennings is into smart guys,” Art said. You chuckled, biting your lip just gently. Art noticed.

Patrick blew smoke out the side of his mouth, “No- okay, she said she liked smart guys we all know there’s no way in hell I’m becoming a straight-A student like this one over here,” he gestured with the cigarette between his fingers to you. “She’s hot, she’s not drop-everything-and-study hot. I’m talking about the test on Monday because I know that with you two and Stanford, you’re obsessed with your grades… I am… not ready.”

You shook your head, looking up at him, “She is so drop-everything-and-study hot, you’re just picky. And I’ll lend you my notes tomorrow if you want- Art and I worked on them together, they’re pretty extensive.”

“They are good.” Art nodded, dangling his marshmallow over the embers. “You’re actually worried about it? I mean, the year is almost half-done, you’ve got time.”

He nodded, “I know, but I have to graduate to be free of this place for good. No way I’m doing that GED thing.”

“My mom did the GED thing.” You said. “She’s doing just fine. It was only a setback. Plus, if you plan on truly going pro, it won’t be a big thing. Just player trivia.” Art laughed at that, pulling his stick back to pull the marshmallow off. You had already prepped his graham cracker and chocolate and pulled the marshmallow off between them for him. Patrick watched how you two worked so wordlessly- wasn’t his focus. “I will lend you all of my notes tomorrow, it’s just a matter of reading them a few times a day and you’re set.”

Patrick shrugged, grabbing himself the things he needed for a s’more. “Thanks.”

Art nodded, “You’re lucky you’re good with a racket.”

“Rude!” You said, shoving him backward off the log. He landed on his back in the leaves and it was all-around laughter again. The dynamic was this. Shoving, pushing, insults in good fun, but caring all too much. Art knew there was nobody in the world who cared more about anything than you did. He was, as your friend, able to enjoy just how passionate you were about the things and people you liked. He pulled himself back onto the log, shaking his head at you as you dusted him off and removed the leaves from his hair. You smelled good, like fall, vanilla, and chai, almost, but with a sweetness that reminded Art of the caramel apples from the fair. He shut his eyes as your hands picked the last little bits from his hair. You pat his cheek when it was done and the conversation moved onto the new tennis coach’s really bad toupée.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art got out of his car, shut the door, and locked it, car keys sliding into his pocket. He stared out over the grounds, past the outdoor tennis courts, and to the point in the field where it dipped down into the big hill. He wondered if they’d ever found your makeshift fire pit, filling it with dirt, moving the logs… He glanced at himself in the side mirror of the car, remembering when his hair was longer, more golden. Part of him wondered if he would even see you tonight. Maybe he’d see Patrick, which was a more likely occurrence, Patrick wouldn’t miss something like this.

If only they made it less of a surprise who you’d run into at one of these. He guessed it would be his class, a few extras, people who had settled down bringing their fiancees, partners, husbands, and wives. He wondered if he was too dressed up? Dressed down? And he was nervous, for some reason, when he shouldn’t have been.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“I know I shouldn’t be deciding on a dress this late but I can’t tell if this dress is too much?” You said from inside your dorm room. “I’m afraid Mark Rebellato himself will come to smite me for how much boob this dress shows off.” You spoke through the door.

Art and Patrick grinned at each other. “I’m sure it’s fine!” Art called back. Both boys had spent about twenty minutes tops getting ready for the mid-term formal. One of many formals the school so unfortunately had. “Can we see?”

“It’s not the right dress!”

“How would we know?”

The door to your room unlocked and you opened it, standing looking very unimpressed in a gorgeous purple dress. Both boys stood, a little dumbfounded for a second. “Too much?”

“No.” Both boys said in unison, gazing at you, your hair perfect, your makeup perfect.

Art blinked hard to snap himself back to reality, “You look… beautiful.” His eyes lingered a little too long on the slight shimmer to your eyelids and the gloss on your lips. Your eyes softened and you looked down at yourself again.

Patrick agreed. “Damn.” Both boys had themselves forgetting you were the same girl they called their friend on a day-to-day basis. “Mark Rebellato is rolling in his grave.”

“Is he dead?” You asked, laughing. Art didn’t find anything funny when you were standing there looking like that. He thought you were gorgeous, he could say that as your friend of a good few years, but this was breathtaking. You were.

The dance was more fun than both Art and Patrick anticipated, but you made anything fun. Patrick nudged Art’s arm as they stood off to the side with cups of punch. “She’s different this year.” He said. Both boys were watching you dance with one of your girlfriends. You were so free and you were once again the brightest thing in the whole room, purple and pink light cascading over your face and you were laughing.

Art hardly heard him. “Hm?” His eyes didn’t leave you.

“Exactly.”

Art nudged him back, seeing what Patrick was getting at. “Fuck off.” He grinned. “She’s just pretty. She’s always been pretty.”

Patrick nodded, sipping his punch, watching your dress swish around you as your friend spins you. “Too pretty.”

“Mhm,” Art sighs. The way he watches you is different from Patrick's. There’s something buried in what he feels, but he’s never acknowledged it much. Aside from when you met at twelve in a co-op game and you made fun of his ears. It honestly hurt his little feelings but Patrick found it absolutely hilarious that someone so funny-looking could say something so mean to someone else. Art laughed when Patrick defended him. But you, always so smart, nodded. And you smiled, which both boys didn’t expect. Then you apologized to Art and introduced yourself like nothing even happened. Art forgave you. There was something about you that both he and Patrick knew would make a good addition to the duo they’d formed over the first week. And it had been that way ever since. Didn’t make it easier when you stopped looking so funny and disproportionate when you turned fourteen but, being friends, it was ignorable. For the most part. They were only boys.

When presented with a slow dance, you excused yourself from the floor and came to stand with the boys, taking Patrick’s cup of punch right out of his hands and downing it. Patrick went to grab it but it was too late. You pulled a face, “Seriously?” You scrunched up your nose and Art laughed as he pieced it together.

“Didn’t give me a chance to warn you,” he chuckled. You felt the warmth spread down your throat- he’d spiked his own punch. Of course. Art, mouth agape, placed a hand on the small of your back without thinking. You just giggled and shook your head at him. Patrick took his cup back from you, sipping the very last drops. The couples and wannabes behind you continued to dance closely. “Awful, right?”

“So bad,” you giggled. Art twisted his mouth to the side, trying not to laugh too much. Your hand closed around Art’s wrist and pulled it up over your opposite shoulder and you kept talking about how gross it tasted, making fun of Patrick for spiking it so badly. If anyone sniffed it, they would have immediately known it was mostly alcohol. Art’s arm stayed around you, the perfect place for it, so it made sense to step a little closer. It’s only worth noting as something that happened because Patrick, who was used to your casual displays of closeness like this one- saw the angle Art kept his hand at so that his hand wouldn’t rest too close to your boobs. He laughed just a bit. Art just shook his head at Patrick and flipped him off with that very hand.

By the near-end of the night, you’re danced out and you asked the boys to come back with you, but Patrick had taken to chatting up Lydia Jennings, of course, so Art obliges. Patrick didn’t need a wingman, he would do fine on his own. Art holds the door for you as you leave and you’re immediately laughing as you cross the parking lot. “Fucking insane,” Art laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I always forget it’s not a school dance until Patrick sneaks in two shooters.”

“I had at least one whole shooter in that punch,” you said, knocking against him as you walked. The cool autumn air hit your bare skin and it was harsh. “It was disgusting.” Art felt you shiver just a bit beside him and he was already taking off his jacket to give to you. “He could have gone with vodka or something, spiced rum, and fruit punch is one of the worst things I think I’ve ever tasted- thank you.” You said, taking his jacket with a smile and pulling it over your shoulders.

“It was spiced rum?!”

“Yeah!” You laughed with him, still leaning against him as the two of you walked. “He ends up with Lydia Jennings she’s going to hate, hate, hate his breath. I brushed my teeth in the bathroom,” you said, pulling a pink toothbrush out of your bag. Art couldn’t help but laugh at the thing.

“Smart,” he grinned wider as you showed him the travel-sized tube of toothpaste that went with it. Art just flashed you his pack of mint gum in return and you narrowed your eyes at him. Art shoved it back in his pocket along with both of his hands. “So… you had fun tonight?” He followed up.

You smiled at him with those perfectly glossed lips parting to show teeth. “I did. However-

“There’s a however?”

“However…” You grinned, taking his hand and walking backward. You lowered your voice, pretending to be extra serious. “You need to dance more so you can dance with me.”

“You didn’t like the nodding I did? I feel like that was a lot, too much, even.” He held the door open to the other building and you mouthed another thank you as you passed him again. ”How much more do I need to do to dance with you?”

“You can always dance with me. I promise it’s a lot more fun when you’re not feeling centered out.” You told him, heading up the stairwell. It’s still early in the night so the girl’s dorms were mostly empty. “I knowww, I know how you get with it, but-”

“I’d dance with you.” He nodded, but squeezed your upper arm, “You didn’t ask me. I would have.”

“Okay then. Swear on your life right now that if I asked you, you’d say yes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, fighting that neverending grin that lived on his face when you were around. “For what?”

“All future purposes.” You replied, stopping outside your room and leaning against the wooden door. “Where dancing is involved.” You held out your pinkie finger and Art took it before he got to question any more. You grinned and jumped a few times. “You just made the craziest promise, I’m going to make you hate me with that one.” Art just grinned.

You talked a bit more just at the door until both you and Art were wary about someone seeing him on the girl’s side of the dorms. You opened the door to your room and stepped just inside, about to say goodbye, but just one more thing before he left, you asked. For him to help you unzip your dress. Art should not have felt the way he did when you handed him back his jacket and turned around while lifting your hair. Your bunkmate had zipped it up before you had left and you had no idea when she’d be back, you explained.

Art wouldn’t say no to you. Who could? He stepped closer, met with the closer, stronger scent of your perfume and you still smelled sweet. You always smelled sweet. With gentle fingers, he took the small zipper and slowly unzipped the back of your dress. The sound of the zipper being the only thing in the empty of your room and he wouldn’t forget how when the zipper hit the bottom of its track, his finger grazed the bare skin of your back. Soft, softer than he could have even imagined. And you turned so that he wouldn’t be faced with the bare of it all, braless underneath, he could tell, and you thanked him for the night, for his jacket, for his help. Said you’d see him tomorrow. Usually, you’d hug him goodnight, but with your dress about to slip off you just smiled, making fun of the promise he’d made to you just thirty minutes ago before a real goodnight.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art looked over at the dorm building across the lot, looking at the exact path between cars you and him would have walked that night. His hands shoved themselves into his pockets, habit. He decided not to stand out in the parking lot anymore, swallowing hard as he allowed himself through the door and into the smaller gym, which was decorated just like the regular school dances. There were streamers and early 2000s radio hits and so many people.

It was almost immediately people recognized Art. He was possibly the most successful of the graduating class, though he hated to think it. He wouldn’t put himself above anyone. He was already getting pats on the back and he started in some small conversations but he was a little distracted.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“They have parties at Stanford?” You said, looking at some Stanford webpage on Art’s mom’s computer. “Frats, too. Insane. Hey Art, you should join the frat.” You chuckled. Art and Patrick were playing Jenga at the coffee table, two or three of the blocks wet from falling into the eggnog.

Patrick ruffled Art’s hair, “Frat boy Art Donaldson?”

You spun in the chair, “I could join a sorority, they have those too.”

Art grinned, “Yeah? You think they’d take Patrick?”

Patrick pushed Art into the couch and the Jenga tower toppled over once again. You laughed, watching him shake his head and reach for his eggnog, once again pulling a Jenga block out of it. You came and sat next to Art on the couch, sitting on the arm. His hand mindlessly wrapping itself around your ankle as your foot rested on his thigh. Gentle, like letting you know that he’s there despite the readily available knowledge that was your being. Something sweet. Patrick took a seat on the floor in front of you both. “I think they’d take me, but you have to be a Stanford student, so you know, it’s too bad.”

“Their loss,” You smiled. “Do you think I’m pretty enough to rush a sorority when we get to Stanford?” You asked. Both boys looked at each other.

“...Yeah,” Patrick said, nodding just a little. You narrowed your eyes.

“Yes.” Art said firmly. He squeezed your ankle just a little. You smiled at that. Art’s mom called you to dinner, christmas dinner, and in seconds both boys were bolting to the dining room. You exchanged a look with Art’s mom when you got there. She was lovely and she was letting both you and Patrick stay for the holidays. Her food was amazing and the conversation was Stanford, mostly, and your tennis plans for after graduation. The application process, the fuss of getting a dorm room there, and how excited she was for you and Art to be going to the same place. She loved you, his mom. She called you her daughter when the mailman came around during the holiday season and to whoever asked. She’d been in a household of boys for far too long.

The post-dinner conversation laying on your back on Art’s bed next to him while Patrick was laid at the foot of the bed was on exactly that. “Art, I think your mom likes Y/N more than you.”

“I know,” Art replied, hands folded on his chest. He turned his head to look at you, giggling.

“I can’t help it,” you replied through your laughter. “Everyone loves me, it’s not my fault.” Nothing about that statement was false- everyone did love you. And who wouldn’t? You were kind and sweet and loving and so warm to everyone you met so of course they all loved you. There was nobody like you so everyone who crossed paths with you would never be able to forget you. Art’s smile fell, looking at your freshly glossed lips and that unforgettably beautiful smile. He’d zoned out so when you rolled onto your side, nearly onto him, his eyes widened just a bit.

“You’re jealous?” You beamed.

“Not even,” Art scrunched his nose, using a gentle hand to push you away but you returned, giggling. “She’d go insane having a real excuse to go to sales at the mall.”

“Sugar mommy,” Patrick remarked. He had way too much pie, he was half-asleep. Art just kicked him with the foot that rested closest to his chest, eliciting an ‘oof’ noise from Patrick that you giggled at.

“You’re so jealous your mom likes me more, it’s crazy, it’s crazy,” You giggled, grabbing his upper arm. Art twisted his mouth to the side, eyes flickering from the gloss on your lips, to your eyes. “Don’t worry, when she comes to visit me at Stanford, she’ll probably have enough time to see you as well. I’ll make sure of it.” You teased.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Art said, pushing you back again and you just laughed madly, a laugh that was so room-filling and contagious and completely perfect. Art turned his head to look at you. You were more than sorority pretty. Who wouldn’t think so when you laughed like that?

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art found that Lydia Jennings had three kids now. Three in fifteen years, which was a little crazy. She, of course, had pictures with her. Spitting images of her bright blonde, big-mouthed self and Art pretended to care, more than he cared to admit. There was no sign of Patrick. Lydia Jennings asked Art about his divorce, asking about his own daughter, but he had to real interest in talking about that sort of thing. Not with her. He excused himself, raising his head above the crowd to scan for anyone else he knew.

He ended up talking to an old friend who was already balding with his pregnant wife at his side. It was good to see just how well people were doing. Settling down, having quit tennis or only pursuing it on the weekends, some of them with kids in tennis classes already. Art was continuing to be congratulated on his career by even the partners of these past classmates.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

You were dancing to some Tal Bachman song and Art was internalizing every lyric. “What song is this again?” He asked, leaning back against the tree. The light from the fire was flickering around your face that was nearly hidden by the winter jacket you had on.

“She’s So High,” you replied, spinning in circles. Patrick locked eyes with Art from across the fire, giving a knowing smile. One, because you were high, so was he, so was Art- Two, because Art was completely zoned in on you, the way you moved, the way you looked. And he couldn’t help it, you were the most fascinating thing around and he’d smoked quite a bit. It was like the song was written for you, he thought, out of his mind and red-eyed. You were dancing alone, like you hadn’t even though twice, the music coming from your little portable music player thing. Art met Patrick’s eyes and Patrick raised his eyebrows, nodding at you. Art shook his head, but Patrick jumped over the fire to sit next to him anyway.

“So are you telling her or am I?” He teased, ruffling Art’s hair and Art bat him away, huge grin on his face. “So when’s the wedding?”

“Shut the fuck up, she’ll hear you,” Art chuckled, shoving Patrick over just a bit. Patrick came back laughing. “It’s not like that.”

“You really think I’m fucking stupid, huh?” Patrick chuckled, pulling Art into a bit of a headlock in return. “I’ve known you both how long?”

“Too long,” Art laughed, trying to wriggle out of Patrick’s grasp, finally escaping just to shove Patrick all the way over. He was glad you were minding your business, occupied with the song. “It’s not like that.” He repeated, still keeping his voice low.

Patrick pulled himself back up, “Tell that to your dick,” he said, taking a shot at Art’s groin that he gladly blocked just to sock Patrick in his. Patrick doubled over just for a second and Art laughed a bit too hard, the fry of the weed that burned his throat making him cough. Patrick couldn’t stop laughing at the coughing and being high, everything was a lot funnier. It took a minute for them to stop laughing over the stupidity. Patrick sighed heavily, looking over at you still dancing mindlessly to a song by Avril Lavigne, then back at Art, who was trying to regulate his breathing, also staring at you again. “Maybe not always your dick but definitely your eyes. I’ve never seen anyone with bigger heart-eyes, it’s sickening.” He said.

Art looked at Patrick and twisted his mouth to the side. “I don’t think so. She’s just…pretty.” His eyes gazing back to you, spinning in your fluffy winter coat, swaying, firelight flickering over your face, defining your features in shadow.

“Uh-huh… You really think I don’t know?”

“There’s nothing to know,” Art replied, pulling his eyes off of you again.

Patrick shook his head, adding more to the fire, hand still over his groin as the pain continued to die down. He kept his voice low, “Fuck off with that. It’s bullshit. I know it, you know it. You spend more time with her than me, she’s your partner for every co-op game, your mom loves her, you look at her like I’ve never seen you look at anyone.” He chuckled, “And you so want to fuck her.”

“Not as much as I want you to fuck off,” Art chuckled. “Okay, well, I mean- I might. She’s gorgeous, yeah, but I don’t think I could ever tell her anything. She’s perfect, too perfect and we’re friends. We’re her best friends, it would fuck everything up.”

“So you don’t even try? I’ve seen you ask for girl’s numbers within forty minutes of knowing them, it’s unlike you to not even try.”

“She’s different,” Art replied, looking down at his hands. “I couldn’t. I make a move and she doesn’t want it, we’re fucked forever.”

“And you don’t make a move and you’ll never know,” Patrick replied. The weed made him oddly thoughtful. “I’ve seen you two with my own eyes there’s something there, I swear to god there is. You can’t just let things play out, you’re going to miss your chance. Think about Stanford next year, all the college guys hitting on her and you know they will, she’s Y/N… Fifteen years down the road she’s married to some frat guy she met at a rager and you’ll be wishing you told her while you could.”

The silence between them was filled by your music and humming. Art looked at you, eyes closed, lips glossy, boots in the dirt. And for the first time he let himself think that he could never want anyone more than he wanted you. He would never see past you, he wouldn’t ever feel this way about anyone else and in the moment, through the weed, it felt real. You, perfect, gorgeous, here.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art glanced around the room, feeling some familiar fire burning in the pit of his stomach. It felt oddly highschool, it felt oddly familiar. He wondered if you had kept up with tennis, he wondered if you had a husband and kids, he wondered if you’d gained weight, lost weight, changed your hair, were going just a little grey, even. He was nervous- that’s what he was and he could place that. It was then that he saw Patrick, coming in through the door across the room.

Art, over Tashi, had put her in the past, including what Patrick had done. Him and Patrick didn’t keep up much other than a few texts and meeting at the bar a few times, but the hard feelings were pretty much gone. Art started making his way over to his old friend just to be grabbed by another ex-classmate who wanted to catch up. He was faced with more pictures of kids and meeting someone’s wife and Art wasn’t so bothered to talk about his own daughter, he’d always take that opportunity. She was the best thing he currently had.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

You and Art sat on the bleachers in the gym, just having finished a co-op game, having won, of course. You both showered and got dressed again and met back up. The air was warming up, mid-spring and Art had still not told you yet. He decided he would at the end of the year and see if you’d make the first move, just to be safe. It didn’t weigh on him- he’d been friends with you for ages, liked you for ages, so it was a secondary thing.

“Hoping my tennis career is enough to buy an old victorian home,” You said, packing your things into your gym bag.

“I remember you saying that,” Art said, hauling your bag onto his shoulder along with his own. It wasn’t abnormal to have him carry your bag. It was sweet. “You want a blue one. Well, blue-grey.” He said. You looked at him, a little surprised he remembered the blue-grey thing. “With the white trim. I remember things.”

You nudged him just a little bit as you passed him. “I’m surprised, after so many tennis balls have hit you in the head.”

“And whose bad aim is at fault?” He teased back. You held the door for him and went out into the early afternoon sun.

You rolled your eyes at him with that gorgeous smile. “Bad aim, uh huh. Who’s to say it’s not on purpose?”

“Y/N!” Your girl friend called, bounding over. “My hair tie broke and I can’t go all the way back to the dorms in time for scrimmage, do you have an extra?” Art watched your full attention go to this girl, linking hands with her and everything. He watched you take the hair tie off of your wrist, the purple glittery one that you swore was your favourite. “Hi, Art.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, noticing him standing there. Art just raised his hand in a subtle wave.

“Of course,” you said, pulling the purple sparkly hair tie off and giving it to her, no questions asked. “Do you need anything else? I have a redbull in my bag if you wanted that before your scrimmage?”

“Really?” She asked. Art lowered your bag for you and you unzipped it, pulling the redbull out and handing it to her as she finished tying her hair up. All Art could wonder was how could anyone not love you when this was who you were? Art knew that purple hair tie was your favourite and you gave it up, just like that, and didn’t even ask for it back later. And your redbull that Art watched you go through your coins for six miinutes counting literal dimes and pennies to get it from the vending machine was in this girl’s hand just because you thought to offer it. You were kind and beautiful and Art moved the date up a little in his head- the date that he’d tell you how he felt. For now, he dug his free hand into his pocket and pretended like you weren’t absolutely perfect.

Saying goodbye to the girl, you and Art resumed your walk back to the main building. “You know Abbey, right?”

“Her?”

“Yes, her,” you giggled. “Don’t tell her I told you this, but she keeps asking me about you. Your favourite colour, song, movie, all of it.” You explained, gesturing with your hands and leaning against him as you two walked. “She likes you.”

Art was only half-surprised. But was more surprised at you bringing it up. “Likes me how?”

“Exactly in the way you think,” you replied. “I’m always down to play wingwoman, but I did tell her all the wrong information.” Your smile turned into a bit of a cringe. Art liked that even in your full care and support, you were just a little evil. Plus, what harm was it really? Art was only seeing you. He couldn’t spend a second on anyone else. Seemed impossible. “She thinks you’re a huge fan of Green Day.” Art couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah?” Art set down your things at a table in the cafeteria and the two of you got in line for food. “Playing interference?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, bowing so your head nudged his arm. The smile that pulled at your lips was one you appeared to want to suppress. A strand of your hair, wet, fell in your face and Art wasted no time moving it behind your ear. Your eyes met his as your smile broke into full action and your eyes fell back to the ground. Sometimes… just sometimes, he felt maybe you were worth ruining the friendship.

Your lower lip between your teeth, you grabbed a tray for him before you grabbed your own.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art finally made it over to Patrick, who looked decent. He shaved a bit, cleaned up just enough. Art thought about how strange it was to be back here with him after all this time. It almost felt right, was just missing you. “Hey, man.” Patrick said, reaching forward and locking hands with Art in a quick greeting.

“Hey,” Art replied. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Patrick replied. “See anyone worth talking to?”

“Not really. Lydia Jennings has three kids now, in case you were looking forward to that,” he chuckled. “She doesn’t look bad though. I didn’t check for a ring either, so.”

Patrick chuckled, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, wearing virtually what was the grey version of Art’s outfit. “Not for me.” He said. “I actually- I ran into Y/N in the parking lot. I thought maybe you’d be looking for her tonight.” Patrick added. Art hated the way his stomach did a little flip as if he wasn’t a full-grown man with a failed marriage and a daughter.

“She came?”

“Yeah, she headed in here before me. She’s good, she hasn’t aged much, it’s weird. You know what they say about the way good people age…” He added. “She’s in purple, said we’d talk more later but she was excited to be here.”

Art swallowed hard, “I’ll keep an eye out. Thanks, man.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

When Patrick left early to hang out with Lydia Jennings, swearing he was going to ‘get some’, it left you and Art in the boy’s room. How they’d been bunkmates for six years running you had no idea, having been room with at least four different girls. Their room was decorated with sports posters, tennis awards and medals, and Star Wars memorabilia. You weren’t supposed to be there, but oh well. “You think purple is my colour?” You asked Art, going through the nail polish you had in your bag, buried under the bag of cheetos you brought over.

“Hm?” Art slid off his bed and onto the floor where you sat, your back to the edge of his mattress. “Yeah. The medium one, though. Not the dark one.” He said, pointing to the bottle he liked better. You shot a small smile his way before grabbing that one.

“I haven’t painted them in ages,” you said, doing a bit of a jazz hand really close to his face and then pressing your hand to his cheek. Annoying, or trying to be, but casual. Art scrunched his nose and batted your hand away, though he really didn’t want to. “So about Abbey.”

“Your friend?” Art adjusted the way he sat. His knee overlapped yours.

“Mhm,” you replied,beginning to paint your nails. “Did she end up talking to you after class yesterday?”

Art thought back to after class when he was on his way to his next class to meet up with you and Patrick. She had come up to him, but he almost immediately shut her down. “Was she supposed to?”

You smiled, “Yes. I told her to ask you about your favourite Star Trek episode.”

Art grinned, you were still playing interference. He wondered why. “I brushed her off… I didn’t think anything of it I was on my way out.” He grimaced a little and you looked up from your nails, trying not to laugh. “I don’t think I was too rude…”

“Where were you off to in such a hurry?”

“You- And Patrick.” He saved himself. “I had someplace to be! Plus, she’s not really my type.”

“And what is that type? Girls with purple fingernails, maybe?” You laughed- Art wondered what you meant by that because at this very moment there was nothing you said that had ever been more true. “Your future girlfriend is going to hate me.” You followed up. Art’s heart sunk just a little at that. You then mumbled something under your breath that Art didn’t catch.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art caught up a bit with Patrick, who was interested to hear that his daughter was just getting into tennis, but really liked ballet. Patrick himself had still not settled down, but he’d landed a good job adn was now making decent money, enough to find himself a good apartment. He talked about this girl he’d met at the mechanic and Art didn’t mind the tale of it all, but he did glance around every few minutes to see if maybe you’d be nearby or even come to speak to them. They way you’d left things he wondered if you’d say anything to him at all.

It’s not like you left things horribly… But he knew the way things went just weren’t ideal and that was the problem. It was the lack of grace in the process of losing touch.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“Patrick held both envelopes up. “Saw these on the mail piles, grabbed them before mail day.” He said. You, who had been mindlessly playing with Art’s curls on the couch in the corner of the library, and Art, who was pink from just how intimate the feeling had been, both perked up. Patrick shot a look additional to the excited expression he wore and Art just flipped him off. “They’re yours.”

You and Art looked at each other, Art tilting his head back to do so. Both of you scrambled from where you sat to grab the envelopes Patrick held, huge grin on his face. “Stanford Tennis,” you breathed. Art pressed his lips together. “Acceptance letter?” You questioned. Patrick shrugged, but continued to grin.

Art shook his head, “Should we open them? I mean- same time? Or?”

“I feel sick,” you said, words overlapping his. “Oh my god.” You pressed your hand to your stomach. “I knew they’d be here soon but this is so… late. I was getting scared I wouldn’t get anything, we got something… We got something.”

“Yeah,” Art nodded, big crooked grin on his face. “Together?”

You swallowed, sitting back down, then standing right back up again. “No, you first.”

Patrick sat on the couch, ready to watch both of his friends excitement, arm up on the arm of the couch. “Hurry up!” He kicked Art in the back of the knee and Art didn’t even feel it, opening the big envelope. He narrowly avoided a paper cut. You paced a short distance, back and forth, back and forth anxiously. He unwrapped the papers, eyes scanning over the letter.

“Fuck yeah!” He exclaimed, all too loud for the library. He didn’t care though. “I’m in!”

You gasped and your grin was the first thing Art looked for. Your arms up and around his neck, so excited for him. “That’s amazing, I’m so so proud of you!” You exclaimed, also so loud. Art’s arms around your waist, squeezing you tight as you kissed his cheek enthusiastically. Patrick was there to clap him on the back, hugging Art when you let go. Art was glad for it- it helped hide how pink he went from just the kiss on the cheek. You were jumping up and down and you were beautiful and you were happy. It would be one of the last times Art saw you so happy.

“What about you?” He gestured to your envelope and you looked down at it like you’d forgotten you were holding it.

“I- I can’t, one of you has to do it,” you said. It was for sure. You’d met with the faculty there, the coaches, you were scouted two years ago when you weren’t even old enough to apply and the second you knew you loved tennis you knew Stanford was the best place for you. Patrick took your envelope for you, opening it as you nervously bit your lip, swaying into Art, letting your fingers intertwine with his just to have something to brace yourself. He squeezed your hand, smiling at his own acceptance, knowing that if anyone had it in the bag was you. But Patrick read it over and there wasn’t a grin- in fact the smile he did have fell just in the slightest. Art felt your hand squeeze his harder.

“What is it?” You asked. Art looked at Patrick, who then looked up at you with sorry eyes. “Patrick?”

“You’re- um-” he paused another moment and handed you the papers. “Waitlisted. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Art watched your colour drain. The obvious bright light you brought by just entering a room dimmed as you read it yourself. Art could feel the slight tremor in your fingers, so he squeezed your hand as hard as he could, just so in the new wave of overwhelming sadness, you’d know he was still there. He felt guilty for celebrating so soon.

“I’m waitlisted.” You repeated, monotone. “And not even until next semester. Next year. And even then there’s no guarantee.”

Art didn’t wait another second, he used the hand he held to pull you in. You didn’t resist, you couldn’t, you felt limp as Art wrapped his arms around you. Patrick’s hand on your back for just a moment, but Art’s hand on the back of your head and the other running up and down your back. His crush on you was unaffected by this hug because he knew that you needed it more than anything. You were the one with the plans, you were the one who knew exactly how things would play out and Stanford was the first step on every path you’d imagined. Knowing you so long, both boys knew you were right to cry.

Art held you, standing, for as long as you needed- his arms around you stayed tight and didn’t waiver once in the thirty minutes you stayed there. He was quiet, Patrick was just cursing Stanford for being fucking stupid and though Art agreed with him on that, because who in their right minds would look at your grades and your tennis stats and say they didn’t want you? Who wouldn’t want you?

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

When Art saw you from across the room it felt like he was eighteen again. He’d anticipated feeling nostalgic for a time, but you were there and you were in purple, like Patrick said and he knew it was you from the smile you wore, reuniting with what looked to be a very-pregnant Abbey Campbell. Good for her, Art though, seeing past the bump and looking at you. Patrick was right- you’d aged like fine wine or whatever that saying was, but you were still youthful and you were still… bright.

“You should talk to her,” Patrick said, noticing where Art’s eyes had landed. As if he hadn’t been watching Art scan every five minutes during their conversation. “You haven’t seen her since…”

“September 2006,” Art replied, looking at Patrick.

“Have you kept in touch at all, or?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well fuck.”

“Yeah,” Art nodded, eyes not leaving you. You were different, older, for sure but not in ways noticeable. Many of the men in the room had grown into bigger bodies and were either unfortunately balding or had already gone bald for some. Mid-thirties you wouldn’t think it, but it was there. And you were there, looking youthful and bright and you were still one of the prettiest girls in the room. Women… in the room. He gestured to you, eyes not leaving you, scared to lose track of where you were. “I’m going to-”

“Good luck.” Patrick pat Art on the back to send him off and Art, drink in hand from his stop by the food table, walked over to you, ignoring everyone who wanted his attention this time.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“You’re not telling her at graduation? You’re fucking joking.” Patrick said, shoving Art back onto his bed as the boys got dressed for one of their last classes at MRTA. “How fucking stupid are you, you can’t just not tell her.”

“I tell her and I ruin our friendship while I get to go to Stanford in the fall. I can’t do that to her.”

“You sound like a fucking idiot,” Patrick said.

“Okay, yeah, maybe, but even if I tell her and it goes well, we would only have the summer before I move all the way to fucking California. You’ll be on tour and this whole… thing would just be broken. And fucked up. I don’t want her for a summer, Patrick. I want her all the time, every day, like it was supposed to fucking be. I don’t want her for just a summer.” Art huffed, looking at his hands. The whole waitlisting bullshit threw a wrench in everything. Everything.

“You’d rather not have her at all?”

“I-” he flailed his hands around, “I don’t know! I don’t know how to tell her something like that and then move away.”

Patrick shrugged, “Could just kiss her.”

Art opened his mouth to speak and a knock on the door cut him off. Art pulled his shirt over his head as Patrick lunged to open it. It was you. Who else?

“You guys want to cut class?” You asked, arms folded over your chest, mouth pulled a little to the side, standing in your shorts and tank top, not dressed for class at all. Your hair was behind your ears, your lips just slightly glossy and you had that slight sparkle to your eyelids, but it was never too much. He would never get over just how beautiful you were, never ever. “I don’t feel like going today and I just want to do something fun or maybe even nothing?”

“That sounds great, but I actually was looking forward to doubles today…” Patrick groaned, putting a hand aside his head. Art knew him well enough to know Patrick was not looking forward to doubles. “But Art already has all his credits, I think he can stay. I’ll come back before dinner though?”

You nodded slightly and looked to Art, who still had his mouth a little open at the sudden position he was in. “Would you? I really don’t feel like going but I can just skip and meet you guys for dinner?”

Art nodded back at you, slowly. Patrick was playing wingman with expectations this time. ‘Could just kiss her,’ echoed around his head. He made eye contact with Patrick who, out of your line of sight, shot Art a telling look. He was giving Art a window. But skipping with you, being alone with you wouldn’t change the fact that when September came you’d be states away, alone, probably. The long distance would be hard and he knew he could maintain the friendship, but if he confessed and it went well, the long distance of a new relationship would probably kill him. And you. “Yeah, I’ll stay.” Art said.

When Patrick left for class, you came into their room and sat down on Art’s bed, next to him. You weren’t exactly yourself, the way you sat with your arms crossed and lacked that gorgeous smile Art looked forward to every day. You sat so close he could smell the sweetness of your perfume. “You okay?” he asked, looking at you with his head a little tilted, smiling gently.

“I can’t get the Stanford thing out of my head,” You admit. Art nodded. You’d been good about it. It upset you, he knew that it absolutely killed you, but you didn’t talk about it much- for Art’s sake, not wanting to depress him and Patrick with your delayed dream. “I know it’s stupid, I’m only waitlisted a year, but it was supposed to be different. They said I was a shoo-in, how could they say that and not mean it?” You vented. Art heard every word.

“They’re missing out for sure.” He said, hand sliding over your knee to rest just above it. “And Patrick is right- they’re fucked in the head and you deserved that place in the program more than anyone else.”

“Even if I deserved it, even if they’re fucked in the head, I’m still not going and that’s whats killing me.” You said, looking at him with sad eyes. He missed when they were full of light and happiness. “You know, it was supposed to be us. And now it’s not and I don’t know what I’m going to do without you- And Patrick.” Was Art mishearing or was there a pause? And us? Us. “I just feel so stupid and I’m suddenly so lost? I knew exactly what was coming and then it just stopped coming. And I’m terrified that I’m going to lose you both when we all go separate ways.”

“Couldn’t lose me.” Art said, eyes locked on yours. “I might be in California, but I have a phone. And it has a ringer and we have email and facebook and I don’t think I’d even know how to go a day without talking to you, so you know if you didn’t call, I would.” He said, admitting a little too much. “Patrick too, I bet.”

“I love that,” you smiled just a bit. “I just… I was so ready for things to change, but now I’m not. Even if I call you a hundred times in a day, would it feel the same?”

Art looked at the hand he had on your leg, at his thumb as it moved back and forth over your skin. “Probably not… But it would be the best thing until you come and visit. Or when I come home on holiday. It would just be to fill the spaces between, you know that the distance would mean nothing once we’re all together again.”

You looked down. “I know. I just don’t want it.” You sighed, leaning your head against Art’s shoulder. Art could smell your shampoo, it was soft and just as sweet as your perfume. “I’d just... I hate the idea of having to miss you. Distance fucking sucks.” You added. He agreed. Distance would suck. But right now you were here, next to him. He wouldn’t kiss you, he knew that. Not now.

But he turned his body just slightly and wrapped his arms around you, your head moving to just under his chin, resting against his chest. And he held you tight, he always would. And he didn’t resist his other urge, slowly tilting himself back so that he was laying down. You didn’t protest, you just held onto him tighter, laying next to him. Like most things between you two, they went unspoken. You in his arms, in his bed, god it was so telling but you didn’t say a thing. And neither did Art, aside from, “I don’t want it either.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

You didn’t seem to notice when he approached. You were heavily invested in your conversation with your friend, laughing and gesturing and you were even more beautiful up close. He could admit it to himself, he was amazed by how well-preserved you’d been. He maybe was expecting a bit of a grey streak, he remembered your mom being fully grey when you were only a teenager, but your hair was perfect. He was just a little bit to the side, in Abbey’s line of sight and she saw Art first, she looked happy to see him, he noted. Too happy for someone with a baby on the way. She put her hands up in the air like she meant anything to him and you looked over at him, seeing what Abbey was so delighted to see and for the first time in fifteen years, you locked eyes with Art.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- interlude

Art remembered the last time you looked at him. Confused eyes, sad ones, the ones he hated seeing, the ones he knew he caused. It wasn’t supposed to be the way it was. Your best friend felt like he just… wasn’t that anymore. Missed texts to missed calls after promises of hundreds in a day felt like lack of care. And it wasn’t on your end. When Art missed your calls, you stopped looking at your phone so much and you missed his. You visited him twice at Stanford, within the first few months and it was the same but he was so busy. So distracted, it seemed. You met Patrick’s girlfriend, Tashi Duncan and the only thought in your mind was that she looked at Art strangely. So when things unravelled, you asked him things and he answered honestly, leaving out the part that he knew went against his character. He was looking at you, thinking about how he should have kissed you at the airport before going to California but he was looking at a girl who wouldn’t kiss him. Not anymore.

And he missed you like he missed no one- when you stopped responding to his emails and Facebook posts. Your last post was October 4th, 2006, and it was a picture of you at a coffee shop you were beautiful, but Art was so lost on the guy next to you. He should have kissed you at that airport but he was tangled in this mess of Tashi who he had admittedly used to try and not miss you so much when you posted with one of your new guy friends, who you did not like romantically. But Art didn’t know that. He didn’t know how badly it hurt when you traveled to California to find him completely happy and distracted in a new life with new friends and forget that you were coming to visit. That hurt. He should have kissed you at the airport when he could before all of these things crashed and collided and brought you down. He was at fault, but you forgave him, you just didn’t speak again.

Patrick said it was fine, you’d come around. Art’s mom told him that you called to check in on her, but that growing apart does happen. He would ask himself how in the world did he end up growing apart from you. You of all people, but admittedly it was his own fault. These things just happen, distance ruins things.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

But there wasn’t much distance now. You were standing in front of him. Your expression didn’t change- it was a gentle smile upon laying eyes on him. Abbey asked him how he was and just like years ago, he brushed her off with a ‘would you excuse me?’ and passed her, sheepishly walking over to you.

“Hi, Art,” you said, head slightly tilted, lips pulled into that smile he hadn’t seen in years. Art felt shy around it, he hated that, but he was happy to see it. And you.

“Hi,” he replied.

You gestured to Abbey, “Reminds me of something.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he replied with a small chuckle. “I-um… How are you?”

“I’m doing okay,” you nodded. Art found himself glancing for a ring on your finger or maybe a baby bump he missed, but nothing. You were doing okay. “Oh, no ring.” You said, holding up your hand. “Wasn’t so lucky. How are you?”

He shook his head, still a little dazed that you were here in front of him, talking to him like you hadn’t gone fifteen years without doing so. “Not so bad.”

“That implies that there’s some bad,” you nodded, leaning against the wall. Your dress reminded him of another you’d worn. “Not so bad?”

“I’m okay…” He said. “Just… I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” As if he hadn’t spent every moment since RSVP-ing thinking about seeing you again. Finally seeing you again.

“Oh,” you nodded, understanding. “No, I get that. I didn’t think you’d come. Thought maybe you were busy winning some grand slam, too far ahead than the rest of us. It was a good win, your last big game in Chicago.”

“You kept up,”

“I couldn’t not. I’m not me if not nosey and that aside, your name all over everything tennis-related- billboards, even. You and Tashi.”

“You must have heard about the separation, then?”

“On the tennis new channel, surprisingly. Fuck them for making that public, and I am sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He replied, eyes not leaving yours. “It just wasn’t working out. She cheated.” He admitted, which he hated. Something about your eyes was a well-working trap for him to fall back into the exact boy he used to be in your presence. He wanted to tell you everything, he forgot what it felt like to be around you. But you weren’t different at all. You were still that same warm, caring girl you used to be.

“Art, I’m so sorry, that’s terrible. Nobody deserves that.” You said, eyes soft. Beautiful.

“It’s in the past.” He nodded again, looking at the ground. They hadn’t changed the gym floors since you’d left, he noted. They were the same. “Thank you, though. I actually, um, I have a daughter, though.”

“Lily,” you smiled. “I’m nosey, I told you. Is she much like you?”

“I think so.” He smiled back. You knew his daughter’s name and you knew about the divorce yet he had no idea what you’d been up to. “So, are you… working, are you…”

“I am.” You nodded. “I teach children with special needs how to play tennis, it’s a great job. Lots of fundraisers and events. It’s really lovely.” Art remembered when you were younger. You’d mentioned something of the sort- doing that. He couldn’t help but wonder if you had joined a company or made one. But he wouldn’t ask, the small talk was already killing him. “About your daughter though, I’d love to know more.”

He wanted to know more about you but he liked to talk about Lily and her hobbies and habits. It felt good to talk to you again as you engaged with him as if fifteen years was three months. It was strange, but the feeling of being around you and your light again, it was easy to brush it all off. Like he was eighteen and you were an addictive happiness. You were smiling as he spoke about his daughter. You were smiling so much that he had to stop at one point, unable to hide his own smile. “What?”

Your eyes went a little wide, but you kept smiling, shaking your head. “Oh, nothing. I just… I always knew you’d be a girl dad. And you seem like a good one.”

“Always knew?”

“Oh yeah, I think I first thought about it in grade ten… A girl knows these things.” You said. Your body language changed slightly, you tilted your head to the door. “Hm- Do you still smoke?”

“Do you?”

“When I need to.” You said. “It’s not a habit, it’s an occasional thing. Come with me?”

Art was surprised by the offer. But how could anyone say no to you? He nodded and followed you out. You stopped outside your car, a decent distance away from the building and hopped on the trunk, sitting like you would so many years ago. Your car was nice, so you must make good money, he noted.

“How are you really?” You asked Art, eyes genuine as you lit the cigarette. Art, focused on you, didn’t know how to answer that. He was wondering how you weren’t someone’s wife or mother because even after all these years, he couldn’t find flaw in you. Not one. You were still sweet and kind and lovely and you looked amazing, so how did nobody find you and keep you? You asked him how he really was as if you still saw through him. “You’re really doing okay?”

Art took the cigarette as you passed it to him. “I’m okay. It wasn’t easy- any of it, but it happened and it’s in the past.”

“That’s good.” You said, watching him take a drag. The soft wind blew your hair around your face. “I am sorry about what happened, it sounds awful. I had to check in, really check in. But that aside, you’ve really made a name for yourself out there. Big games, high stakes and a good reputation.”

Art nodded, eyes on the ground as he inhaled again and passed the cigarette back. Something about being here with you was surreal. You’d kept up and he had no way to do the same. “Thank you. I planned on retiring three years ago, but second wind came around. I plan on retiring next year, thinking about starting to coach.”

“You’d be a good coach,” you nodded, smoke blowing out from between your perfect lips.

“Maybe…” He started. Silence.

You nodded, “You’re thinking about the elephant in the… parking lot.” You said, looking around.

“I might be,” he replied, straightening himself out. “It’s been fifteen years and you’ve not said a word to me since… And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it. I’ve had a lot of time to.” Art rolled up his sleeves. You watched. “Fifteen years.”

“I know,” you replied, quiet. “But you have had an amazing career and you married the girl I was so worried about, had a daughter. Your life has been exactly what you wanted, that’s amazing. Could it have been the same with me in it?” Art wished it was you in it. “So I let time be time and do it’s thing, I know it’s been fifteen years.”

Art shook his head, “It couldn’t have been a space thing. Maybe I needed the space, but it was bound to exist anyway. We were best friends, you, me, Patrick- and Stanford changed things but you didn’t have to walk away. My life has been my life but it’s not that way because you walked away.”

You chuckled, “I know that. And I am beyond proud of you either way, but me, eighteen years old and in love with you? Showing up after a month of planning and you forgot I was even coming? Just about broke me. And of course, there was Tashi and-” You had more to say but Art felt all of his thoughts come to a halt. His fingers felt cold. He interrupted you-

“In love with me? You were in love with me?”

You laughed, so genuine, the sound was something he had missed sorely. “That’s even a question? Oh, I was so young, but I was very much in love with you. Patrick would never let me forget it. I had such a crush on you. You… you didn’t know?” You covered your mouth as you laughed, but Art felt a little bit frozen, but it was easy to laugh with you.

“I didn’t know, no.”

“So the fifteen years is because after you broke my little eighteen-year-old heart, I took the time to recover and I just… never did.” You admit, handing him back the cigarette, which he took without looking at. He was only seeing you. Part of him was kicking himself hard, angry that he hadn’t confessed when he had planned, knowing now, so many fucking years later than if he had said what he wanted to, he might have had you. There were the complications, but if he had you, there wouldn’t have been a Tashi situation. And in his mind he watched the possibilities unravel his life as he knew it- knowing that it could have been you. It could have been you. “As sorry as I am about it, I don’t regret it. You have an amazing-sounding daughter and the life that you and I used to talk about, going pro… And I have a job that I only got through staying on this side of things. If I was in California, I wouldn’t have met the sweet lady who started the company I own now.”

He hated that you were right. But he hated it more that he could have had everything he really wanted- the things you and him talked about- and it could have been with you. A house, a marriage, a child? The things he really wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to feel regret, but it was something close to the feeling. “I understand. I just- you liked me? Patrick knew?” His whole adult demeanour was destroyed by your youthful smile.

“He would play wingman,” you said. “It was awful, but it was still fun. And I think I should tell you, though it feels wrong, that I missed you. And I am sorry I didn’t reach out. It was too much.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he nodded back. “I missed you too. A lot. It took a while to get over what happened, but it’s been good…”

“I’m glad,” you replied. The cigarette was almost at it’s end. And for a while you just stared at each other. The words unsaid filled the air until it was almost suffocating. He could have had you. If he had said something. If he’d kissed you at the airport. Tashi might have been Patrick’s. Art hated to think about a world without his daughter but it was you. It was always going to be you no matter how many years passed. “I hate to ask this for the sake of my phrasing, but… no hard feelings?”

Art smiled down at his feet, hands back in his pockets, “No, no hard feelings.” He replied. “And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you too.”

You smiled that beautiful smile, the wind blowing your hair a little more. There was something so painting-like about this moment. It could be frozen in time, he wished it could be, and he made a mental note to engrave this image of you in his mind. You were just as gorgeous as the day you left and sure, it hurt to think about a little bit, especially all of the ‘what if’s, but you were here now. And there were no hard feelings. How could he ever have any toward you? It was you.

“You want to head back in?” You asked, digging a foldable toothbrush out of your purse along with a tiny tube of toothpaste.You truly not changed much in your ways. Art wondered if you remembered the last time you’d brought a little toothbrush and toothpaste out. He dug in his own pocket and pulled out his pack of mint gum. He noticed the way your eyes widened at the parallel. But then you just grinned, starting to laugh as you half-brushed your teeth, half giggled. Art chuckled too, popping a piece in his mouth. And the laughter lasted a while. It was like you were the same giddy teenagers who wouldn’t tell each other their biggest secret. But eventually it died down and you headed back inside.

The moment you were inside, he noticed the song playing. So did you. You stood there for a moment, not looking at anyone but him. The Cranberries playing loud over dusty speakers. The only Cranberries song you ever liked, Art remembered. You couldn’t stand the voice cracks in the one about zombies… He was a little confused when you held your hand out, but when you smiled, he remembered. In the spirit of parallels, you were asking him to dance. He remembered the promise he made you, he wouldn’t forget it. He had pinkie promised and you swore to make him regret it, but he never got the chance to. You never gave him a real reason to.

“You pinkie promised.” You said, tilting your head just in the slightest. “You swore.” You said it a little sing song. Fifteen years forgotten- they didn’t exist. You were here and you were asking him to dance with you.

“I did,” he said, smiling, hands still in his pockets. And he did take your hand and with a youthful giggle, you pulled him to the dance floor. It was one of those songs where you could scream the lyrics, you could spin and you could maybe even jump, but you just stayed close. Art wasn’t sure what exactly to do, but it was okay. You led at first, swaying just a little to get him into it. He grinned, unable to stop it. Fifteen years felt like seconds, like you never even left. Like you were those same young best friends dancing around your feelings, your truth. And you were so beautiful, spinning and swaying and your dress following you as you did. You laughed and it was melodious, you were so unaware of the eyes on you, of Patrick’s eyes. They met Art’s from across the room and a knowing smile spread up his old friend’s face. He raised his drink in their direction and Art nodded back.

Time might have made Art a little bit harder, colder, but you made him right back into who he used to be before life existed. Your light was brighter than the strobes spinning the walls of the room. You got him into it with a nearly-sixteen-year-old promise. The music loud, but just dull enough to hear you. Art was drawn back into you like you were a magnet. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have you. That he didn’t get that life with you. But you were here and you were still so perfect.

The dancing had somehow melted itself into something slower, though the pace of the song didn’t change. It was almost a hug, the way his hand slipped around your waist. It felt familiar and you… smelled the same way you used to. So sweet. Your arms around his neck, close to him. It wasn’t even a thought in either one of your brains that you ended up this way, but it felt right and you just did it, so that’s how you were. Swaying, like a slow dance, and the end of the song rolled around, the music dulling to only an instrumental.

You pulled away just a little, your faces just a little bit close. “I think it’s best we went our separate ways. It would have killed to me to stay your friend and watch you and Tashi’s life in person rather than in pictures.” You said quietly. “And if I’m honest I think I might still be a little bit in love with you.”

Art met your eyes at your confession. You looked like you regret what you said, but the concern in your eyes changed, eased. You could still read his expression. “I did love you too, you know.”

“I know.” You smiled. He grinned a little sheepishly, his grin still the same. His eyes were soft and he looked at you like he always did. Such a familiar gaze. “And I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“For still feeling the way I do. After what I did.”

“You’re not alone in it.” He admit with a small chuckle. And you giggled. And it felt like nothing else existed in the entire universe. Just you. Just him. He wasn’t blunt, but it was definitely still said. It really could ever only be you, no matter what. Even with Tashi, it was always you. A first love that could never truly be erased, despite the countless mistakes and sins of youth. It hadn’t worked, but looking at you now, he had that hope again. That it might.

You just continued to sway to the music. The promise to dance whenever you asked fulfilled. There was peace in saying what was left unsaid for so many years. There was peace in feeling it still. Feeling how he did about you was the most consistent thing in his entire life. He wasn’t who he had to be with Tashi, he was who he truly was with you. His big career in hindsight, his past with Tashi, his life that didn’t include you was behind him.

Patrick did wander over when the song ended. He came and stood beside you both, the lip of his bottle resting against his mouth. You and Art shared a look before you left the position you were in, hands slipping back to your sides. He was grinning a sly grin. A familiar one from back in the day. Knowing.

You just tsked, “You need to shave.” You said. Patrick just grinned, laughed.

“You too.”

“Really?” You laughed. “Okay, I see how it is.”

Art chuckled. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss this. As much as he wanted just you and him, the three of you together were something entirely different. Who wouldn’t miss the better days? The three of you got a little more caught up, Patrick was free to reveal his position as a double agent in your teenaged slowburn that never really fizzled out… You and Art didn’t mention anything said during that dance, but he knew without being told. Everyone who knew you both knew that you belonged together. The night was still young, but Patrick lowered his voice. “I have an ounce in the car.” He said, shrugging. The three of you shared a look and in minutes the three of you were hiking across the schoolyard. Adults. Stupid adults with stupid nostalgia, laughter echoing across the empty courts as you all walked down the hill.

Art moved the dead leaves and under it was still that circle of rocks. The dirt had somewhat filled it, but it was still a bit of a divot. And the logs had thinned out but they were still there. You sat next to Art like you always would. You turned your body to face him and you just looked at him, studying the way his face had changed, his hair… but it was still very much so the boy you’d loved years ago. He looked over at you and he smiled and it was a reflection of so many years ago. The exact same spots, the exact same people, the same reason to sneak away.

You had hoped you hadn’t overstepped. You didn’t come to the reunion to say what you said, but it was right. And you knew Art felt the same. He said so. The three of you stayed and talked for hours like nothing ever changed. Time could never truly change the three of you. No matter who fucked who, who married who, who went where, who did what. It was always you. It would always be you. And that aside- you and Artwould figure that out- it would always be the three of you. Proven by your very own lives.

taglist: @swetearss @lalalandofive @xoxog0ssipg1rl @bayleequits @reallycreativeusername @kaaaiiaaa

[heyitsme1040]

Don't Drown Me Out [b.b]

summary : Training in the gym, everything was going okay. Until Steve managed to knock Bucky to the floor, causing Bucky to have a flashback. His mind takes him back to what they did to him in Hydra. Slowly, reader manages to bring Bucky back to the present again, away from the painful memories that still affect Bucky. 

pairings : Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings : PTSD flashback, discussion of torture, (if I missed anything let me know!)

word count : 800

AO3 (x)

a/n : Day twenty-eight of Comfortember is here! The prompt was ‘flashbacks’. 

You were training at the gym. Natasha was guiding you through the steps to disarm someone while they have you in a choke hold. You could see across the room, on the mat, Steve and Bucky were sparring. Bucky seemed off, Steve was landing more of his hits than usual. You kept an eye on their session while focusing on what Nat was telling you to do. When Steve landed a harsher blow, Bucky stumbled. While he was regaining his footing Steve managed to swipe Bucky’s feet out from beneath him. The instant Bucky hit the map, you were walking over to them. It wasn’t the fact that Bucky fell, but the way he landed. It was like he wasn’t here in the present. 

As you stepped onto the mat, Steve held his hand out to Bucky to help him up. Except Bucky scrambled away from the offered hand. He was trying to keep as much distance between himself and Steve as possible. Steve’s brows furrowed and he took a half step closer to Bucky. At the movement, Bucky curled in on himself like he was trying to protect his vital organs. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s shaking voice whimpered out. “Please, I did my best. I’ll do better next time.”

Steve squatted, not moving any closer to Bucky’s curled up form. “Bucky.”

“I can do better, let me prove it.”

You walked behind Steve, making sure to stay in Bucky’s line of sight. You slowly walked closer to him, paying attention to Bucky’s form. As you got closer Bucky stayed still, not trying to distance himself. Holding your hands up with your palms facing Bucky, you knelt on the mat by his head before sitting fully and crossing your legs. 

“Bucky,” you lowly said, keeping your voice soft. “Can you hear me baby?”

Bucky turned his face toward you, but didn’t respond. His eyes were unfocused, but moved like he was watching something far away. 

You lightly set your hand next to his, “I need you to take a deep breath. You’re okay, love, you’re safe. You’re in the gym. It’s just me, you, Steve, and Nat in here. We’re at the compound in upstate New York.”

“New York…” Bucky slurred the word. 

“Yeah baby. We’re in New York. You were sparring with Steve, remember?”

“Steve?” 

You motioned for Steve to come closer, “He’s right here. He managed to knock you off your feet, that’s all. Everything’s okay.”

Bucky uncurled himself slightly and placed his hand on top of yours. 

“Hey pal,” Steve gave a small wave. 

You lifted your other hand to cup Bucky's check. He pulled away slightly before fully leaning into your touch. You gave him a tight smile, trying to keep yourself from falling apart. You hated how much Bucky's own mind tormented him. It was bad enough he witnessed the ghosts of his past when he was asleep, but now you wondered how often they haunted him while awake.

Bucky took a deep breath and wet his lips, "When am I?”

"It's the twenty-first century.” Steve spoke up. "And you've been free for a few years now.”

You stroked Bucky's check with your thumb. His stubble scratched nicely under your touch. "Can you tell us where you were just now?”

Bucky shivered despite the sweat clinging to him. "I was in the training cage. Back in some Hydra base. They used to have their best agents fight me. I was meant to fight them to the death, and they were told to beat me until I passed out. When I'd lose, I'd wake up strapped to a metal chair. That'd shock me. Except it was different.” 

"Baby,” your voice trailed off, your heart aching for him.

“They weren't wiping me to start over. They were punishing me. They only stopped when I passed out from seizing. That's how they discovered it takes my body longer to heal my mind than it did the rest of me.”

You wrapped your arms around him. You didn't care that the two of you were laying on a sweaty mat. You didn't care that Nat and Steve could see you clearly clinging onto Bucky. All that mattered was having Bucky close to you. You clung to him, trying to protect him from monsters that were no longer around. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, pressing you as close to him as possible.

"You're safe,” you couldn't tell which one of you your words were meant to comfort.

Bucky nodded against you. The two of you stayed there, present in the moment. You heard the door to the gym close, informing you of Nat and Steve leaving.

“I'm so sorry you had to go through that,” you spoke into his neck.

Bucky squeezed you tighter, "If it means I got you, then it was worth it. Every single time.”

Author's Note : Reblogs are appreciated, likes are welcome, and if you want to read more of my fics then maybe follow.

©heyitsme1040 If you find this post on any platform under a username different than heyitsme1040 it is not their work.

[beneathashadytree]

HUNGOVER - VINSMOKE SANJI X READER

Warnings : Sanji’s self-image issues, hangover, passing out, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff <33

Additional notes : This is part 2 to a fic I posted 2 years ago (crazy, I know) called Intoxicated, so I recommend reading that first! Inspiration suddenly hit me ig🙏🏽 To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just old requests I had in my inbox🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

It was at times like these that Sanji cursed his entire being—most especially his body, for having gotten so used to waking up at a set time every day. Because here he was, with a pounding headache that threatened to split his head in half and squash his brain into a mush, and yet he was still unable to sleep in for more than 4 hours.

Delaying the inevitable, he tried his best to keep his eyes shut, even if just for a little while. Dread filled him at the thought that opening them would send lancinating pain shooting through his eyes and the back of his head, and that was an issue he did not want to deal with now.

Especially not after colossally mortifying himself like that last night. Actually, he’d much rather forget it all together. Maybe completely wipe the memory from his head.

Much of the second half of the night was a booze-induced haze, flashing images swirling behind his eyes like they’re floating in water, and he couldn’t bring himself to try and remember the rest of it. After all, why would he want to think about how he embarrassed himself in front of the one person he yearned for more than life itself?

Baring his heart like only an idiot would, skinning himself alive and prostrating himself in front of them without a single ounce of the dignity he’d tried so hard to preserve for ages… he truly was a lost cause.

“Putain,” Sanji swore under his breath, even his raspy voice sounding grating to his ears, and he buried his head further into—

—his jacket?

All inhibitions instantly cast aside, his head shot up from where it was, and he was hit with the surging pain of an unbearable crick in his neck. Eyes flying open and completely ignoring the sting of the light, it was only then that he realized that he hadn’t, in fact, stumbled his drunken way back to bed after his whole blurted confession and tumbled face first into dreamland.

No. In reality, he’d actually just slept an uncomfortable few hours on the kitchen table, his head just barely hanging on after being supported only by his crumpled jacket.

Shit. The kitchen.

It was at that moment he came to the sudden realization that the thrumming headache wasn’t only caused by him waking up, but also from the loud banging of another person in his kitchen pulling out his precious pots and pans.

It must be well past morning. Everyone was probably ridiculously hungry by now.

It took all he had for him to stop himself from snapping at whoever it was that decided to step up (and also make a wreck out of his sacred space and possessions) for only that reason. In his desire to drown himself in his sorrowful miseries, he’d completely neglected his duty as a chef. If not to sustain his crewmates and friends, what use was he outside of battle?

Nothing, he thought to himself, blearily blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he began to turn around with a sigh, not looking forward to the confrontation that was to come, nothing at all—

“There you are, darling,” came a soft voice from behind him, barely above a whisper. A blooming warmth rushed to his cheeks, and he almost toppled out of the chair as he recognized just who it was that was saying those saccharine words.

It couldn’t be. There was no way he he’d be so blessed by the angels first thing in the morning.

And yet. And yet.

Here they were, in all their fresh-faced, tender-hearted glory, leaning down to gently stroke his cheek with a deft thumb. If Sanji let slip a broken whimper of half-relief, half-agony, they made no comment on it. “You’re hungover, then?”

With his mouth feeling like it was filled with cotton wool, no words could come out, and he instead just nodded his head weakly. Thankfully, that too they let slide. “I got Chopper to help out with that.” They pushed a cup with an odd liquid and two pills towards him. “Should help.”

For a couple of seconds as Sanji downed them and sent a silent prayer to whoever decided to let Chopper have the lack of common sense to join their crew, they turned around, probably on their way back to the stove that now sizzled and emitted the lovely smell of caramelized onions and garlic—and if his nose wasn’t betraying him, simmering in some balsamic vinegar and soy sauce—that he had memorized long ago. But after a moments’ hesitation, they walked up to him once again, sliding his jacket out from underneath him and carefully folding it.

“You should go to your quarters and get a proper sleep in. I’ve got it from here.” With that sweet smile of theirs that threatened to send his heart into overdrive, they began to usher him out. “When you’re up again, I’ll reheat your food for you. You don’t look so ready to eat now.”

If he was looking as green as he felt, he couldn’t blame them one bit for calling it out as it is. Clearing his throat once then twice, he tried to speak again, voice awfully raspy (even more than after he’d had a smoke). “You… you cooked?”

They hummed in affirmation, now with their back turned to him as they began to crack eggs into a pan. “Not done yet, but yeah. You’ve only slept a couple of hours, so I figured it would be better if I managed to get us through breakfast in your place. Won’t be as good as yours, but I hope you can trust me to try.”

As they waved off to their left, he saw how they’d propped up his notebook against the pepper shaker. And maybe this was just him feeling extra sensitive and still a little in a haze, but something stirred in his chest at the thought of them carefully following every step in his recipes and diligently trying to emulate his cooking.

“Mon ange, you shouldn’t have…” His voice was still a little rough yet trembling with the emotions he couldn’t even try to hide; emotions that were bigger than his own feeble heart could take. His fists curled at his sides, eyebrows furrowed as he watched them elegantly handle the kitchenware like they were their own. This was too much for him. “I can handle my own hangover. It’s… it’s not your responsibility to do my own job.”

With a sigh, they turned down the stove and looked back at him with an exasperated yet incredibly fond look in their eyes. “You silly man, no one’s forcing me to do this.” At the affectionate lilt of their voice, Sanji’s mouth went dry, and he tried to swallow (with much difficulty) past the lump in his throat.

What could he have possibly done to deserve this? He can’t have earned this much goodness. There simply was no way.

“You don’t have to earn my love, Sanji.” Fuck. Had he really said that out loud? Their soft-spoken words and the sympathetic look in their eyes told him that yes, he had. He hadn’t intended to make himself sound so pathetic, and yet here he was, accepting the way they brushed his curly eyebrow with slivers of shame curling inside his chest. “I’ve already told you, my love is yours to keep,” they softly said.

“Your… pardon, quoi?” His heart came to a stuttering stop, all his movements halted and his eyes blown wide open almost comically as the words they said finally hit him.

One look at how utterly confused and shocked he looked, and realization seemed to dawn on their face. “I guess it would be too ambitious of me to expect you to remember much of last night,” they huffed out a laugh, before taking to the chopping board and beginning to chop up some fresh vegetables as they slowly spoke, as though hoping to break it gently. “You weren’t the only one who had an indirect confession in store.”

Digging the palms of his hands into his closed eyes, Sanji threw back his head and groaned as the memories came back to him bit by bit, achingly slowly and then all at once. “Merde,” he hissed out, the throbbing in his head doubling with every image that replayed in his head. “I can’t believe…” It was almost like he’d set a personal challenge for how much a person could embarrass themself within less than 12 hours.

What other explanation was there for him just completely forgetting that the one person who’d burrowed into the depths of his heart had somehow expressed that they felt the same for him? How else could he explain not remembering that they’d said that they wanted to be with him, in some miraculous way that he still couldn’t quite believe was real?

The chop-chop-chop of the knife stilled, and they set it down with a chuckle that sent tingles down his spine and his heart into near cardiac arrest. Lovely, lovely, lovely. His hangover seemed to have a weak spot for their laughter too, because why else would his headache somehow chip away just at the sound?

They were quick to soothe him with their words, their hands reaching up to tug his arms back to his sides. “It’s fine, I promise. You’re just a bit disoriented now.” Looking into such a fond gaze didn’t help the heat rushing to his cheeks, and he found himself being reminded of just how desperately in love he was; so much that he could swear it burned him alive. “I mean it though,” they earnestly mumbled, tenderly cupping his face, “and I’ll wait till you’re well-rested. Then we’ll talk.”

“Alright,” he managed to whisper out between breaths, “But—“

“Go.” They gave him a gentle push, before turning around to stir something in a small pot and add some spices that made the smell even more tantalizing. “If you don’t want breakfast to be a disaster, that is. Wouldn’t want to send my boyfriend’s kitchen up in flames.”

That’s it. A sharp pang in the deepest crevices of his chest and he was gone, his head floating with dizziness and his vision swimming. Sanji was long dead and on his way to whichever heaven would accept him; a heaven where he was somehow inexplicably loved and wanted; a heaven where he’d hear those words from their lips and know that they were indeed—thanks to some ridiculously generous higher power that blessed him beyond his wildest dreams—referring to him.

The last thing he felt were his limbs failing to keep supporting him, and a lightheadedness that overtook him so suddenly, crumpling to the ground in a helpless heap.

I think I’m gonna die a lucky man, he dazedly thought to himself, before finally succumbing to a blissful unconsciousness against the cold kitchen floor.

“Sanji!”

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @finch-ya @wifeofkyojuro @fluffismystaplefood @angry-and-yandere @semi-orangeapple @carsonology @respitable @spotted-salamander @musiclover2119 @thatbaepizzalover @scentisterror @shengbiao-shiny @jammycheese @klutzycora-san @hyunskz

Sign up for my taglist here!

[withwritersblock]

I Miss You

~I Miss You by Adele~

Author's Note: This song is so good and I only just recently found out it existed. Italics are flashbacks Summary: Luke breaks up with his girlfriend because he joined the Devils Warnings: strong language, implied smut, little angsty Word Count: 1,929 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

It was well past midnight and she was in bed on a Saturday night. Usually her Saturday nights were spent drunk in a tight top and not knowing her whereabouts. Nights like that started after her now ex-boyfriend Luke left for New Jersey on April 7th. 

Their relationship had been rocky for a few weeks at that point. Luke was struggling with academics and handling hockey at the same time. She was struggling with her classes and being home sick since her family lived in St. Paul, Minnesota. It was easier to drown out her sorrows with a giant bottle of Fireball than actually face her emotions. 

It’s been six weeks since everything seemed to collapse in her life. She had two weeks left before she was moving back to St. Paul for the summer. Instead of her original plans of staying in Michigan to help Luke pack and move his things to Jack’s apartment in New Jersey. 

She didn’t want to go out and party because there was a chance of seeing Luke. Since he came back to town last night. 

“They want me in Jersey tomorrow,” he said excitedly. His eyes were bright again. He looked happy for the first time in months. He took a hold of her arms, “They want to sign me,” he let out. She smiled towards him as she saw his own smile creep to his features. 

“I’m so happy for you,” she sighed out as she scanned his features. His crooked smile was bright as he leaned down and kissed her passionately. She hesitantly kissed him back as shock coursed through her veins. He hasn’t kissed her with this much intensity in months. “Luke,” she mumbled, pulled away from him.

He took a hold of her chin bringing her back towards him, kissing her hungerily. Her hands landed on his chest as his hands continued to hold her chin, keeping her still. “Luke,” she mumbled his name against his lips as she reluctantly pulled away from him again. It was hard to enjoy something when there were so many things left in the air between them. 

His lips felt good, kissing him like this felt good. It was everything she wanted. But her brain wouldn’t shut off.

“I know,” he uttered as he leaned his forehead against hers. He breathed heavily as he looked into her eyes. She admired the glow in his eyes. “Please,” he breathed out, looking deeply into her eyes. His hand moved from her chin to her neck as his thumb ran along the skin on the side of her neck.

Her gaze dropped towards his lips as she leaned towards him, kissing him urgently. Her hands found the ends of his hair as he sucked on her bottom lip. He slowly pushed her back towards his bed behind her. She stumbled backwards, her legs hit the mattress as he pulled away from her, pulling the hoodie from his body. He quickly pressed his lips against hers once more.

She shut her eyes harshly as the memory trickled into her mind. She hated that he was back in town, she hated that now she has to face the fact that they were broken up. Or the fact that they had sex and they broke up on the phone two days later. It was impossible to even process that their year-long relationship ended in a ten minute phone conversation.

Her gaze shifted from her computer beside her to the framed photo on her bedside table. Usually the framed photo would be turned around so she wouldn’t have to look at it but it was facing her bed. She doesn’t remember why she switched or when it even happened but it did.

The photo was in a red frame with a picture of Luke and herself cuddling on the couch. He was laying on top of her, dead asleep. She was half asleep, lazily running her fingers through his curls. When her friend took the photo. Y/N had no idea, the photo even existed until her friend texted her the photo a few days later.

She squinted her eyes hard as she felt tears fill her eyes. She missed him. She hated that he was all she could think about. Her phone began to vibrate beside her and she hesitantly picked it up to see Luke was calling her. 

His contact name is still Lukey Boy, with a purple heart beside it. His profile picture was still the same as before. A photo she took as she was sitting on his lap. His eyes squinted hard as he was fighting off a wide grin.

Her lips quivered as she brought the phone to her ear. She didn’t say anything as she could hear his heavy breathing. “Y/N?” he let out, breathy and raspy.

She didn’t reply, blinking rapidly to avoid any tears falling onto her cheek. “Y/N, I’m s-sorry,” he slurred. 

Her gaze looked towards the ceiling as she heard his voice. He sounded like he was in pain. “Luke,” she let out barely above a whisper.

“I was selfish, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” he muttered.

He was drunk.

“Luke-”

“Are you in your d-dorm?” he asked.

She missed his voice, his voice was always the best way to calm her down. Except right now it’s the last thing she wanted to hear. It was like torture hearing him plead.

“Yeah I am,” she said just as four loud knocks hit her dorm room’s door. Her breath got stuck in her throat as the sudden loud noise echoes throughout her dorm room. At first, the idea that her roommate forgot her key and needed to come back. 

But that didn’t make sense since her roommate was staying with her boyfriend for the night. 

Y/N climbed out of her sheets, still holding the phone to her ear as she walked through the cold small room towards the door. She hesitantly pulled it open to see Luke standing outside her door. His hand was still holding the phone to his ear. 

His crooked smile landed on his lips when he saw her. She pulled the phone from her ear, ending the call in the process as her eyes remained connected to his.

Her heart pounded hard against her chest as she looked over his features. His curls longer than normal. “Luke, you’re drunk. Go home,” she muttered, trying to shut the door but his hand hit the door keeping it open.

“Please,” he begged, breathing heavily. “Please, let me come in.”

She scanned his features. Taking note of the bags under his eyes, the lack of color on his cheeks. He’s had a crazy month and a half and his body was showing it. She stepped to the side allowing him to walk inside. He stepped inside, sobering up the longer he was in her presence. 

“How’d you even get in the building?” she asked as she shut the door behind him, her stomach began to flip the longer he stood in front of her. 

“Ethan’s girlfriend lives here. She let us in,” he explained, his eyes looking deeply into her eyes. 

He took a step towards her, she stood still. “I miss you,” he mumbled, hesitantly reaching his hand towards her. She crossed her arms over her chest trying to calm the beating in her chest. 

“Don’t say that,” she let out while shaking her head. “You don’t get to say that,” she walked away from him, her breathing getting heavier. 

“I'm an idiot,” he let out, shaking his head, “I was scared, okay? I-I didn’t want to do long distance because I was afraid of-” his mouth clammered shut as he began blinking rapidly. “I thought that if we broke up instead of doing long distance it would be easier,” he took a step towards her, he watched her turn around and face him.

“It’s worse,” he mumbled, “I have spent everyday trying to enjoy the fact that I am playing in the NHL. Playing with my brother. It should’ve been the best month of my life but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All I wanted was to tell you about every great thing that happened to me. It made me realize how much you mean to me and how much I want to try to fix things,”

He delicately placed his hands on her waist. “I’m so sorry,” he let out again as he tried to meet her eye. She couldn’t look into his eyes. 

“Luke, you’re drunk. Please just go home,” she let out as she pulled away from his grasp.

“I’m not that drunk, I love you, Y/N,” he mumbled as he took a hold of her waist. He pulled her back into his chest, sliding his hands from her waist to her stomach. “We’ll make it work,” he mumbled into her ear.

His breath against her skin, sends goosebumps around her body. Out of habit, she tilted her head back against his chest. He pressed his lips against the skin below her ear, he slowly began to trail kisses on her neck. “You ended things,” she mumbled as her breath caught in her throat. 

She didn’t push him away. 

She needed his touch, she was desperate to feel his hands on her again. His lips and tongue on her skin made her body weak as if she was intoxicating from his touch. “And I’m an idiot,” he whispered into her ear as his hands landed on the skin of her stomach. He pressed his lips against her skin again. 

Turning around, his hands land on her lower back as she rests her hand on his chest as she looks into his eyes, “If you came here to have sex, Luke, that’s not going-”

“I came here to get my girlfriend back because I was an idiot,” he rested his hand onto her cheek, running his thumb across her warm skin. “I know how you are with drinking and sex. I know you,” he paused as he reached his other hand to hold her head in place, he took a deep breath. “I need you back,” he mumbled as he leaned towards her, “I miss you,” he muttered his lips practically touching her own. 

She leaned into him, pressing her lips against his with so much passion. She craved his lips as her fingertips found the base of his neck as she ran her fingers through his curls. “I love you,” she mumbled against his lips as he guided her towards her bed, their lips still connected.

“I love you,” he whispered back as he pulled away from her lips. “I love you so much,” he mumbled before he delicately lifted her body up onto the bed as his tongue danced with hers. He climbed on top of her, holding his body up as he slowed his pace down. Enjoying every second of her lips on his. Making up for lost time and future lost time with the inevitable distance.

He pulled away. Opening his eyes he saw her eyes flutter open. Leaning down, he pecked her lips a few more times before he crashed down onto her body, resting his head onto her chest as he completely submerged her body under his. His eyes shut as he took a sharp breath. 

“I missed you so fucking much,” he let out as he kissed the bare skin of her collarbone, feeling her hand run through his curly hair. As well as her other hand rubbed his upper back.

[shelbyssins]

Hi there Rosie! Welcome again!! 😊😊 I apologize in advance for the fact that this request may not be the best…I’m not good at thinking them up — but I wanted to send one in, so here goes…

Would you be able to write a Tommy Shelby x Reader where Tommy and reader were previously in a relationship but separated for some reason (I can’t think of one atm so I’ll leave that up to you) but then he crosses paths with her some time down the road, when he least expects to, and is suddenly sidetracked by her again…like maybe he was about to do some business but sees her and is completely distracted. And then he does whatever he can to talk to her again. …. It’s up to you whether you want to go full angst or sprinkle in some fluff at the end.

I hope this made sense…thanks so much in advance if you choose to write the story!! ❤️

Home ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Language, Mentions of violence, Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 7,872

Request for: @runnning-outof-time

A/N: So this story ran away with me a bit... I absolutely loved writing this request and really wish I didn't have to work so I could've finsihed it sooner. I hope this story does justice to what you had in mind! If you read this fic, let me know what you think! I'm excited to upload more soon. Enjoy x

--

The shop was quiet today. Race day wasn’t for another week and most factories didn’t pay their worker’s wages until tomorrow, so most men were scrounging up their last few pennies to put food on the table before they could crowd the betting shop. It was all for the best, really; Tommy was in a frightfully awful mood, clattering about his office, ripping desk drawers and cabinet doors open as if the wood had personally offended him.

“Where the fuck is this fucking diary?” He muttered to himself, an unlit cigarette hanging forgotten between his lips. Stumbling over his desk chair, he cursed at whichever higher power was listening for testing him so harshly today. As he fumbled with his final drawer, the last iota of patience he had left drained out of him, and he forced the handle so hard that the entire drawer came out of the cabinet and crashed to the floor with a near deafening thud. Tommy flinched as the noise echoed around in his head, briefly taken to a place better forgotten, distant explosions, distant death. He pushed away the burning behind his eyes and bent to collect the various papers scattered around the floor.

They were mostly old contracts and accounting bills, permanently wrinkled, ink faded by the passage of the years, but one thing Tommy didn’t expect was peeking out from under a pile of old letters. A photograph, a reminder of someone he all too often tried to push away, just like every other painful memory. He staggered back a little, struck by this sudden resurgence of his past love, struck by this sadness curling around his lungs. 

Tommy clasped the photograph in one hand, her eyes staring unwaveringly back at him. He remembered when she gave him the picture; she had tucked it into the pocket of his coat just before he left for France, her hands softly trembling, eyes glassy with tears. Tommy slept with it under his pillow every night during the war. Sometimes she was the only reason he fought for another day, the only thing that could bring him back to his feet from the abyss of crippling fear. 

He was so angry all of a sudden, kicking the wooden drawer across the room just to feel the ache of his foot, just for the satisfaction when it hit the wall and splintered apart. Just so he could distract himself from the guilt rising through his body like a sickness.

“Fuck!” He roared into the silence.

Tommy’s fingers twitched for a moment, immediately craving to tear the photo into a thousand shreds, but he couldn’t do it to her - he almost felt like it would hurt her now if he did. He was too ashamed to look back at her beautiful face as he folded the picture away, just like he couldn’t look at her when she left.

All it took was one threat against her. One far too many. Tommy closed his eyes and thought of her, the soft smiles she gave only to him, her melodic laugh, the way she lit up every dark corner of his life. There would be no reason for him to keep living if he robbed the world of that brightness, could never live with himself if he didn’t keep her safe from his enemies. So Tommy convinced himself it was better to push her away than to ever see her dead because of him. He could make her hate him if he had to, anything to get her as far removed as possible. “You’re just not enough for me anymore, Y/n,” He said, aiming for nonchalance though his voice cracked on her name.She recoiled away from Tommy like he had slapped her, eyes stinging with tears as she turned her back to him, embarrassed.“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve proven to me what everybody always told me was true,” She spoke in a watery voice, tearful yet calm, but Tommy almost wished she’d scream at him, anything was better than this broken girl in front of him. “You have no room in your life for anyone’s interests but your own, Thomas Shelby. You knew I’d loved you from the moment we met, and yet you strung me along anyway. I knew exactly what you were capable of, but I never saw such cruelty in you.” Y/n finished her sentence looking Tommy in the eyes, fierce in her grief, “If you say you don’t love me, I swear you’ll never see me again.” Her words tore through him like a bayonet, killing a part of his soul he didn’t know was still alive. He refused to meet her gaze, ashamed of what he might see reflected in her eyes. He didn’t speak for a beat too long, not trusting that the truth of his feelings for Y/n might come tumbling out of his mouth like a traitorous avalanche. “I understand, Tommy,” Were her final words to him, spoken so tenderly that it almost comforted Tommy, it reminded him of the softness of his mother’s voice when she’d hushed him to sleep as a child, he swallowed down the lump in his throat, fighting to keep his face vacant.Y/n left Tommy standing on his own, her perfume lingering just in front of his face, fogging up his brain with all the loving words he wished so desperately he could say to her. Tommy’s chest heaved with the effort it took to keep his legs from darting out after her and begging her to stay. He cursed his ambition, cursed himself for breaking her heart, cursed himself for driving her away. He cursed everything he could for hoping she’d stay away from him forever.

~~~

Two days after he’d rediscovered Y/n’s photograph, Tommy found himself in the Garrison meeting two Irishmen over some headache about a fight. The air was a little stale in the snug, old alcohol soaked into the fabric of the couches and cigarette smoke absorbed by the walls. 

“Thomas Shelby,” The greeting hung stagnant in the room, Tommy not wanting to humour the men more than necessary.

Tommy seated himself at the table, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did so, exuding class from every fibre of his clothing.

“So, what seems to be the issue?” Tommy ventured, knowing full well why they wanted an audience.

“One of your men attacked one of ours. All we’re asking for is fair recompense,” one man gurgled through his mouthful of whiskey. 

Tommy bit his tongue, dying to praise the Irishman for knowing such a long word, but he kept his little joke to himself, lips turned up in a smirk, “And why would I take responsibility for a street brawl I had nothing to do with?” Tommy asked, bored with the conversation.

“There’s only one gang reckless enough to employ stupid little feckers who wave around their razor-tipped hats like they’re trophies. Am I wrong in assuming you take responsibility for those stupid fucks?” The other man drawled, clearly a few more glasses deep than Tommy.

Tommy leaned forward in his seat, taking the bottle of whiskey from in front of the men and pouring himself a glass, having had his fill of them before he’d even sat down.

“Now, listen, gentlemen, you and I both know that my men don’t fight unprovoked. We also know that the Peaky Blinders have previously forgiven you a little misstep when one of your men tried to take another man’s wife against her will. A man on my territory and on my payroll. It wouldn’t take much for me to find out exactly why one of my men attacked yours and dissolve this little peace treaty,” Tommy rasped, his voice dropped low to threaten the men sat across from him.

“We still demand you make this right. We hear you Shelbys are rolling in the money nowadays,” The glint in their eyes told Tommy they were more moronic than he���d first thought. They’d shown their hand far too soon and shown they couldn’t keep up with Tommy’s intellect.

“So money’s what you want, ey?” Tommy smirked. “Tell you what. Here’s the first fucking instalment,” Tommy reached into his breast pocket and pulled out five pounds, throwing it onto the table in front of the men, “That’s nothing to me, as I’m sure you’re aware. Then for the next instalment, you’ll get your fair recompense in the form of a bullet each, right through both your heads.” Tommy makes an exaggerated and obvious gesture of stretching, showing the Irishmen a glimpse of the revolver strapped to his body holster, enjoying the way it made them squirm.

“My men outnumber your men by four to one. If I catch sight of a single one of you in my territory again, your little gang will go extinct. You can keep the five pound, buy your man a nice new white shirt and hope it inspires him to fight better, keep it clean this time round. Go on, fuck off,” Tommy gestures to the door with the cigarette he was in the midst of lighting, following the scared bodies as they scurried away, their metaphorical tails between their legs.

Tommy took a long drag from his cigarette and sighed out the smoke, closing his eyes to bring himself out of the mood those Irish had put him in. He knocked back another shot of whiskey, the satisfying burn distracting him for a brief moment. 

Then he heard it. A laugh, high and lilting like birdsong. A laugh he knew too well. He opened his eyes, his immediate thought that he’d drifted off briefly and was dreaming. He strained his ears, searching for the laughter again when it floated into the snug, tempting him out of his seat. 

He was opening the door before he even had a chance to tell himself to run the other way. Then his eyes fell upon her. Y/n was like an apparition, the way the last dregs of the afternoon sun filtered through the cloudy windows and bathed her in an ethereal glow, the light daring to touch only her, just like how she appeared to him in dreams. Y/n was stood at the bar, sipping a clear drink and wincing slightly at the taste after every mouthful. Rum, if Tommy remembered her preference correctly. He smiled despite his shock; she still had to force herself to drink it. She was chatting happily to a girl he didn’t know, a girl who was probably good looking when on her own, but who’s appearance was overshadowed in every possible way when placed next to such a beauty.

Despite the three years that had passed between them, Tommy noted that Y/n hadn’t changed too much. Her hair was a little darker, her features had become sharper, the softness of her youth having departed. Tommy couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, so familiar yet so unknown to him. The Y/n that left him was a girl, all wide grins and excitement. The Y/n he saw now had become a woman in her own right, she held her head a little higher, she kept her smiles demure. Tommy’s chest ached a little, he wondered when she changed into the woman who stood at the bar, wondered whether she was forced to leave her youth behind, wondered whether he could’ve protected that innocence if he’d have stayed with her.

Somewhere next to him, some drunkard knocked a glass to the floor, the sound of shattering glass drawing everyone’s eyes. Y/n’s gaze immediately locked with his. 

Tommy was rooted to the spot, feeling like the little boy who’d been caught eating sweets just before dinner time. He tried his best to regain control over himself and wandered over to the bar as nonchalantly as possible. 

“Thomas,” Y/n greeted simply, Tommy silently thanking her for opening the conversation for him. The way she looked at him felt undressing, her eyes were not unkind but she obviously wasn’t as affected by the meeting as Tommy. 

Tommy’s pride was a little wounded by her indifference, he hated that he was so nervous around her when she couldn’t seem more unbothered.

“Y/n,” Tommy replied, “You look good,” Such an understatement seemed like a crime, but he didn’t think he could find the right words to describe how she’d floored him with one look.

“Thank you,” She smiled softly at him, oozing class. Tommy’s legs felt a little unstable as she weakened him with that smile. He cleared his throat to attempt an even tone, “So where have you been?” 

The friend she was chatting with whispered something in Y/n’s ear before wandering over to a table, leaving the two alone. She knocked back the rest of her drink and Tommy couldn’t help but follow the way she tipped her head back, eyes trailing her exposed throat as she swallowed. She placed the glass back on the bar silently, “London,” She answered finally.

Tommy supposed that London made the most sense, given Y/n’s drive for adventure, he could see why the big city would attract her. Tommy thought that maybe he should leave it at that, her noncommital answers should have been enough of a clue that she didn’t want to talk, but his entire being was desperate for the encounter not to end so soon.

“So what are you doing back?” Tommy continued when the silence stretched on, distantly remembering the promise she made last time they spoke.

“I’m staying here for a while. For a friend’s wedding,” She clarified.

“I see,” Tommy replied, unsure what to say on the matter.

The silence drew on once again, such an unfamiliar feeling between the two. Tommy remembered the way they used to laugh, how Y/n’s lips were always curled up slightly at the corners, but looking at her solemn face now, he wondered if she had anyone who made her happy like he had.

Tommy was abruptly hit by the emptiness in his chest, the space Y/n left when she was gone having never been filled. He wanted to take her hand and talk about everything like they used to, longed to see her grin like she did three years ago, wanted to mend the heart he’d broken. 

“Will you join me in the snug for another drink?” Tommy ventured, watching her eyes intently, hoping he could see the cogs turning in her brain.

She smiled that soft smile again, with a warmth he didn’t deserve, wounding him. She reached out her delicate hand and cupped his cheek, Tommy couldn’t help the way his eyes fluttered closed. He had no idea that he’d missed her touch so greatly. Y/n brushed her thumb across his cheek gently.

“I think you and I both know that that’s a bad idea,” She replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy fought hard to keep the disappointment out of his eyes when he finally brought himself to look at her again. Her hand lingered on his cheek for a moment, and Tommy wanted to run, push her away, fall into her arms all at once.

Y/n’s eyes pierced him, as if searching for something, then she let her hand drop back to her side, “Goodnight, Tommy,” was all she said as she went to rejoin her friend.

Tommy felt winded like she’d punched him. Seeing her again was such a sweet torture, knowing that she’d survived well enough without him should’ve been a welcome thought, but the overwhelming feeling was jealousy and sadness that others got to see her grow up, bitterness that it was his decision to drive her away and yet he wanted her back so badly.

Tommy spent the rest of the evening stewing and drinking, trying hard not to show any expression. All the while his eyes kept drawing to Y/n like a compass needle drawn to the North, eyes studying her face, trying to find his answers there. Not once did she look back at him. He deserved her ignorance. 

Tommy suddenly felt like he’d over stayed his welcome in his own pub, so he drained his whiskey and left. The icy rain lashed the gravel streets on his way home. Numbing his face, not quite numbing his heart.

~~~

Y/n walked home alone from the Garrison that night, grateful that the rain had ceased, yet wishing there was something to distract her from thoughts of Tommy. Sadness weighed heavily on her chest as she thought of what could’ve been between them by now. Marriage? A family? Every time she blinked, she saw blue eyes staring back at her. Small Heath invaded every one of her senses, the familiar smell of coal fire burning her lungs, distant shouting and car engines settling in her ears; they were odd things to be comforted by.

She finally arrived at the lodging house she was staying at and let herself into her room, the sudden silence oppressive. With nothing else to occupy her mind, she let out the shuddering breath she’d been holding all night, and with it, her tears fell freely down to her feet, the dam holding them back ultimately giving up. Y/n had stuck the pieces of her heart back together as best she could over the years, but all it took was one meeting with him to shatter it once again. Her ribs ached with the force of her sorrow, as if the shards of her heart were piercing her skin from the inside. She fell to her knees on the creaky wooden floor and clutched her arms around herself, sobbing like a child. 

When she had received the invitation to the wedding, her immediate reaction was the throw it away, knowing that returning to Small Heath was a poor decision, knowing she shouldn’t even entertain the notion. But Y/n was tempted already, she found herself daydreaming about the town that had once been her home, imagining what it would be like to return. She accepted the invitation, writing a letter to her friend informing her she would come. Y/n pretended to herself that she was only going because she wanted to support her friend, wanted to witness her marriage. But she knew her reasons were selfish in reality. She craved to see Tommy like he was an addiction, so she’d packed all of her things and was on the next available train home.

When Y/n saw him at the Garrison tonight she didn’t quite know what to do. There was a cruel part of her that reared its head, telling her to be cold, give him a taste of his own medicine. But she found it wasn’t hard to be distant from him, her heart closed its doors as soon as he started towards her, reminded of the pain he’d caused. 

Her entire reason for even going to the Garrison tonight was the hope that she’d see him, but when she finally did, all she hoped was that he’d feel a fraction of the misery he’d created in her, hoped that he regretted everything he’d done. The anger was a new emotion for Y/n, she’d spent night after night crying over her lost love, yet facing him now, she only felt a quiet rage simmering in the pit of her stomach.

Y/n climbed to her feet, feeling a little unsteady, from the alcohol or the night’s revelations she did not know, and peered out of her window. The glass was grimy with dust and soot, the town slept below her. The sky was an inky blue, never really turning pitch black during the summer, a permanent blanket of mist completely covered the stars. Her home hadn’t changed at all, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she had changed too much. She itched to run away from it all, return to London and pretend this had never happened, forget everything that once tied her to Small Heath. However, those ties were knotted around her every limb so tightly that no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get free, she couldn’t pretend that she had no feelings for Tommy anymore. He pulled her toward him like a string linked them and he was tugging, she feared that soon he’d pull her under if she let him.

Exhausted by the constant battle between her head and her heart, she fell into her tiny bed, head aching. Y/n fell asleep that night with tear-stained cheeks, she dreamt of blue eyes and rough hands.

~~~

The next morning, Y/n awoke fairly early as she’d forgotten to close the curtains last night and the morning sunlight was shining directly into her eyes. She groaned and checked the clock on her bedside table, it read 7:15am. Y/n decided against wallowing in her bed today and instead went to her cupboards to look for breakfast. She was wholly disappointed when she discovered the cupboards were empty save for some preserves, her stomach growled at the promise of food. So she pulled on a simple cream dress and black lace up boots and headed out into town to find something to eat.

There was something about walking the streets of Small Heath that felt so routine even after all these years, Y/n knew every pothole, every turn, near enough every face she passed. She didn’t realise how close she had strayed towards the betting shop until she saw the unmistakable heavy moustache upon Arther Shelby’s face. Panicked, she turned her head away from him, fully aware of his lack of tact, knowing he’d be asking all about her and Tommy if he saw her. 

Safely away from being cornered by any Shelbys, the bakery just down the road from the BSA Factory caught her eye, if the display of various fresh breads and pastries hadn’t convinced her, she was thoroughly tempted in by the sweet smell emanating from the building. 

Upon entering, she was hit by the noise of the shop, bakers slamming oven doors in the back, cashiers chatting to customers, so Y/n was confused when all the noise suddenly ceased. She looked around searchingly until her eyes found Tommy stood in the doorway, looking every bit the royalty of Small Heath.

He was dressed in his usual three piece suit, tailored to perfection, and it was only now Y/n realised how much he’d grown since she last saw him. His shoulders were broad and muscles thicker, he’d become every bit the man she always thought he would be. He seemed now to tower over her, even though they were still of a similar height. She tried to tamp down the heat rising to her cheeks as she took in his appearance, chiding herself for still being so attracted to him. 

“Mr Shelby!” Cried the owner of the place, “So good to see you in here,” the owner nodded his head so low it looked like he was bowing. Y/n nearly laughed, a little twinge of pride swelled at just how much Tommy had made of himself while she was gone.

Tommy just nodded dismissively, his eyes never leaving Y/n. She watched as the rest of the customers shuffled out one by one, all either rightly scared of Tommy or simply having other places to be.

The way Tommy’s eyes raked over Y/n’s body made her feel self conscious, suddenly overly aware of her plain outfit and the fact that her hair was hanging down past her shoulders and not pinned back like usual. She felt irritated that she evidently still cared what he thought of her. Y/n suspected that he’d followed her in here just for the purpose of seeing her again, why? She couldn’t figure it out, but the casual way he stood, hands in his trouser pockets, not speaking, was starting to annoy her. Y/n could only think he was enjoying the effect this little game of his was having.

“What are you doing here?” She accused, like this wasn’t a place open to the general public. 

Tommy smirked a little, seemingly amused, it just incensed Y/n that much more, “Just buying some breakfast, same as you,” He replied, warm voice heating her body more than the blaze from the ovens.

She couldn’t let herself be at his mercy, that one sentence sending a flush to her cheeks she could only pray he didn’t see, it wouldn’t do his ego any good. Despite his answer, he still hadn’t moved from his place, apparently content to just watch Y/n. 

“Good morning, Thomas,” She bid him like it was a goodbye as she slipped past him at the door, doing her very best not to shudder as she brushed against him, the notion of breakfast flying to the back of her mind. 

Y/n’s suspicion that he’d come to the bakery just for her was confirmed when Tommy followed her straight out of the shop without buying anything, despite his disclosure that he would. 

Y/n turned to Tommy and met his eyes with all the courage she could muster, “Tommy, will you please just let me get through this stay in peace?” She pleaded, suddenly tired again even though she had only recently woken.

His eyes softened then, and they reminded Y/n so much of the way he used to look at her that she wanted to cry. Tommy reached out and took her hand before she could think to move away and it felt so right that it stole the air from her lungs. His hand was a little rougher than she remembered, a few more callouses rubbing like sand paper against her smaller hand, but it held the same warmth and the same delicate touch that seemed to juxtapose Tommy’s hard nature.

Her eyes widened as he started to speak to her again, she couldn’t focus on his voice over the sound of her blood rushing in her ears, “If you tell me to leave you alone, I will,” is all she heard him say.

She fought every one of her instincts as she pulled her hand out of his, heart aching a little at the loss, a tear she didn’t know had formed escaping her eye when she turned away. It would be so easy to tell him to leave, to save herself all this hurt, but Y/n knew she couldn’t honestly say that was what she wanted. 

Even though it pained her to be near him after everything that happened, she was still in love with him, both sides of her feelings constantly warring with each other. She found that her head fell silent when he spoke to her. 

Confused and perturbed by what she really wanted, Y/n walked away from him, fighting to keep her pace even. She expected Tommy to follow after her, didn’t know if she was disappointed when he didn’t.

~~~

Today was the day before the wedding and Y/n had only just got round to trying on the dress she’d brought for the occasion. It was a classy blush pink gown, hemmed just below the knees, cut low enough to expose her chest but still modest enough to leave something to the imagination. She slipped the fine fabric over her head, internally praying that it would fit, though she didn’t know what she would do even if it didn’t. 

Blessedly, the dress fit. It was tight in all the right places, showing off her attractive curves, but it was just loose enough that the fabric fanned out behind her when she twirled. Y/n thumbed the delicate lace that covered her shoulders and allowed herself a small smile, she thought that maybe she could have fun tomorrow. 

No sooner than the thought had settled into her mind, there was an insistent knock at her door. Y/n hurried over and peered through her peep hole, she cursed at the ceiling as she recognised Tommy Shelby tapping his foot impatiently, flicking his spent cigarette to the floor after his last long pull. She felt a little unsteady as she watched him stand there, eyes trained on his lips, the fluttering feeling she always used to get around him making an unwelcome appearance in her stomach. 

Y/n considered pretending like she wasn’t there for a moment, staying silent as she mulled over her options. But she knew that Tommy wouldn’t have come if he didn’t know for certain that she was there, and he would absolutely do something stupid like break the door down just to get his way if she didn’t answer. 

“How did you know I was here?” Y/n demanded as soon as she opened the door, immediately cutting Tommy off from whatever he wanted to say first.

“Not important,” Tommy replied coolly, and his voice was so smooth and warm like honey, the look in his eyes just as impossibly sweet that Y/n kind of wanted to punch him in the face so she wouldn’t have to see it.

“What do you want?” Y/n asked, turning away and fighting to keep in control as she found herself inexplicably hypnotised by Tommy’s being.

“You look beautiful,” Tommy avoided the question. 

Y/n’s head spun a little as she watched Tommy watching her, she felt he had no permission to be looking at her the way he was, hungrily. She felt that the girl reflected in his eyes looked nothing like her. The history between the two simmered in the heat of his gaze as she tried to recall a time he’d wanted her so obviously as he did now. 

She was dizzied by the sudden change in her relationship with Tommy. Just mere days ago they were no better than perfect strangers, and now the past she shared with Tommy had come back and hit her with the full force of a steam engine, now he was standing in her room, staring at her as if he hadn’t broken her heart. She felt like she’d been pushed and pulled every way Tommy wanted her to go, like he was a child and she was his rag doll. The worst thing was that she kept letting him.

“What do you want?” Y/n repeated, an unmistakable waver in her voice.

“I want to know if you’re ok,” He replied simply.

Tommy’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly, revealing the fine wrinkles at the corners. Y/n noted that there were a few more lines there than when she last saw him three years ago. She assumed he’d laughed a lot since she left. She didn’t know why her mouth tasted so sour at the thought.

“Are you joking?” She asked incredulously, laughing without humour. 

She wondered then something that everyone wondered about Tommy; did he really have no conscience? 

Did he really care about her so little that he didn’t notice how broken she was when she left? Did he really think they could just continue as if nothing had passed between them?

Y/n was silent for a long time, her hands shaking with silent anger, her face seething with heat when Tommy spoke up again.

“Seeing you around here has shown me just how dark my life is without you to brighten it up. I know I’ve no right to ask you to stay here but… I just really want to know if you’re truly ok living away from home. Away from me,”

Y/n had kept all the despair about hers and Tommy’s relationship trapped inside for the past three years. She pushed it further and further inward until it started filling her bones, weighing her down with every step further away from him she took. Now, as she watched his eyes softly gaze back at her, all of it rose to the very pinnacle, boiling over like an unwatched pot.

Barbed words were spilling from Y/n’s lips before she could stop herself, “No! I’m not fucking ok, Tommy. Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear that you shattered my heart, Thomas Shelby? You told me I wasn’t good enough. I - I wasn’t good enough for you.” Y/n finished her tirade with a broken whisper, she had started to cry somewhere in the middle of her sentence, not daring to look Tommy in the eyes, afraid of his pity. “You ruined me for everyone. I haven’t been with anyone else since I left because I gave every last shred of the love I had in my heart to you! Everything I did was for you. And you wasted all of it. So, no, I’m not ok.” Y/n breathed heavily, surprised a little fire wasn’t coming out of her nose by how her words had burned even her.

She heard the old floorboards creak and looked up to see Tommy crossing the room in two long strides, standing face to face with Y/n. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out, Y/n knew that if he did, she would crumble.

“So come back. For good. I know I hurt you and I- I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered, looking at her like she was the one who kept the world spinning. Y/n was sure Tommy had never apologised to anyone, so no one could blame her if she didn’t quite believe it. 

They stood there for a moment, locked in each others eyes, each one searching for an answer, searching for a way back to their forgotten love. Y/n is so helplessly pulled in by the man in front of her, so inexplicably attracted to everything he did; she thought if they stayed like this any longer that she would just cave in, the part of her heart she gave to him still beating strongly in her chest. Her mouth quivered with unspoken words as she remembered the pain of Tommy’s betrayal seared into her skin, begging her not to let him back in.

“You’re sorry,” she bit back more tears, “Well, you don’t get to ask me to stay. You don’t get to toy with me like this. Are you enjoying this? You push me as far away from you as possible just to pull me back when you decide you want me again! And now you want me, what, because your ego is hurt by the idea that I could’ve possibly moved on? God knows, I’ve tried but you lurk around every corner of my life, waiting in the silence to remind me of what I thought I had. It hurts me every fucking day that I really thought you loved me too,” An ugly part of Y/n hoped every word was painful for Tommy, hoped they were like a poison, rooted in his brain, that they would stay there and remind him every day of what he’d done.

“I forgave you so long ago, so why are you trying to bring it all up again?” All the words that had been imprisoned inside her chest had escaped, she felt a little bereft without them. A new emptiness spread inside Y/n, making her feel faint with the weightlessness as she clung onto her night stand.

“Because I love you,” the world stopped. 

Those words, spoken so gently, struck her with such force that for a minute, Y/n thought she’d been shot. Agony bloomed beneath her ribs and her fingers flew up to her chest to touch, she was confused when her fingers came away with no blood. 

“No, you don’t, you’re only saying it because you think it will absolve you,” She replied, refusing to let the door to her heart swing open, no matter how hard Tommy was kicking it, “If you loved me, you would’ve fought for us back then. You let me go like it was so easy,”

“I do, I love you,” Tommy said, words coming out shaky, breath uneven, “I just couldn’t bear to see you hurt because of me,” 

Even after everything he’d done, Tommy failed to see the irony in those words , “Hurt?” Y/n asked disbelievingly, “You killed me the day you wouldn’t say you loved me. Don’t think your confession will revive me now.” The words hung like lead in the air, neither one wanting to take their weight.

“Y/n-” Tommy began, a glint of something unfamiliar in his bright blue eyes.

“I want you to leave,” Y/n cut him off, Tommy’s every word reopened her countless scars, but now the pain was unbearable. He tried to touch her, but she recoiled so harshly that Tommy backed away, “Please.”

Tommy looked so conflicted, a million ideas spinning through his head, so quickly they seemed to flash across his eyes. Ultimately, he heeded Y/n’s words and slipped out silently, leaving her alone once again.

~~~

Today was Y/n’s final day in her hometown. She thought back to the wedding as she folded away her dress, placing it on top of all her other packing so as not to spoil it. She sat through the entire ceremony with her mind entirely elsewhere, she felt a little guilty about it now but she hadn’t listened to a word of the vows. She would like to pretend that she wasn’t jealous, but as she watched the newlyweds kiss tenderly to rapturous applause, she felt a bitter pang in her stomach. As a teenager, she dreamed of that fate for herself, a pure white dress, fresh flowers in her hands, Tommy waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Y/n had felt tears pricking behind her eyes as she watched the couple exit the church, hand in hand, she tried so hard to feel happy for them.

Y/n closed her small trunk with a click and sat down on the edge of her bed, exhausted. She fumbled for the train ticket in her purse, a return ticket to London. She folded it safely away in her pocket and stood, wandering over to her window. She looked out onto the street below her, the summer sun cracking the cover of mist today, casting polka dot shadows on the cobbles. 

Here in Small Heath, the houses were little and charming, warmth seeping out of every window you passed. The streets were never quiet during the day, always bustling with the community of a working class town.

Y/n sighed then as she thought about what waited for her in London. Row upon row of oppressively looming buildings, making her feel even smaller in a city so big. She was surrounded by thousands of people on the streets, yet she’d never felt so alone. Every day was the same, get up, go to work, come home. Y/n tried to be happy with it, she really did, but returning to Small Heath had ruined the pretence. It was like she’d left her heart here, and now that she was back, the beat was even stronger, refusing to let itself be buried again.

Y/n knew though that her love of her hometown wasn’t the only reason she was hesitating to leave for the train station. Her heart rate quickened as Tommy appeared in her mind, if she breathed in deep enough she swore she could still smell him in the room - his cologne, the Irish whiskey, the specific brand of cigarettes he always smoked. Her legs felt weak as she took it all in. Y/n struggled then to remember how she’d found the strength to walk away from this place those three years ago, to walk away from Tommy. Her resolve now was so weak that she prayed she could find that strength again today.

Y/n shut the curtains, blocking the view of the street below, wishing so desperately it was just as easy to shut out her memories of this place. As her hand touched the door handle, she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she left now, she’d regret it forever. 

Her departure time drew nearer and nearer, so she closed her eyes and pulled the door open, holding her breath.

“Please don’t go,” the sound of his raspy voice made her eyes fly open, she pinched herself subtly to make sure he wasn’t a hallucination.

There he was, Tommy stood tall in front of her doorway, hair flopping over the sides of his head and chest heaving like he’d run all the way here. Tommy reached out one large hand and gripped Y/n’s arm, his fingers almost circling all the way around it. He clutched her as if he was afraid she was going to disappear.

Y/n dropped her case then, forgetting everything else as she searched his gentle eyes, only barely remembering to continue breathing. She could push past him, she could run away again into the arms of a city that didn’t care about her, or she could fall into Tommy and pray this time he’d catch her. But she knew her decision was made as soon as he spoke.

Y/n stepped backwards slightly, allowing Tommy entrance into the room. He pushed a hand through his mussed hair, peaked cap nowhere to be seen. Neither of them spoke for a minute, and Y/n wondered if it was a mistake to let him in, the possibility of her escape becoming slimmer and slimmer as time ticked on.

Tommy sat down on the bed and inhaled a steadying breath, “I meant what I said the other day,” he said, quietly as if admitting a secret.

“I know,” Y/n replied, and the confusion that overtook Tommy’s face almost made her laugh, his eyebrows quirked, lips slightly parted, “I said all those things yesterday because I’m terrified of letting you in again. I’m scared that I’ll let you hold my heart and you’ll crush it again. I’ve waited so incredibly long to hear you say those words that when you said them so easily yesterday, all the pain came straight back.”

Guilt was written all over Tommy’s face, pooled in the ocean of his eyes, colouring his slightly flushed cheeks, “I was just so terrified I’d put you in danger, couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt, so I hurt you myself, told myself I wasn’t worth your love anyway, you’d get over me. I thought it was for the best,” He admitted, palm rubbing into the socket of his eye when it began to glisten with tears.

Y/n went over to the bed, sitting slowly and gently the way one would approach a skittish horse, she put a tentative hand on his thigh, tension buzzing beneath her skin where she touched him. “When did you know you loved me?” she asked quietly.

Tommy looked up at her then and shifted so that they were closer, legs pressed together. Y/n fought not to blush like a teenager, the touch so intimate after all this time.

“About a month before I left for France,” Tommy began, and Y/n didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes when he spoke, “You were out in the garden with Finn. He’d just learned to toddle about and got a bit too confident, fell and skinned his knee,” Tommy didn’t fight the smile that rose to his lips, “And when he cried, you went running and you held him like he was your own brother, you got him to calm down better than anyone else could have. You held him and fussed him until he laughed again. You didn’t know there was anyone watching you, you just did it because you loved him,”

Y/n felt breathless as Tommy told his story, she didn’t know whether to be furious or thrilled that he’d loved her such a long time, “That’s when I knew your name was forever branded on my heart, Y/n. I knew that I could never see you hurt because I couldn’t protect you from my world.” 

At some point while Tommy spoke, their faces inched closer together until their noses were almost bumping. He finished his confession in a whisper, his unmissable blue eyes flickering between Y/n’s own gaze and her lips, exposing his desires blatantly.

“You’re an idiot, Thomas Shelby,” Y/n breathed before Tommy leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. 

The kiss was exciting yet comfortable, like a knew book from her favourite author; the writing familiar but the content all new. One of Tommy’s hands came up to rest on the back of Y/n’s neck, fingers weaving into the strands of hair there, sending a delightful shiver down her body. His other hand cupped her cheek, pulling at her bottom lip so he could take it into his mouth. Tommy broke away briefly, only to breathe, before he leaned in again, kissing Y/n torturously slow, learning ever crevice of her lips once more. 

They finally broke apart, Y/n didn’t know how long later, she couldn’t control the whine from the back of her throat when they did. Tommy looked amused, maybe a little proud of himself and Y/n rolled her eyes at him. Tommy’s hands still cradled her head like something precious, their lips still tantalisingly close.

“I really don’t want to go back to London,” Y/n confessed against Tommy’s mouth, tiny sparks zapping every time their lips touched.

“Please don’t go back,” Tommy all but begged, stroking Y/n’s cheek with a calloused thumb.

She closed her eyes at the feeling, every fibre of her being giving up to him in that moment, “Tell me you love me and I’ll stay,” She said finally, her words so similar to those she’d broken her own heart with three years ago.

“I love you,” Tommy avowed as he kissed Y/n with a dizzying passion, his lips devouring hers as they told each other all the things words couldn’t say. Y/n’s hands found purchase on Tommy’s chest, feeling the rapid flutter of his heart behind his ribs, telling her he really did feel the same.

“Stay with me,” Tommy whispered, each word punctuated by a kiss, the two lovers unable to stop touching as if a magnet permanently held them together.

Y/n nodded, unable to speak as she felt Tommy’s fingers brush against her neck, against the exposed skin on her chest, goosebumps raising on her skin as she fought not to tremble.

All of her nerves were alight, the pieces of her heart coming back together as she kissed the man she’d loved for years; no big city could replace their small town love. London faded into nothing as she felt his tongue lick at her lower lip, her train long since missed as Tommy pressed his kisses deeper.

Y/n broke away just to look at Tommy again, his lips were plump, reddened by his ministrations, his eyes were fogged over with adoration, his hands still clung to Y/n anywhere they could hang on. She smiled one of those blinding grins she only ever saved for Tommy.

“I’ll stay,” Y/n promised.

[lionlena]

Unforgivable mistake (JoelMillerxreader) Part 6

Summary: Reader is much younger than Joel and is in love with  him. One night, after arguing with Tess and getting drunk, Joel spends  the night with a reader, but in the morning he breaks her heart…  She  runs away from Boston hoping that she will never meet this cold bastard  again in her life. But almost six years later, she unexpectedly sees  Joel in Jackson. She decides to hide herself and her little secret from  this asshole.

Warnings: age gap (reader is about 28 years, Joel 58),  strong language, swearing, past trauma, bullying, attempted rape, memories of sexual abuse, unprotect p in v,  dom!Joel, Joel is asshole, ANGST, hurt, sadness and heartbreaking, sexual harassment, women abuse, violence, injury, sickness.

Part 6

"Mommy, you should kiss Joel."

You nearly dropped the laundry you were hanging outside when you heard what your toddler said. You looked at your son in shock.

"Where did that idea come from, honey?"

Teddy sighed and said, "Because Joel is sad and you always give me a kiss when I'm sad and that helps."

"Oh" was all you could say.

Joel had actually been sadder for the past few days. He was even more reticent and didn't even react to Ellie's taunts. You didn't know if it was because of your talk about forgiveness or the fact that Maria and Tommy were expecting a baby. Well, You thought that was good news, but did Joel was jealous? He had Teddy, after all. He got a second chance.

"Mommy."

You heard your son's impatient voice and realized that "Oh" wasn't considered a sufficient answer. You knelt down next to him and said, "I'm afraid it doesn't work on adults as it does on children. I think Joel might feel weird if I kissed him."

Teddy frowned. "Then hug him... You hugging Aunt Claudia when she's sad."

"You hugging him, and that's better than my hug."

Your son made a sad face, and you felt like you let him down. In his childhood mind, sometimes everything was so simple and you envied him that.

"You know what helps me when I'm sad?" The little boy looked at you curiously. "When you give me drawings and flowers. Maybe after I finish work at the stables, we can go to the meadow so you can pick flowers for Joel?"

"Okay, but if that doesn't help, promise me you'll hug him."

You sighed heavily and nodded your head.

At the stables, you were still thinking about what Teddy said. Maybe you should talk to Joel? He didn't really have anyone in Jackson except Tommy, Ellie, and Teddy... And you. He still had a strained relationship with his brother, and the children were hardly suitable for serious conversations. So everything was on you. And your two relationship has improved. When you saw him, you didn't just think about how badly he hurt you, but how he changed for the better.

You stopped brushing Jupiter for a moment and looked back to see your son, who was throwing straw into an empty stall. In fact, he lost most of the straw along the way, but he looked so cute. He wanted to help you, like his dad.

You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice that you were approaching to place where another horse had bitten Jupiter. The wound still hurt him, and though he was a nice horse, he reacted to pain like any other animal. He whinnied loudly and jumped up sharply. You managed to dodge the kick, but you staggered and stumbled. You hit your head on the post that was between the horse's boxes. It got dark before your eyes and the last thing you remember was your son's frightened scream.

*

Teddy knew he had to call for help. He ran out of the stable and began to run as fast as his little legs would allow him. However, he passed several people and did not stop. Even when someone tried to stop him. In his mind, only one person could save you.

"Joel!" he shouted as he saw a familiar figure.

Joel was just walking with Ellie to the dining room when he heard his son scream. He immediately turned around and knelt down to catch the kid who practically ran into him. He immediately noticed that the little boy was terrified.

"Teddy, what happened?"

He gently grabbed his shoulders and started looking for any injuries, but the baby boy seemed to be fine. Teddy struggled to catch his breath, tears streaming down his face.

"Mama," he finally choked out.

Joel was immediately overwhelmed by a wave of terror.

"What about mom?" He asked.

The boy barely spoke. "Ho… Horse... Kick" he said between sobs.

Joel didn't need any more. He looked at Ellie, who seemed as scared as Teddy.

"Stay with him. I'm running to her."

The girl nodded and grabbed the boy's hand as Joel ran to the stables.

*

When you woke up you felt a terrible headache. Your ears were ringing and your vision was blurred, but only one thing mattered to you. Your son.

"Teddy," you croaked.

You got up with difficulty. You felt like a newborn foal that couldn't catch its balance. You slowly took a step by step, sticking to the wall. As you were about to leave, Joel suddenly ran up to you. He grabbed your sides and held you tight.

"Y/N, what happened?"

You heard the worry in his voice.

"Jupiter got angry... I jumped back, but I think I hit my head on something hard... Where's Teddy?"

Joel stroked your cheek, then ran his hand over the back of your head and was relieved to see that there was no blood on his fingers.

"Teddy is with Ellie. He's fine. He's just scared."

As soon as you heard that, you felt your strength leave you. You stayed on your feet only because fear for your son was your motivation. Joel immediately lifted you up and said, "Okay. You need medical attention."

"No" you moaned and rested your head against his chest. "Just not Anderson."

Joel sighed. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Take me home and call Wanda. She used to be a nurse."

"Okay," he whispered and brushed his lips against your forehead, and you just closed your eyes.

*

An hour later you were in bed and listening to Wanda's instructions. Teddy was cuddling up to your side. He had stopped crying but was still very scared. Ellie was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at you with worried eyes. Joel stood next to Wanda and carefully listened to her.

"It's definitely a concussion. She should not move. Let her sleep a lot, rest, and drink plenty of water. Someone should stay with her overnight. If she starts vomiting, she may choke."

"I'm not going to vomit," you muttered. You were slightly annoyed that the woman was talking like you weren't in the room.

Joel just gave you an indulgent look and replied, "I'll keep an eye on her.”

When Wanda left, he came closer to you and stroked his son's head.

"Hey, 'bear cub', mum will be fine. Why don't you and Ellie go to the meadow and collect flowers for mommy?"

Teddy looked at you with those puppy eyes he inherited from his father.

"Will this help you, mommy?"

You nodded your head and he immediately jumped off the bed and grabbed Ellie's hand pulling her towards the exit. Joel was still staring at you.

"What?" you asked.

He bit his lip and muttered, "I was worried about you, I'm still worried about you... I don't know what I would do if something happened to you..."

You were surprised by his confession. You might even hug him if it weren't for the constant dizziness.

"I'll be fine and you don't have to do all this for me."

Joel stepped closer, knelt by the bed, and grabbed your hand.

"I'll take care of you and Teddy. I'll do whatever it takes to make you feel better."

You smiled slightly and nodded your head.

In the evening you were really surprised how well Joel handled the baby. You thought your boy would be very cranky after a day like this... And he was, but Joel made it. After he put his son to bed, he came back to you and sat in the armchair to watch you all night.

It was weird and embarrassing for you at first. You thought you wouldn't be able to fall asleep next to him, but his presence began to soothe you and you fell asleep.

*

Joel stretched out in an armchair and tilted his head back. He yawned and closed his eyes. He thought that nothing would happen if he took a nap for a while. Your sleep seemed restful. Before he could fall asleep he heard the patter of small feet and after a while, he felt Teddy climb into his lap. He opened his eyes and smiled softly.

"Hi, 'bear cub'."

The baby boy glanced towards the bed: "Mummy still sleeping?"

Joel combed the boy's curls. "It's night. She should sleep. Just like you."

The little one shook his head and looked at him, and despite the dim light, Joel could see traces of tears on the baby's cheeks.

"You were crying, baby. What happened?"

He pulled the boy to his chest and hugged him tightly.

"Will mommy die?"

Joel replied immediately. "No, 'bear cub'. Of course not. She'll be fine. That's why I'm here to make sure everything is okay."

Teddy nodded and murmured, "Tell me a story."

Joel frowned. "We have to go get the book."

"No," the little one moaned. "Your story."

"Oh. All right." He thought for a moment. "I'll tell you about the Boston Angel."

"That angel was pretty?"

Joel smiled and nodded. "It was basically she, and she was the most beautiful angel I've ever seen. She was also sweet and kind. Even though Boston wasn't a pretty place, she was always able to find something beautiful and show it to the children. She bent down to tie a little girl's shoes and gave food to the homeless dog, and she always smiled."

"And did she bake cookies like Mommy?"

"Yes. She was the perfect Angel, but she met the bad man." Joel sighed heavily. He didn't know why he made up this story about you two. He felt the little boy tugging at his shirt.

"And what did the bad man do?"

"He broke the angel's wings and made the angel sad."

"But why did he do it?"

"Because he forgot how to love and only remembered that losing someone you love hurts a lot. So instead of loving an angel, he preferred to hurt her." He stroked Teddy's curls. "But the angel managed to escape Boston, and then her wings grew back and became even more beautiful and stronger. So strong that they could carry her wherever she wanted."

Teddy yawned and asked, "And the bad man? Has he changed?"

Joel didn't know what to say. He hadn't expected such a question. He swallowed and replied, "He's tried hard to change and... I hope one day he'll be good and the Angel will see it."

You felt tears running down your cheeks. You woke up as soon as you heard your son's voice, but you were still tired and did not react. You knew Joel would take care of the boy. So you heard the whole story about Angel and you couldn't believe it. Joel thought you were asleep, so he didn't say all that just to win your favor.

There was silence and you guessed that Teddy had fallen asleep. You went back to sleep too.

*

Joel slowly got to his feet, holding gently the sleeping boy, but something was bothering him. The baby's body was too warm. He kissed the boy's forehead and wondered if you had a thermometer somewhere in the house. He gently placed the baby on the bed and carefully covered him with a blanket. He didn't even get out of the room before he heard a plaintive whine, "Joo."

He quickly returned to the baby and began to calm him down. "Shhh, I'll be right back."

The little one stretched out his arms towards him with another pitiful moan and began to cry. Joel sighed and took the boy in his arms, wrapping him in a blanket.

"It's okay 'bear cub'. Do you know where mom keeps the thermometer and medicine?"

The little one sobbed and pressed his face against dads shoulder, muttering, "Not sick."

Joel rolled his eyes. He realized that he had to fend for himself. And so he held the baby with one hand and searched the kitchen cupboards with the other. He found a thermometer, bandages, a hot water bottle, and medicines that he knew were not for children. He took the boy back to the room and took his temperature. He had a fever.

"Teddy, does your tummy hurt?"

"No," the boy moaned.

"And here?" he asked and touched the boy's chest.

"Only the head."

Joel frowned. He stroked the boy's back and said, "Stay here a minute. I'll check on mommy."

"NO!"

Teddy started crying and Joel panicked. He didn't want you to wake up. He quickly lifted his son and began to gently rock him in his arms and place kisses on his wet, hot cheeks.

"Shhh, shhh, 'bear cub', it's okay. We'll go to mom together, but you have to promise me you'll be quiet. Okay?"

The little one whined and nodded his head. Joel breathed a sigh of relief, though he knew he had a rough night ahead of him.

He carefully looked at you and was relieved to see that you were still asleep. By this time, the boy had already fallen asleep and Joel was able to put him to bed.

And so for the next hour, Joel wandered between your room and Teddy's room. Unfortunately, the boy woke up again and started crying.

"I want water," he sobbed.

"I'll bring you."

"Do not go!"

Joel sighed heavily and took the boy in his arms. The boy immediately clung to his body tightly. "We will go together."

Unfortunately, the boy was very moody. When he saw the blue cup of water, he wailed loudly and Joel started to panic. He didn't know what had happened and tried to calm him down.

"It's okay... Shhh, tell me what happened? Teddy, baby, 'bear cub'..."

And as if he didn't have enough problems, You walked into the kitchen. You heard your son cry and your maternal instinct was stronger than your dizziness. You staggered into the doorway and grabbed the doorframe with difficulty.

"Y/N" Joel gasped and immediately started walking towards you.

He wrapped his free arm tightly around your waist while the other still held Teddy, who was crying in his ear. Joel led you to a chair and carefully sat you down. He started rocking your son and you looked at the blue mug on the table and said, "He doesn't like that color. You have to give him a red one."

Joel breathed a sigh of relief and quickly grabbed the red cup. Teddy finally calmed down, drank some water, and fell asleep in dad's arms, but his behavior made you uneasy. You knew that such trivial things as the color of the mug only made him cry when he was ill.

"Joel, does he have a fever?"

The man reluctantly nodded. He didn't want to worry you, but he couldn't lie to you.

"He has a fever and a headache, but otherwise he's fine. He doesn't cough, he doesn't have a runny nose. I've been looking for some medicine for him, but I haven't found anything."

You sighed heavily. "They're over. I was going to go to Anderson's, but... You know."

"I know. If he's not better by morning, I'll go with him to that asshole."

You looked at him scared. "No... I can't do it."

He came closer to you. "Hey, I said I'll go. You will stay. Everything will be fine. I'll take care of everything and now I'll put the little one to bed and come back for you."

"Put him in my bed. I want him close and try to put cold compresses on him to bring down the fever."

Joel nodded and did as you said. He put Teddy in your bed and then came back for you. He wrapped his arms around you to take all your weight. Once you were in bed, he returned to the kitchen and fetched a bowl of cold water and a small kitchen towel. You watched as he knelt by the bed and gently touched Teddy's forehead.

"You have to change the water in a while."

"I know," he said and smiled slightly at you. "Don't worry. I'll be here all the time."

You sighed and closed your eyes. You carefully cuddled up to your little one and hoped that the baby boy would recover by the morning.

Unfortunately, Teddy still had a fever in the morning, like you, he didn't like the idea of visiting Anderson. He cuddled up to you and looked at Joel like he were a traitor. The man reached out to him, but the toddler consistently ignored him.

"Come on, 'bear cub', everything will be fine."

Ellie, who had already come to you, also tried to help. "Teddy, the doctor will just examine you. I and Joel will be with you."

You knew you had to intervene. You gently pushed him away from you and kissed his nose. "Honey, you know Joel will always protect you. Go with them. Mommy needs to stay in bed."

The little boy finally nodded and let Joel take him in his arms.

"Bunny" he sadly whined.

Joel kissed him on the head. "We're going to get your bunny."

After they left, you looked at the teenage girl. "Ellie, make sure he doesn't do something stupid. And I'm not talking about Teddy.”

The girl shrugged. "Okay, but I'm not promising anything."

You fell back on the pillows and closed your eyes. Your head was still spinning and you knew you had to rely on Joel.

*

The atmosphere in Anderson's office was so thick that could have cut it with a knife. The two men stared at each other with pure hatred. Eventually, Ellie intervened. She grunted loudly and muttered, "I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend all day here."

The doctor snorted. "Put him on the table. I'll listen to his lungs."

Teddy immediately moaned plaintively as he was separated from his dad's body. Joel looked at him sympathetically. He kissed his forehead and whispered, "It will only take a moment."

Teddy hugged the stuffed bunny tightly to him. Anderson looked at the little boy irritably and hissed, "Should I examine him or the stuffed animal?"

Joel clenched his jaw. He felt his head start to ache. He'd had a really rough night and was losing his patience with this prick. He carefully took the toy out of his son's hands and tenderly said, "Ellie will take care of your bunny for a while."

Tears welled up in Teddy's eyes, but he nodded and watched as Ellie gently hugged his toy. Meanwhile, Anderson, without any warning, pulled the boy's T-shirt up and held the cold stethoscope to the child's body. Teddy squeaked and jumped. Only Joel's quick reaction saved him from falling off the table.

"What are you doing?" he growled.

Anderson shrugged. "It's not my fault he's as weak as his mother."

And that was enough. Joel handed the boy into Ellie's arms and gently pushed her towards the door. "Wait with him in the corridor."

Ellie nodded her head. She herself was furious with this asshole.

As she disappeared through the door, Anderson hissed, "What, are you going to break my nose again?"

Joel smiled in a way that made Anderson uneasy and he took a step back. Joel pulled a knife from his belt and lunged for the doctor. He pushed him into the chair and with one hand squeezed his throat so that the man couldn't scream.

"No, I'll do something much worse to you," he growled from the back of his throat. "Now listen to me carefully. You will treat my son as your most valuable patient."

Anderson's eyes widened in shock. "Teddy, this is your..."

Joel laughed. "Yeah, and you'd better think it over." He slid the knife into the doctor's crotch. "You have body parts that are not needed. Without them, you'll still be useful."

Anderson swallowed and nodded. "I will be gentle..." he squeaked.

Joel nodded. "All right."

He opened the door and took the boy in his arms. He smiled and kissed him on the head. "Come 'bear cub', Mr. Anderson will be very nice now and apologize to you for hurting you."

He looked at the doctor suggestively, and the man nodded. "I'm sorry Teddy." He started heating the stethoscope and said, "He can stay in your arms while I examine him."

The rest of the examination went smoothly and Anderson was kind and gentle. When he had finished, he said, "Everything seems fine. Did something stress him out?"

Joel frowned. He wasn't sure if Anderson didn't know about your accident or if he was pretending. "Yes. He had a lot of stress yesterday."

The doctor nodded. "This fever, it could be a stress reaction or a mild cold. I'll give you pills, for him. Give him half now, half tonight, and half tomorrow morning. The fever should go down."

*

When they got home, Joel told you how the doctor's visit went. Of course, he skipped the part about the knife threat but you guessed something had happened when your son said, "Mr. Anderson was a bit rude, but then Ellie and I left and when we came back, he was already nice."

You looked suggestively at Joel, and he tried to avoid your gaze at all costs. Then you shot a disappointed look at Ellie. "You were supposed to keep an eye on him."

Ellie shrugged. "This as..." Joel grunted significantly. "This fool, he deserved it."

You shook your head and hugged your son as he began to fall asleep. You didn't really care what Joel did. All that mattered was that he got Teddy's medicine.

*

After three days, you finally felt fine. You weren't dizzy anymore and you didn't lose your balance. Your son's fever has also stopped. It was evening when you got up and decided to eat something. There was an unusual silence in the house. It was still early, but Teddy was already asleep, tired from the impressions of the last few days. But where was Joel? He took care of you all the time and you were impressed with how well he handled everything.

You walked into the living room and saw him sleeping on your couch. He looked so peaceful and you didn't have the heart to be mad at him for falling asleep in your house. You guessed he was dead tired after two nights of watching over you and Teddy. Plus, you knew your sweet little son turned into a little monster when he was sick. One minute he wanted juice, the next he was spitting it out and crying that he didn't want juice. And maybe he got it from you. Well, maybe, just maybe, you had Joel bring you a glass of cold water, and after five minutes you decided it was too cold and asked him for hot tea. And he, without whining, without a grimace on his face, obediently went to the kitchen. So yes, he had a right to be tired. You grabbed a blanket from the armchair and gently covered him. Then you crouched down at his face and felt that old sentiment. Joel's hair always looked as soft and fluffy, as your son's. Made to be combed with your fingers. And before you could stop yourself, your fingers had already sunk into his gray curls.

Joel blinked his eyes and you quickly pulled your hand away. He looked at you and started to move, but he was very clumsy.

"Sorry... I'll be up in a minute," he mumbled.

You shook your head, put your hand on his shoulder, and said, "You deserve to rest, sleep."

You saw how tired he was and that he was still half asleep, so when he spoke you weren't sure if he was aware of it.

"I wish I could have looked after you while you were pregnant."

You sighed heavily and understood. That's why he was sad. He wasn't jealous at all that Maria was pregnant. He was sorry because it reminded him of what he had lost and made him feel guilty.

"You're taking care of us now. That's enough," you whispered.

You ran your hand through his hair again and he closed his eyes and purred like a cat. A slight smile appeared on his face, and you thought maybe your son was right. Your touch really made Joel stop being sad.

A/N: Okay, so yeah, I messed up the timelines about Maria's pregnancy. I just forgot to mention it before, and it suited me perfectly here. Doctor Google told me that children can have fevers because of stress.

Part V

Part VII

Taglist:   @ajeff855​​, @anislabonis-love​​,  @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi​​,    @i-workwithpens​​, @milla-frenchy​​,  @quality-lust    @liatome​​  @sarahhxx03 @creedslove​​ @jojo-munson​​ @pascalislove​​ @sofiparallel  @goldenhxurs​​     @elliaze​​      @aestheticangel612​​  @cheyxfu​​  @orcasoul​​  @misshoneypaper​​  @prestinalove​​​  @yourusername1 @stevengmybeloved​​

[heterophobicdyke]

What’s the beef between you and kittyit?

This is the last time I’ll address this.

I used to have a radblr blog with like 20k followers on it back around 2009-2016 called mcdyke. Back then it was just common knowledge that kittyit was a political lesbian - she came on tumblr expecting more people to be down with it than people were. It was a whole thing for years. I can’t remember us arguing at the time, I just blocked everyone who was polilez but there was often drama about her political lesbianism that I was obviously around.

There was no beef directly between the two of us, from memory. But anyone who has spent one second around me knows I hold female homophobia to the same standard I hold male homophobia. Probably more today than even back then - I had a lot more faith in non-lesbian women back then. Political lesbianism is not just an opinion/belief I must tolerate but something that *needs to be called out*.

For anyone who doesn’t know what political lesbianism is, it’s the theory that you can/should “choose lesbianism” for feminist/political reasons if you’re male-attracted. It’s not the same as a lesbian who’s never been attracted to a man but has tried to fit in and pretend to be straight in the past (in whatever ways that looks). Political lesbianism is the knowledge you are not a lesbian, “choosing it” for feminism. It desexualises lesbianism by being more about “living lesbian” (meaning female-centred, separatist) as opposed to being a female homosexual.

Back to the story: I took many years off tumblr. Was out in the wild for a while just living as a regular human. Sometimes I’d start a new blog but I’d post very sporadically - I wasn’t fully in the community.

Heterophobicdyke got popular and I found myself back amongst it on radblr. I stumbled upon kittyit’s url which was a throwback. I saw her getting reblogged a few times before I clicked on her blog, wondering “do people know she’s a political lesbian? These young ones seem more anti-polilez than we used to be so it’s wild she’s still around unbothered. What does she say about it in 2024?” I searched “political lesbian” (or something of the sort) and came across a few things. Firstly, was this quote posted or reblogged many times over the years:

This is explicitly political lesbianism. Jeffreys is probably THE most well known political lesbian and, here, she’s defending/promoting political lesbianism. Again, if anyone tolerates political lesbianism as some “difference of beliefs” then they’re a homophobe. The very same people who point out the misogyny in men identifying as women think I’m mean for calling out male-attracted women for identifying as lesbians. So, I reblogged, pointing out the political lesbianism in the quote. I hit a nerve.

I started getting questions about the row. I told them what I’ve written above. But people justifiably wanted proof I knew kittyit was polilez and she refused/refuses to give a straight answer on it. I’m not some creep who has screenshots from decades ago. Like I said, it was seriously just radblr knowledge she was polilez and many avoided her because of it. Because people saw me as some bully for bringing political lesbainism up to Kitty, I felt pressured to find evidence in order to justify something I (and radblr years ago) knew to be true. When I returned to search her blog, a lot of other polilez shit under my original search terms had been deleted since our argument over the Jeffreys quote. Some people who remember pre-2016 kitty and knew what I was saying to be true sent me some screenshots they could find. I shared them. I was “mean” for it.

What this experience showed me is that radblr still has a polilez issue and therefore a homophobia issue. If she’d been a known misogynist or ableist or racist, if polilez was seen as the homophobia it is, would I have been wrong for bringing it up again?

A part of me does regret feeding into people requiring “evidence” of what I was saying, by feeling the need to go searching for screenshots to Prove It. I should have just said “don’t believe me then,” like I did with radicalstoner/milo/macroclit, until I was proven right. But I realised with the Kittyit situation that I’d made the grave error of thinking radblr hadn’t changed as much as it has. I thought there’d be more than enough people who knew exactly what I was saying. Those who did remember didn’t want to get involved publicly because kittyit clearly has a following, being on radblr constantly for like 14 years or whatever.

That’s the story. I take polilez shit seriously and I treated it like any other example of homophobia. I don’t regret that.

[keeksandgigz]

more eddie thoughts (they’re fluffy with a bit of angst); minors dni anyway pls <3

ok so i see sometimes eddie being written as super romantic like number one boyfriend of the year.

and yeah he’s a good boyfriend, but this kid has never had like a true reference of what actual love looks like bc yk his mom died and al is a piece of shit.

anyways so he doesn’t really know how to express his feelings when it comes to love because of how he grew up and how he was treated even at school. kid didn’t have a good support system outside of yk hellfire and even then it’s a different type of love.

so when he starts dating you he’s kind of stumbling in the dark for most of the beginning of it. and you understand because he’s never actually dated anyone (because he thought he was incapable of being loved)but you’re taking your time with him and helping him figure out what a real and loving relationship is supposed to look like.

and it’s been a few weeks and you still haven’t said the big l bomb yet, but you’re sure you love him and he’s sure he loves you but he doesn’t know how to say it.

so one day you’re back at his trailer, just spending time together, yk getting high listening to music (not much else to do in the 80s) and he’s asking you to put a record on while he’s rolling a joint for you two to share. and your eyes fall on the first record in his pile, which is “sabbath bloody sabbath.” you don’t know better so you put it on while he lights the joint for you.

by the time you get to that third track, “fluff” which is just guitars and piano and nothing else, you’re both blissfully high. he’s nuzzled into your neck, enjoying the state you’re in, lulled by soft skin and sweet perfume.

he feels protected, guarded. soft hums escape both your mouths, while the forgotten joint rests on an ashtray on his bedside table. a soft lullaby in the background, one eddie had forgotten about, because it was often not his speed.

but the song plays and he’s sure you’re about to fall asleep. it’s like a lullaby, and he’s sure he’s never felt more at peace before. you glowing in the dim light of the small window in his room, a soft smile pressed on your lips.

you cradle his head in the blissful haze of your high, and he’s sure he’s never felt like that before. like you’re a warm blanket over his heart, like the warm glow of a candle in a dark and cold room. you really are a warm glow.

so he nudges you, and you open your eyes from your daze. neither one of you had spoken for the past 20 minutes, ever since the weed hit. eddie breaks the silent vow.

“you know how i’m not good with, y’know, words?” he mumbles, soft and a bit insecure against your skin.

you nod your head, a humming sound following it.

“and i really enjoy spending my time with you, like, i’m always saying that we could be spending the rest of our lives here just doing this over and over and over” he rambles, the high getting to him.

you smile, he’s really not good with words.

“and it’s funny you picked this album today, out of all the albums i have. because my dad would play it often, and i remember when i was like four- and i don’t even know how i remember this because i probably do have some memory loss because i probably fell and hit my head too many times as a kid- and it feels funny that i remember this, like some kind of irony” he continues.

you just lay there, playing with his hair as he rests on your chest, nodding along to his stoned ramble

“but i remember my parents dancing to this, like one night my dad played this album instead of my mom’s bluegrass ones, and she protested ‘cause she didn’t want this kinda music so late. something about me not being able to sleep” he toys with the hem of his shirt, he’s nervous. your heart shrinks.

“but this song comes on, and my dad grabs my mom’s hand and they just start dancing in the middle of the kitchen, while i’m just doing god knows what. but that’s one of my few memories of them actually liking each other.” he sighs, you’re still wondering what his point is.

“and i don’t wanna be like my dad, but this song is just, god, it’s really what it feels like to be with you, like this” he says, gesturing at his room, at you, at the roach on the ashtray.

you gasp because that’s the most he’s ever been able to express, and he’s all flushed, because the mask is off, and now you know he loves you. and a smile creeps up your lips, because this boy everyone thinks is the devil incarnate is actually the most genuine and lovable man in this town. and you love him.

and, apparently, he loves you too.

[saphiccarma]

Title - who am I if I can't be of service

Relations: Natasha R x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Wanda M x Reader (all three platonic)

[A/N - Reader is written to be in the teen years fyi just because it fit in with making her Natasha's younger sister and the way she reacted to things. Not self-projecting onto this one at all]

You had been found by Natasha a year ago, red dust thrown in your face as you spluttered and recovered your memories. After you got through your confused daze, Natasha gently talked you through what had happened - how she and Yelena took down Dreykov (without you) and were working of freeing the widows.

You remember scowling at her, scoffing when she offered for you to join her and her avenger buddies, stalking off out the door and into the world. It was a bit disorienting with no clear idea of where you were, only your assignment (killing a rich politician who was most likely sipping on booze) on your mind. You explored the world for a while after that, but after catching a bad case of pneumonia - so bad you could barely keep track of the days or get yourself out of bed, you contacted Natasha.

The redhead picked you up with her usual smirk but a sad glint in her eyes at your weakened state. You had tried to appear strong, but your limbs shook a little and chest heaved with coughs. She took you back to the tower where you currently resided.

Over the past year you had gone on missions with them, proving to a valuable asset with your skill set and the way you could fit into smaller places. Despite the team's (Steve's) hesitance to let you join them on missions, even they (Steve) admitted that you did well. Inwardly you always preened at the praise, a warm feeling settling in your chest that you learned to realize was comfort.

A blow was thrown to your face, one that narrowly dodged as Natasha smirked at you.

"C'mon Sestra, I know you are better than that."

Ragged breath flowed through your lungs as you threw a punch back at her, just barely hitting and you stumbled forward. Feet tripping over one another, you fell onto the mat with a growl. Standing frustrated you got back into a fighting stance, sweat dripping down your forehead. Natasha frowned. Her eyes scanned you up and down as you waited for her que to be ready, but she straightened out of a fighting stance and shook her head you.

"We're done for the day," she said briskly, moving over to her water bottle and taking a swig.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you snatched up your own water bottle.

"What?" you scrambled after Natasha as she picked up her back and started making her way out of the gym, "but I can keep going!"

Natasha turned to face you, hand on the door handle, "Маленький волк (little wolf), you are sweating way more than me and I could hear you breathing heavily from when you laid on the mat. Get some rest." She didn't give you time to argue as she pushed down on the door handle and strode out of the room, leaving you with a scrunched and frustrated face.

Your lips twisted as you stalked out of the gym, feet taking you to the kitchen. Wanda was there, stirring a pot of what smelled like chicken paprikash. You meandered over, pout still apparent on your face since you decided not to control your expression. The witch smiled softly at you, frowning when she took in your sad face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, picking the laddle up to give you a taste after she tried it herself.

Even after being with them for a few months you struggled to eat food that you hadn't seen prepared or made it yourself, Wanda was probably the biggest help with that. Slowly, you leaned forward and swallowed down the sauce on the laddle.

You licked your lips, "Tastes good." after a moment of hesitation and boosting yourself up on the counter behind Wanda, "Natasha is being stupid."

Wanda turned to face you, lips twisting downward and nose scrunching as she did often.

"What makes you say that?" she plucked the cuff of her sleeve as you chose your words carefully.

"She- she just-," you huffed, "She is treating me like a child."

Wanda gave a breathy laugh, "That's because you are."

You scowled, eyes casting downward. People here liked to remind you that you were younger than most of them. It didn't feel that way. You had seen more horrors than Tony Stark. You had fought men almost as strong as Steve Rogers. You had encountered Wanda Maximoff before on assignment, the witch did not remember that - It was from a time when her brother was still alive. You had been in the Red Room longer than Natasha. The only people who had the right to call you a child were Yelena and Bucky - they were the only ones who could compare to what you went through.

It made this hot feeling bubble in your chest when people treated you lesser than them or like a child. Natasha seemed to be fond of doing that lately.

"But that's not the only thing bothering you," Wanda stated, still with a slight a Sokovian lilt, "Your thoughts are very loud, and while I can not hear them exactly, I can feel the frustration."

You pursed your lips, still not used to the concept of sharing weaknesses, "I feel weird."

Wanda tilted her head curiously, "How so?"

"When I breath," you began, pausing as if you wanted to actually wanted to share this, "My chest it- it is harder to breath than before. It feels like there's glass shards in my chest and air does not come easy. My heart feels like it skips a beat every now and then- like it's jumping up and down."

The witch pursed her lips, twisting the rings on her fingers, "Can you make sure this doesn't burn for me real quick? I'll be right back."

Annoyed at her attempt to avoid the conversation, you scowled to make your annoyance clear but nodded anyway as the witch left the room.

<_________>

Wanda stalked towards Natasha's room. The redhead's thoughts were loud with worry, the exact thoughts unclear. Natasha and Y/N were always good at masking their thoughts, but if their emotions were strong enough she could feel it. Gently tapping her knuckles against the door, Wanda waited for the older woman to open up.

Natasha opened the door, smiling when she saw Wanda, and greeting her with a raspy voice, "Hey."

The witch smiled, cheeks heating slightly as always, "Hey."

With a quirked brow at Wanda's silence, Natasha opened her mouth to prompt for an answer, "Did you need something?"

"Yeah- uhm, Y/N is upset," she stated, continuing upon Natasha's pinched face, "First she is upset you treat her like a child. Second, she says she is having trouble breathing."

Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose, "I figured. Her lips were turning blue during training but I didn't want to upset her."

"Yeah, well you failed at that."

Wanda supressed a squeak of embarrassment when Natasha raised both eyebrows at her bold comment. The redhead let out a soft laugh and assured Wanda she would talk to Y/N. The witch gave her a look, but nodded anyway and headed back to the kitchen to make dinner.

<________>

You were in your room that night after refusing Wanda's invitation to dinner despite the way your stomach grumbled at you to eat food. Ignoring it, you doodled on a notebook Steve got you - a hobby you had taken up once you saw the super soldier's own sketches.

A knock on your door shook you out of your drawing stage. For a moment, there was the temptation to ignore it, continue drawing and let whoever (Probably Natasha) was behind the door leave. The door was opened before you could make up your mind, Natasha making her way over and sitting down next to you on the bed. The soft mattress dipped under her weight as she peeked over to look at your drawing. You snatched the book up to your chest with a huff and glared at her.

"What do you want?"

Natasha smiled sadly at you, "I just want to talk."

You scowled at her, pulling your knees to your chest - sketchbook still secured between your legs and chest. Natasha mulled over her words with pursed lips.

"I think we should take you to see a doctor." For a moment you merely blinked at her, lips curling at the information, but unsure why you needed a doctor. Natasha elaborated upon your confusion, "I think there's something....wrong with your breathing. I didn't tell you but your lips turn blue during training and Wanda told me you said your having trouble breathing."

A heavy weight stung your chest when you heard Wanda told Natasha about your conversation, you hoped she wouldn't. Lips scowling firmly you shuffled away from Natasha, putting her at your back.

"аленький волк (little wolf)...." she trailed off.

"I do not need to see a doctor," you mumbled.

"We're just going to run some tests," Natasha told you gently, "I'll be there the whole time."

You could practically imagine her stupid soft smile, gently eyes that were so understanding and caring. The way her shoulders slouched invitingly and her head tilted in a silent invitation for a hug.

"Get out." you grumbled. You did not need to see a stupid doctor. You were fine.

"Y/N," she said your name with an underlying warning at your tone.

"Get out."

The redhead sighed, and her weight was removed off your mattress. Soft footsteps, barely audible, pressed down on the carpet as she made her way to the door, stopping once more to tell you, "Wanda made food and it's in the fridge if you get hungry."

There couldn't be something wrong with you, you decided. If there was something wrong with then what if they took you off missions? That was- that was the only thing you did around here. If you couldn't perform in missions then what if they kicked you out?

You forced yourself to breath, reminding yourself that Natasha would never do that. She would never kick you out, even if something was wrong with you, right?

<_________>

You did hungry, sneaking down into the kitchen early in the morning, pants swishing around your feet as the dim light of the fridge illuminated your face. Pretending the ignore the heavier set of footsteps entering, you snatched a fork out of the silverware drawer and dug into the chicken paprikash. Hazy eyes fixated on a point over your shoulder as Bucky slouched down into a kitchen stool, his long hair covering his eyes, but you could still feel the heavy gaze.

Silently, you set down your food and made him a cup of hot cocoa. It usually helped after nightmares. The older man accepted it gratefully, giving you a nod of thanks as you went back to your food.

"What are you doing up?" he croaked eventually.

"Could not sleep," you whispered, "And I was hungry." You raised the tupperware of food with a small chuckle.

Both of you sat in silence, other than the occasional sound of your fork scraping against the container.

"Natasha told me she wants you to see a doctor."

You scowled, placing the lid on the tupperware and shoving it back in the fridge. This was not a conversation you wanted to have, and Bucky seemed to know that, but he stopped you anyway.

"I know why you don't want to do it," he told you quietly, hand grasping your arm so you couldn't walk away, "I didn't want to go to the doctor when I first got back," he released your arm, "The doctors at HYDRA and the Red Room hurt didn't they?"

"Yeah," you mumbled.

Bucky tapped his metal arm, "I had to get this fixed. But I needed to see doctors so I wouldn't get hurt. Shuri, the princess of Wakanda, was only able to do the tech stuff. They didn't hurt me. They didn't touch me if I didn't want them to. They didn't put me in the chair. I promise you'll be safe. I can be there if you want."

The scowl on your face slowly dissipated, leaving the face of a scared teenager that only Bucky and Natasha saw, "But what if they-" you shrugged helplessly, not sure what the right words were. What if they hurt you? Wiped your memories? Used your weakness against you?

"Kiddo," The Winter Soldier let out a quiet laugh, "I doubt anyone would try to attack someone under the Avenger's care."

A small laugh escaped you at that, "I guess not," you paused before quietly whispering, "What if they don't need me anymore? What if something is wrong with me?"

"Oh Kiddo," Bucky sighed, "Natasha, all of us, would want you here no matter what. I know where you grew up it was different, but nobody would see you different if there was something wrong with you. I mean look at me!" Bucky gently patted your back, "Just think about it."

You nodded catching his metal hand as he retracted it from your shoulder, "Thank you Soldat."

<__________>

You ended up agreeing to see the doctor and after some fanagling, Natasha got you to take an Stress Test. It was this stupid test where they hooked you up to a bunch of wires, which you nearly cut off before Natasha confiscated your knife, and had you run on a tredmill. They took your blood pressure and oxygen levels and heart rate. You ignored the way your chest tightened in the middle of test and your heart fluttered like a butterfly.

The reports came back claiming you had performed above average for your age, but doctors wanted to do more tests due to some abnormalities. Natasha had managed to persuade you into taking more tests, one of which an echocardiogram.

Natasha approached you the morning the report was supposed to come back, a sad smile on her face.

"What is it?" you demanded, "What is wrong with me?"

Rolling her lip through her teeth, Natasha chose her next words carefully, "The doctors say that uhm-" she took a deep breath, "The doctors say you have a heart arrhythmia, which means that you'll have be on suspension"

The world slowed to a stop. There was something wrong with you.

"Get out." While normally you appreciated Natasha's blunt deliveries, it was the last thing you needed right now.

"Y/N-"

"Get out!" you screamed, hurling a pillow at her.

The redhead sighed heavily, but turned and headed out of the room.

You snatched another pillow from behind you, burrowing your face into it. Tears brimmed your eyes but you refused to let them fall.

There was this one girl in your class when you were 8, she had developed a heart arrhythmia, Dreykov made you cut out her heart. There wasn't supposed to be anything wrong with you. You were supposed to be perfect. You were supposed to be the star pupil. The one without any imperfections.

Who were you if not that?

If you were in the Red Room you would be dead, heart cut out like little Anastasia.

But now you are here, not in the Red Room. Now here, you are just imperfect, but you aren't meant to be imperfect. Your chest heaved from holding back the sobs that threatened to bubble out of your throat, you were meant to be fine. That's how you were trained. How you were raised.

Angrily, you threw the pillow towards the wall, leaning against the headboard with a frustrated scowl. Despite that your lips trembled as tears filled your eyes and blurred your vision.

Who were you if you couldn't perform perfectly?

[soulofapatrick]

Changes - Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Y/N joins Joel and Tess to deliver Ellie but you go into shock at an event somewhere between Boston and Lincoln 

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: character death; naked together but nothing sexual; mostly fluff

Y/N’s POV

Watching the way Joel tends to Tess' wounds makes me nauseous. A sick feeling deep in my stomach that you would get with a partner cheating, but that's just it. Joel isn't my partner and as much as I hate to I have always seen Tess as motherly figure in my life. 

They picked me up when they found out I was a smuggler because to them I was way too young for it be safe. I'm 26 but that's young in their eyes apparently as I barely remember the world before the outbreak. I was five and had my older brother looking out for me. 

Now we're sat in an abandoned house with carry cargo in the form of a sassy 14 year old girl called Ellie. She's currently passed out on one of the mattresses and honestly it's not a bad idea, especially the way Tess is giving Joel those stupid fucking heart eyes.

The mattresses are old but not bad, still very comfortable and in this house still clean somehow. Newly weds or family starters much have like just moved in just before the outbreak started because the place is immaculate. It's as if this house has been frozen in time and holds so many memories of the past with boxes of unpacked possessions. I'll never get over wearing other peoples clothes, wearing clothes of those less fortunate than you. I mean they definitely could be seen as more fortunate that they're not living in this crazy world. 

I don't realise I'm crying until there's shuffling and I'm surrounded by the safe and familiar scent of burnt coffee, musk and wood. Joel. He's gently manhandles me until my head is using his arm as pillow and his other is wrapped around my waist. We're laying on our left sides and I think my heart soars at that. He feels safe enough with me to sleep with his deafer ear up. 

Tess is on watch. Oh. He feels safe to do it with her guarding him. 

Joel huffs behind me, pulling me closer until my back hits his chest and he's pulling the blanket over us. He doesn't speak, he doesn't have to when his chapped lips ghost over the back of my neck and his cold nose bumps my hairline. He's telling me he's here and that I'm safe.  I'm safe with him but I want more; I want to feel love and compassion with him. 

"Sleep," His voice is low, trying not to wake Ellie, "I'm right here."

-----------

It must have worked because I'm being woken by firm hands shaking me. Bleary eyed I stumble to my feet and pack up my shit so we can carry on with getting Ellie to the fireflies and all that crap. Somethings off with Tess, both Ellie and I can sense it as we make our way towards Lincoln to find Joel and Tess' friends. They can apparently help us.

"Shit, Tess?" The words leave my mouth a few miles later when I notice the fatal marks on her neck when she turns back to look at Joel and Ellie who are bickering. She whips around, eyes dark and anger written all over her face as she hisses an almost inaudible 'shut the fuck up'. I just raise my hands in defeat because I'm not getting involved unless she goes to bite any of us later. I love Tess but she's stubborn and I know the risks of not telling Joel but I can't tell him now. He looks as happy as he's ever been since they found me, bickering with Ellie. 

It starts happening around four hours later: she begins twitching and it starts with her hands which she hurriedly shoves in her pockets. I keep next to her so Ellie and Joel are back and away from her, not wanting them to be harmed when she does finally jump which will happen. There is no cure so it's inevitable but she has at least an hour or so more. Or so I thought. 

"Are we almost there yeeeettttttt," Ellie's begun dragging her feet as we begin to see the signs for Lincoln and Joel just points at the sign with a sigh. I barely hear them because Tess has begun that warning twitch and there's a gurgling sound leaving her lips. 

"TESS NO!" I ram my side into Ellie so she tumbles into Joel who in turn stumbles, trying to balance them both as Tess moves. She's fast and the force of her weight on mine causes me to fall, hitting the rough concrete with painful force. I throw an arm up, holding it across her neck as she tries to bite me anywhere she can.  

"Please," The word is strangled as she seems to try and fight the virus, her eyes full of pain and tears. It makes me want to cry. There's a lump in my throat as I plunge my knife upwards, straight into her heart and my vision blurs as I twist it, watching the light fade from those sorrowful but barely human eyes above me. 

I have to squeeze my eyes shut as Tess' body is yanked off me, not wanting to move as her blood pools over my hand that is gripping the knife so tightly I'm losing the feelings in it. As much as Tess made me jealous, I loved her like a daughter loves their mother. She was the mother I never got to have and I… 

"Y/N," Strong and safe hands are prying the knife from my now shaking ones, "It's okay." Joel's voice is rough as he pulls me into a hug. My hands seek something, anything to hold and I'm clenching his jacket in my hands as the dam breaks. Ellie scrambles over, but Joel stops her getting too close as I sob into shoulder, the sobs becoming gasps as I feel the panic and reality of what just happened hits me. 

"I can't-" I'm gasping for air as panic takes over, "I can't breathe-" 

Ellie's got fear written all over her face as Joel moves so  he can grab my face in his calloused hands. His hazel eyes search mine before he's surging forwards. Rough lips moving against mine and all I can smell is Joel. My eyes flutter shut, moving into the kiss before he pulls away. 

"You kissed me…" I whisper, scared to speak any louder. 

"Yeah uhhh," He clears his throat, " I once read that holding your breath can stop a panic attack so when I well… kissed you, you held your breath." He clears his throat again, standing up. 

Without another word from him, Ellie is scrambling over and they're pulling me to my feet and guiding me forwards. I try to turn to look back at Tess but Joel puts his broad frame in the way and Ellie grabs my hand. The thought of her makes my bottom lip wobble but I don't cry again. I can't cry again. 

-------------

The walk to Joel’s friends’ house blurs by as all I can focus on is putting one shaky leg in front of the other while Ellie and Joel have a steady grip on each arm, guiding me in the direction. I barely process the buzz of an electric gate opening and closing or the new voices joining Joel’s. We go inside and I’m sat on a chair as people flit around me, the only constant being Ellie’s gentle fingers running through my messy hair as she stands next to me. I relax into it, letting my eyes fall shut and resting my head against her body, trying to focus and ground myself. 

I’ll get myself killed if I stay like this. I’m in shock, I’m aware enough to know that but every muscle in my body is acting like it’s seized up and my mind… all I can see and feel is Tess’ life draining from her body and the uncomfortable weight of her on top of me as the knife slid further and further… I lurch forwards, dry heaving and Ellie’s still got a hold on me. She’s pulling me back up and rubbing a hand in soothing circles on my back as Joel’s voice blurs into the background like radio static. 

There’s more movement then Ellie’s guiding me to my feet, through the house and to a bathroom where a bath is running. It could be a bath running or sound of my own heart rushing through my ears, I’m not sure anymore. I’m struggling to work with Ellie as she helps peel the blood soaked clothes off me, wanting to do it myself because she doesn’t need to see this or me naked but I can barely walk let alone get undressed. 

The bath stings when I step in but it’s a beautiful kind of burn. I sink into the water, ignoring the painful burning on my back from scraping it on the pavement earlier. I let my eyes slide shut again, resting my forehead on my knees that are pulled up to my chest and just focusing on the pain. I need to snap out of this. It’s dangerous. I’ve thought that before. 

“Darlin?” That familiarly gruff voice breaks through the fog and I turn my head to face the bathroom door, cracking one eye open to see Joel standing there instead of Ellie. He looks somewhat awkward as he moves to place a towel and some clean clothes on the toilet seat lid, ready for me after but I don’t move, “You okay?” 

He’s suddenly next to me, kneeling beside the tub and leaning over me to grab the body wash and wash cloth I didn’t notice were left out. The body wash smells of vanilla and times before the world fell apart, bringing back memories I didn’t realise I had. Memories of my younger brother and Malachai playing in the garden; of sharing a childish kiss with Jesse and the way my older brother would let me climb into his bed with him when I was scared. It makes my eyes burn but then again that might be from Joel gently cleaning the scrapes and open cuts on my back, I’m not really sure of much. Joel’s talking but he could be speaking Spanish for all I can make out but the sound of his voice is soothing so I just go back to resting my head on my knees and closing my eyes. 

He moves onto wiping the soft cloth down my arms then he taps my knee lightly. There’s concern in his hazel eyes, silently asking if it’s okay. I nod, uncurling myself and laying back, my aching muscles screaming at me because the heat is blissful. Joel’s loving hands cleaning me is even more blissful though, feeling the unspoken words through his every action. Sighing at the way his fingers expertly massage the sweet scent of strawberry shampoo and conditioner into my hair before he delicately rinses it out so not a single drop gets into my eyes. It almost makes me cry because I haven’t felt this much love since… well, since I had to kill my older brother. 

“Come on doll,” Joel guides me to my feet and out of the bath, the wash cloth’s softness being overshadowed by the towel that is currently being used to dry me. It’s like a blanket on the wettest and most miserable day you could imagine. The feather light kisses following every area dried adds to the bliss and love that has begun enveloping me. I’m malleable in Joel’s calloused hands as he dresses me then pulls me into a hug. 

Something in me snaps and suddenly I realise the gravity of what’s happened. I killed Tess and Joel just bathed me, not a single thing sexual about his actions. I killed Tess and we’re in Joel’s friends house. I killed Tess and Joel is now drying my hair with the hairdryer by the sink like it’s nothing. 

It doesn’t take long for my hair to be dry and Joel’s wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his head on my shoulder and meeting my gaze in the mirror. I just stare at us, my hands resting over his as I finally look at myself. My strawberry blonde hair has darkened to a coppery colour since the last time I got to really see myself and my green eyes are sunken into bags; my freckles are overcast by the scars. I remember why I try not to look at my reflection, so I never have to see the scars that mar my face because they’re so prominent and remind me of what happened. The main one stretches from just below my right eye to the left corner of my lip. The others aren’t as noticeable due to the size and length of this one but they’re scattered all over my body and I-

“Beautiful,” Joel breathes before placing a chaste kiss to my jawline. He shifts and the mood changes to a more somber one as he asks softly, “Are you ready to meet Bill and Frank?” 

I nod, turning to look up at him. He’s not that much taller than me, about 6 inches but it’s enough to feel small in his presence. It means I have to tilt my head further back to press a risky kiss to his lips before nudging him to lead the way. He freezes for a second, gaze softening before he’s clearing his throat and captures my hand in his to guide me through the house both feeling the sense of change between us. 

[devox2564]

In Your Heart Chapter 7: Softly, Slowly

Jake Kizka x fem reader

That night in Savannah…

The two of you stumble into your hotel room. You've been feeling the acrid rising in your throat since the elevator ride up. You dash clumsily to the toilet and barely reach it before heaving the liquor filled contents of your stomach. You won't remember anything before the rooftop tomorrow. 

You sit awkwardly straddling the toilet, sending steady streams of vomit into the bowl. You feel Jake enter the bathroom behind you and hear him let out a stifled laugh. He's just as drunk as you are, although obviously better at handling it. 

"If you're going to laugh at me just go." you say with a bit of a laugh yourself, attempting to look over your shoulder at him.

"If I go, you'll probably asphyxiate in the night." 

"That would be better than this." you hiccup.

"What kind of friend would I be," he approaches and attempts to crouch down next to you, failing and falling onto the tile floor  "if I let that happen?"

It's your turn this time to giggle, before a fresh wave of puke rears its ugly head. He scooches closer to sweep your hair up and away from your face. Your throat burns and your eyes are watering sending tears dripping off the tip of your nose. This fucking sucks. You haven't been this drunk in a long long time. Not since your mother died.

 His hands steady as minute by minute his drunkenness subsides slightly. This last bout seems to be the last of the night thankfully. After a few moments of relative relief, you turn around to face Jake and a wave of sadness intensified by the alcohol hits you. Real tears this time well in your eyes and fall. The numbness that the alcohol provides really hasn’t touched the pain that clutches at your bones. You can’t seem to shake the sick feeling when you visualize David with another woman. Although you aren’t sure why it was so easy to believe he would do such a thing. Jake is leaned against the wall looking at you and you fall into him as a loud uninhibited sob racks your body. His arms immediately respond, engulfing you in warmth and safety. 

He strokes your hair and begins to send a stream of "It's going to be alright"s and "he doesn't deserve you"s into your ear as the two of you sit together in a drunken heap. The sound of your pain has struck a chord and Jake's own tears begin to fall. Each of you feeling the wound left in the other’s heart. Two drunk, broken people together on the cold bathroom floor. 

Present Day.......

You're freshly showered and curled up on the couch of the bus. The lights of Nashville whoosh past as the bus merges onto I-65 out of town. You're still, even hours later, riding high on the performance. The four of you had all agreed that it would only get better as this leg stretched on. The crowd, the music, the energy. How could it get any better? You smile to yourself and click the television on, surfing channels mindlessly. The others had gone to bed long before the guys had shown up an hour late. Since then, everyone had retired and you were alone, unable to sleep. 

Moments like this, moments that should be nothing but happy, are hard for you. The past four years are littered with memories just like this: your first date with David, your first set at Tootsie's, the day you found out you were going to be part of a real band. They were all happy, but rimmed with sadness. You wanted to tell your mom about all of them. She was always the ear for your triumphs and mistakes. The best advice you'd gotten in your life had come from her lips, and even when her mind had started to slip you'd still told her everything.

Thinking of her, and what she'd have to say in this moment you grab your phone and dial her old number. You were still the primary on the account so her number was active. The voicemail message begins immediately and you hear her voice low and sweet. 

"This is Mariane, I'm away from the phone right now! Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." the phone beeps, ready for a message.

"Hi Mom, I miss you. I'm in a real band now, we opened at Bridgestone tonight. It went really well and I wish you could've been here to see it. I think you would've loved it. We’re headed to Chicago tonight on the bus. I love you Mom. Talk to you later." you hang up. A few years ago, this little ritual evoked tears. But now you were just happy to hear a little snippet of her voice and pretend she would just call you back later.

A little knock alerts you to Jake's presence as he enters the front of the bus. "Am I interrupting?" 

"Nope." you say and give him a small smile.

"Who was that?" he gestures to your phone.

"My mom."

"Oh.. I'm sorry.. I didn't.." he stutters

"I just like to hear her voice sometimes. Let her know how I'm doing." 

He settles down beside you and looks along as you stare at her name on the screen. 

"Mariane. A beautiful name." he says 

"She was the best. I want to tell her about all of this." you gesture around.

"Oh she'd love the bus." he flashes a grin at you.

"I'm sure she would." you laugh.

"I'm sure she'd be very proud of you." his voice is soft and he doesn't meet your eyes as he says this.

At these words your eyes do begin tearing, but you blink them back. You lean over and hug him with both arms, leaning your forehead against his temple. "Thank you."

"No thanks needed. I'm proud of you too." he says, brushing your words away.

Your heart tugs. You place your hand on his cheek and turn his face towards you. His lips are inches from yours, leaving only a small distance to close. You kiss him slowly, softly. Just one kiss, nothing like the one earlier that left you flustered and surprised. This is the first kiss that hasn't taken you by surprise. It holds lots of things. Curiosity, and gratitude, and maybe even a little bit of sadness, but it's also so achingly sweet that its almost painful to pull away. You sit for a moment leaning your foreheads together in the silence. Two people, trying to heal, sharing one breath. 

"You know we're going to have to figure out how to move that date up right?" you whisper.

"Yeah I know that." he whispers back, stroking your cheekbone and leaning in again.

"Ah, ah, ah.." you pull away and settle back into your seat. 

"Oh now that's mean." he rests his elbow on the back of the couch and pouts.

"A taste of your own medicine Jakey." 

"Jakey. Shut up, who are you? My brother?" he laughs and rolls his eyes, looking out the window at the road passing by.

You rise from your seat and make to move towards the curtain leading to the bunks. 

"And where do you think you're going?" he looks after you, still seated.

"I'm going to get some sleep I think." you reply, genuinely sleepy now.

He moves towards you, "Goodnight lovely lady" he pulls you in and kisses your forehead.

"Goodnight Jakey." you tease and poke him firmly in the chest pushing him back. "Be thinking on that date while I'm gone."

He stands and watches you disappear through the curtains, remembering the taste of your lips on his own. 

Back in Nashville….

A key slides into the apartment door and clicks silently open. He moves through the rooms to the bedroom. Leaning down he smells the pillow, drinking in your scent. Taking out a small recording device, he places it underneath the bedside table. Back in the kitchen, another one goes on top of the cabinets. Satisfied that he has the most important areas covered, David takes out the new copied key and inspects it in the dim light. He’ll have you back. No matter what he has to do to get you.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A little sweet moment + some creepy ex bf shit :P We’ve got a date coming real soon y’all. Some drama as well. I appreciate you all reading! Y’all are so sweet, every reblog and note makes my day!

See y’all soon!

-E

[the-flaming-nightmare]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Tagged by the amazing @anewkindofme 💙

Here's a snippet of a new PSON agere fic I started fairly recently; based on The Slap™ incident from episode 4 of S1.

"It took everything I had to walk into that cell–"

"Spare me!" Malcolm snapped, cutting his mother off. "You knew what he was doing."

Malcolm watched as a range of emotions crossed the woman's face in just a matter of seconds, before she settled on anger. He expected her to start shouting at him, maybe even slip up and reveal something damning, but he certainly hadn't expected what came next.

He didn't even see her raise her hand. All he registered was the sharp sting her hand left across his cheek, which was almost immediately followed by a burning sensation, as the momentum caused her nails to scrape his skin. It was by far the least painful thing he's ever experienced before, especially given his line of work, but the shock that overcame him was still enough to make him stumble aback.

He heard her gasp, but kept his gaze firmly set on the floorboards beneath him, mind desperately trying to comprehend what the hell just happened. He slowly brought the back of his right hand up, lightly grazing it over his now throbbing cheek and wincing when he made contact with the heated flesh.

"Oh God, Malcolm, I-I didn't..." She took a shuddery breath, all of the anger she possessed sounding to have disappeared. "I'm so sorry. I... I don't know what came over me."

He could take a guess. After all, it wouldn't be the first time she–

Malcolm's eyes went wide in horrible realization.

She had reacted with just about the same amount of aggression when he told her what–who he saw in that trunk all those years ago.

The thought of his suspicions possibly being proven correct instantly had tears flooding his eyes. As much as he wanted to believe she couldn't be capable of keeping a secret of that magnitude for so long, he had to remind himself that people were capable of just about anything given the circumstances.

He furiously blinked the tears away, before lifting his head and meeting his mother's gaze once more.

"I told you about the girl in the box, before I called the police." He paused momentarily, swallowing against the steadily growing lump in his throat. "You were wearing a red dress. You yelled at me, made me promise not to speak of it again."

At the mention of the dress, Jessica's eyes widened and her expression turned grim with recognition, before frustration began to creep back in to her eyes.

So, she did remember then, Malcolm thought.

"Your father's in your head, Malcolm. Can't you see that?"

Malcolm clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times, willing the tears to stay at bay until he was alone. "Well, so are you, mother."

The man moved to walk past her, but before he could get far her hand shot out towards him and attempted to grab his arm. He inhaled sharply, heart rate spiking as he flinched away from her with wide, frightened eyes, reminding him of that night when she held his arm in a death grip. Logically, Malcolm knew her intention had only been to stop him from walking away, but the suspicious and hurt part of him distrusted her even more now.

There was also something about the way she hit him that felt a little too Deja vu for his liking. It niggled at the back of his mind, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't place exactly why. Maybe... maybe his mind didn't want him to know the reason. Like with the memories of his father drugging him that his mind had sealed away for twenty years, maybe there was something else he wasn't being allowed to remember just yet.

"D-don't. Just don't."

She immediately stilled and pulled her hand back to her side, a mixed expression of hurt and anger blossoming over her face. "Malcolm, please, just let me–"

"No. I'm through with this conversation, mother. Please just leave. I want to be left alone right now."

Jessica sighed, rolling her eyes. "Malcolm, don't be like that. Let's just sit down and–"

"I said I'm done talking, mother! Just go–get out!"

Tagging (if you wanna): @angelique-of-the-volturi-guard, @snarkythewoecrow, @bat-to-da-robs, @tomwise, @adhd-mess, @sinninghowlter and anyone else who wants to join!

[nehswritesstuffs]

to be a captain is to be brave, to care, to love

Congrats--I’m the dumbass who posts fic for the wrong Straw Hat on another crewmate’s birthday lolol

9320 words; this hit me hard recently because, well, it just did (as in: I wrote most of this within the past few days); I have complicated emotions about Deadbeat Dad Yasopp and I guess this is my brain working through it; this does not take place in a continuity that contains Uta, mainly because I don’t really want to write her being a bratty little bully bc you know that’s what would happen; not an entire rewrite but does shift things a little bit to the left

to be a captain is to be brave, to care, to love; something very different happened on the day Banchina passed away: her son told the truth. [Usopp-centric slight AU]

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

She is dying.

That was the only thing that the doctor wrote on the paper before stuffing it in an envelope and sending it with a News Coo. That had been the week prior, and now it seemed as though the message was going to be for naught. He was sitting at the sick woman’s bedside, changing the compress on her forehead for a cool, fresh one.

“Where is Usopp?” she asked. The doctor shook his head.

“He ran off soon as I got here,” he replied, tone hiding the fact he’d told her twice already. “He’ll be back.”

“He’s such a silly boy.” She tilted her head and looked out the window at the clouds, bright and fluffy. “He has his father’s spirit.”

“Banchina…”

“No, he does; he’s going to become a wonderful person.”

The doctor sighed heavily. “I wrote to him.”

“Why…?” Her attention went back to the doctor, her eyes now sharp, all of her strength put behind them. “He was not supposed to know.”

“It doesn’t matter; he hasn’t come.”

“So you’d rather ignore the wishes of someone on their deathbed than let a free man enjoy the last moments he has at peace?” There was fire and venom in her voice, not heard by the doctor since they were young children. “It’s bad enough Usopp has had to watch me…”

“He deserves to know.”

“He deserves to be free.”

“He’s your husband; he should be here.”

“So you can torture him more?!”

“That’s not what this is and we both know it! It’s…!”

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” Usopp shouted from outside. Banchina gave one last glare before softening her face, not wanting a scowl to be how her son remembered her. “Pirates are coming! Pirates are coming up the slope!” The boy burst into the house and barreled towards his mother, tears streaming down his face. “Pirates are coming! That means that Dad’s back!”

“Usopp, sweetie, I need you to listen to me,” she said. “You’re going to have to be a good kid for me, alright? Make sure you grow into a good man, a good person, and never let them look down on you. Do you understand?”

“…but Mom…”

“I know your dad’s not there—please, don’t hate him for that. He’s very far away and can’t come back safely. It was my choice to stay here with you, and I’d do it over and over again…”

“Banchina, please…”

“I am talking to my son.” The doctor stepped towards the other side of the room at that, keeping his distance. “Please, Usopp, promise me you’re going to be brave, alright?”

“Mom…” Usopp’s tiny frame shook as he tried not to cry. “Just a little bit! Please!”

“I know what you’re doing, darling; don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“…’China…?”

Banchina froze as her eyes went towards the door, seeing Yasopp standing in the threshold, body frozen in shock. All at once he stumbled into the house, nearly tripping over himself as he went to sit on the edge of the mattress at his wife’s side. Tears began to escape his eyes as he brought her limp, cold hand in both of his.

“I told them not to tell you,” she said, looking away in pain. “I didn’t want your last memory of me to be like this.”

“No, I’m glad I could come… I’ll take seeing you one last time while sick than never see you again at all.” His voice cracked and squeaked in pain—this was never what he had planned on when he left those years ago. “I’m so sorry… you were the only one who made this place worth it for so long…”

Banchina simply hushed him and offered the strongest smile she could. Yasopp bent down and pressed their foreheads together before kissing her gently. A sob escaped him as he pulled away, confirming to the little boy in the corner precisely what he had feared.

Banchina of Syrup Village was no more.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“So, how old are you, lad?”

“Uh… six…?”

“Oh… well, that’s a fucking bummer.”

Usopp stared at the red-haired man sitting at the table in the town’s only restaurant, who was currently involved in taking a large swig of beer. He didn’t want to be around his house at the moment, since his father and the village doctor were currently having a shouting match. The boy escaped the row by heading into town, where he saw the rest of the pirates his dad had come in with.

This one was apparently the captain.

“Everyone in town says that you’re the one that stole Dad from Mom and me,” Usopp said. The captain shrugged noncommittally—couldn’t refute that.

“What did your mom always say?”

“She said that ‘Dad left following his dream, the sea, his freedom’.”

“Then I think you should listen to your mom, kid.” The man adjusted the straw hat perched atop his head and took another drink. “You know, soon as your dad got news about your mom, we came straight here. I wouldn’t keep him from what he needs for anything.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s my obligation, as the captain.” He paused as the waitress returned with food for the table, which he encouraged Usopp to sit and eat. “See, when you’re a captain, you need to figure out what it is that people need and how that’s different from what they want, and make it happen. Your dad always wants to travel the seas and very often needs to, but right now, what he needs is to be here.”

“You have a big crew—did they need to be here too?”

“No, but they wanted to come along, to support your dad, and it wasn’t anything that put a damper on their needs, so we all came along.” He watched as the boy’s face scrunched in thought. “It’s a lot to think about, I know. Don’t worry—you’re just a kid. You got time to figure it out.”

“What we don’t have time for is figuring out how this pit stop is going to impact our making it to the Grand Line without attracting too much attention,” said a tall, severe-faced man with dark hair. He took the smoldering cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out before beginning to eat. “We had a route, a plan, and none of it involved Yasopp’s hometown.”

“You can’t be so serious, Beck,” the captain chuckled. “We were planning on docking someplace for about a year anyhow… why not make it here?”

“…because I remember part of why it was so easy for him to leave to begin with.” He looked at the child currently nibbling on a fried chicken tender and sighed. “He really should have come here on his own and met up with us at the rendezvous point.”

“…and become a widow by himself…?”

“Minimize the impact on the locals—you know that.”

“Fuck…” It was then that Yasopp barged in the front door, looking fresh from a fight with a split lip and an impressive shiner. He found where his son was and blanched, going to his side immediately.

“You know better than to wander off on your own,” Yasopp gently chided. He removed the child from his seat and sat down, keeping his son in his lap. “We’re leaving soon as the captain is able to, okay?”

“Leaving…?” Usopp almost dropped the rest of his chicken tender. “Why…?”

“There are bad memories here,” Yasopp replied gravely. “I’m not going to make more by staying.”

“We can leave by nightfall,” the captain shrugged. He looked at the kid and raised his eyebrow. “Are you sure this is a good idea…?”

“If you grew up on a pirate ship, then I see no problem.” Yasopp picked up one of the neglected glasses of ice water and pressed the side against his black eye. “I’ll make sure to grab some things before we leave…”

“I’ll meet you at the house then, bye!” Usopp said. He wriggled out of his father’s grasp and ran out the door before any of the crew could snag him. Yasopp started to go after him, but was stopped by the captain.

“No,” the red-haired man said firmly. “He just learned he’s leaving. Let him make his peace with this place. Just because you never could doesn’t mean he can’t.”

Yasopp grumbled as he concentrated on the glass of water to his eye and grabbing a beer to occupy his other hand—captain’s orders sure were a bitch sometimes.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Usopp ran as fast as his tiny legs could take him. He ran through Syrup Village, dodging other residents, until he found a hole in a stone wall just big enough for him to shimmy through. On the other side was the expansive grounds of a mansion, which he rushed up to in order to knock on a very specific window. The little girl inside jumped in fright before running to open the pane.

“I’m leaving,” was all Usopp could get out, gasping for breath. The girl stared at him.

“What do you mean…?”

“My dad came… I’m leaving… today…”

“He what?! No way?!”

“Kaya, I’m scared!” The little boy began to shake terribly. “Dad came back, Mom died, and now we’re leaving and I don’t know when I’ll be here again!”

“…but why tell me…?”

“...because you’re the only one who’s nice to me!” He couldn’t bear to look at his friend, so instead he glared at a bit of wall as he cried. “I’ll come back to visit someday… I promise!”

“You gotta shake on it!” Kaya insisted. She stuck her hand out the window and waited for Usopp to take it, making direct eye contact. “You’re always talking about becoming a great warrior of the sea! Come back before you get too great, okay?”

“I promise!”

“Kaya? Sweetie? What’s going on in there…?”

“Usopp, run!” Kaya whispered. Her eyes were wide in not only fear, but excitement as well. “I’ll see you later, okay?!”

“Okay!”

The child sprinted off before his friend’s mother could investigate the room.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It had been an entire week and Yasopp wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

After making sure that his wife would get a proper burial and his son had everything he needed, he had returned to the ship with his six-year-old in-tow and the determination to do what Banchina would have wanted. Ever since they were young, she had encouraged him to find solace on the sea, to escape the glares and mumbled words of spite that came from the other villagers. She had always been too uneasy on the sea, and had insisted that she would be fine as he chased that freedom and acceptance he craved without her, and now… now she was gone and he had their kid, which was a bit more of an adjustment than he thought it was going to be.

Kids, for the most part, were messy creatures, and there wasn’t a lot of room for messes on a pirate ship. While Usopp didn’t have a lot of toys, he did have clutter that was liable to be underfoot, which wasn’t exactly a good idea. Limejuice had already fallen flat on his ass thanks to some marbles the boy was experimenting with, and Yasopp himself was already victim to a variety of mishaps involving the aforementioned marbles, a chemistry set that seemed to appear out of nowhere, and a slingshot armed with all sorts of things sticky and stinky.

“Thank fuck we’re almost at port,” the man grumbled. He watched as Usopp bounced around the galley in excitement at the prospect of somewhere new. Hongo nodded in commiseration, the pair both below deck due to particularly troublesome hangovers.

“Letting the kid run around on land would definitely be for the better,” Hongo said. “He needs to eat dirt.”

Yasopp turned slowly and stared at his crewmate. “What…?”

“You know—get dirty. Play with other kids.”

“I know you might have forgotten, but it’s not like the boy comes from a long line of kids everyone wants to play with. Banchina…”

“… was the only one to ever give you the time of day, I remember.” Hongo sipped at his water and grimaced at the sounds coming out of the kitchen. “Maybe some of her openness rubbed off on him?”

“If it did, then I hope the world is kinder to him for it,” Yasopp frowned. He was about to reach back into his memories when he heard Shanks’s voice from above, filled with both authority and excitement.

“LAND AHEAD! ALL HANDS ON DECK!”

“Oh! Did you hear that, Dad?! Land!” Usopp seemed to almost vibrate in anticipation. “An island!”

“I heard him, I heard him,” Yasopp grumbled. He and Hongo both knocked back the rest of their waters before depositing the mugs and heading above deck, with the small child all but dragging his father along.

A few minutes of the sea air rejuvenated Yasopp and soon he was helping out with the rigging, with Usopp standing by the prow in an effort to see where they were sailing. Shanks went up to the child and patted him on the head.

“That’s called Foosha,” he said. “We’re gonna stay there for a while, if the locals are amenable.”

“What’s that?”

“If they don’t mind that we’re pirates.” He saw that the boy’s eyes were still locked onto the small village at the island’s edge and smiled. “We need a place to operate out of—a base of sorts—in order to help build a name for ourselves.”

“Really…?”

“Yeah. Now get ready to go! You’re coming along on the first boat!”

The boy’s eyes went wide—he got to go! Important people got to go on the first boat! This was going to be great!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As it turned out, getting to go with the initial landing party was less exciting than Usopp imagined it would be—it was actually kind of boring. He had to stand there with his dad, Shanks, and Beckmann as the captain talked with this old man about terms of their stay and what the rules were and things like that. The boy fidgeted in place, which the village elder took notice.

“How very shrewd of you to bring him along,” the old man said. “I suppose you need a place for him to stay so he doesn’t see what you get up to?”

“Possibly, but I still take responsibility for my son,” Yasopp said, giving a short bow. “I can no longer leave him with his mother.”

“Ah.” The elder nodded knowingly. “We have a child like that here. Maybe your son will be a good influence.”

“Excuse my laughter,” Shanks snickered, “but that must be some rambunctious kid you got there if a pirate’s child is the better influence.”

“You’re just upset because Gramps didn’t take me!” shouted a tiny voice. The pirates saw a small child poking angrily around a woman’s skirt. “Maybe they’ll take me with them! Then I can finally get out of here!”

“Over my dead body, you little brat!” the elder snapped. The boy stuck his tongue out at him and the old man sighed. “The whole family is an odd bunch; it’s a long story.”

“We’re pirates—what do we care?” Shanks chuckled. He then put his hand on Usopp’s back and urged him forward. “Go play while us adults talk more boring stuff. How about it?”

The boy grinned at Usopp before coming out from behind the young woman. He launched himself at Usopp happily, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“Alright! A new friend!”

It might have been shrewd of Shanks, but it did work.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“So, you don’t have parents?”

“Nope!”

“…and it’s just you and your grandpa?”

“Yup!”

“…and he leaves you here because he’s a Marine?”

“Pretty much!”

Usopp stared at Luffy as the other boy poked at a beetle. He had spent almost the entire day wandering around with the kid and was trying to wrap his head around him, yet couldn’t. They were almost the exact same age, and yet he was being left alone? It didn’t make sense. Even when his mom died, at least his dad was there…

“What do you think he’d do if he came to town while the crew’s docked here?”

“Probably laugh and have a drink,” Luffy shrugged. “Gramps is never working when he’s here, so he doesn’t really care who does what unless it’s really bad.”

“…but we’re pirates. We’re supposed to be bad.”

“You don’t seem that bad to me.”

“Luffy, we’re six.”

“Yeah? And?”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Usopp frowned. He looked over his shoulder and saw that more of the crew was coming into port. Even Bonk Punch seemed small from this distance. “We’re brave warriors of the sea! We fight guys like the Marines!”

“You don’t.”

“Well, yeah, not yet… but I will!” Usopp stood atop a rock and pointed at the sky. “It’s my dream to be a proud and brave warrior of the sea one day! Just like my dad! I’ll even have a crew under my care!”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean ‘maybe’?!”

“You might be part of my crew!”

“Your crew?!”

“Yeah! If you’re gonna be like your dad, you’re gonna need a captain. You’ll need a Shanks! I can do that!”

“Then you’d have to fight your grandpa!”

“Oh, that’s just what we always do.” Luffy grinned and held up the beetle. “Isn’t this cool?!”

“It is…” Usopp agreed. The boys marveled over the bug for a moment before Makino popped her head out the back of her bar, calling them in to wash up. “Is she, like, your sister? She’s not your mom.”

“I guess? I dunno. She feeds me and makes sure I’m okay. Is that what sisters do?”

“It’s what my mom did for me, but I guess a sister can too.”

The boys piled into the back kitchen and went directly to the sink. “Makino? Are you my mom or my sister?”

“Luffy!”

“He’s alright, Usopp,” the woman laughed. “Now, are your hands clean?” Both finished washing their hands quickly and showed her for inspection. “Good, now your dinner’s at the bar.”

“Alright!” Luffy cheered. He brought Usopp into the main of the bar, where the Red Hair Pirates were already beginning to settle in for an evening of partying. Two plates of food and glasses of milk sat on the bartop, where Luffy and Usopp both sat down and began eating.

“Wow! Miss Makino’s cooking is really good!” Usopp marveled. “It’s amazing!”

“Yeah!” Luffy agreed. “She’s the best!” He then chewed the food he already had stored in his cheeks thoughtfully. “That’s someone I’m going to need for my crew: a really good cook!”

“I can cook!”

“No you can’t—you’re six.”

“Yeah, and I cooked for my mom! She showed me how to make sandwiches and boil macaroni for cheese!”

“That’s not real cooking! Real cooking needs meat!”

“Boys, boys, relax,” Shanks said, coming up to the bar to grab a bottle of grog that had been left out for him. He tossed it over to Snake, who pulled the cork out with his teeth before he began drinking. “Let’s focus on the fact that you agree the lady’s cooking is superb.”

“Flattery will not get you very far here, I’m afraid,” Makino chuckled as she came out of the kitchen. She passed Shanks two plates of food, which he took with a suggestive wink. “I should rat you out to Woop Slap.”

“I do enjoy living dangerously,” he laughed, bringing the plates out to the crew. Luffy and Usopp simply stared at each other, confused.

“Don’t worry about it,” Makino chuckled. “Now finish your dinner and you can go play upstairs, okay?”

“Okay!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The next morning, Usopp and Luffy went down the stairs to find the entirety of the Red Hair Pirates still passed out in the main area of the bar. Usopp even poked his dad, who kept on snoring—no luck.

“Come on, you,” Makino said, guiding the boy over to where she had set out food. “If you don’t eat, Luffy will finish your plate for you.”

“No! Don’t you dare!” The boy hopped onto the bar stool and began hoarking down his food, needing to smack Luffy away a couple of times in the process.

Yeah, Makino thought, this was right.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Time passed.

The Red Hair Pirates would leave Usopp in the care of Makino, returning a few weeks later with all the treasure and tales of adventure the boy and his friend could want. He would practice with his slingshot, or his chemistry set, or anything else he could while they were gone, making his dad beam with joy and pride when he told and showed him everything he accomplished.

Time passed, and the year mark crept ever-closer.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Makino let out a blood-curdling scream, the sound of which went directly into Usopp’s young bones. Both of them were standing on the edge of the harbor, watching as Shanks intimidated the Lord of the Coast with just a glare, but not after losing an arm as he went and rescued Luffy.

“Fuck! We need to get out there!” Yasopp cussed as he ran towards the pier.

“Everyone! Clean up the rest of the bandits!” Beckmann ordered. “We got this!”

“Aye, aye,” Roux said. He and the rest of the Red Hair Pirates charged at the last of Higuma’s gang, while Yasopp and Beckmann rowed out to where Shanks was treading water. This left Makino alone to sink to her knees, completely in shock, as Usopp trembled next to her.

“I told him not to make them mad…” the boy shivered. “Why didn’t he listen?!”

“I… I don’t think it would have mattered,” Makino said, her voice quiet. She looked at Usopp, her eyes glassy with tears, and held him by the shoulders. “This is not your fault.”

“…but Miss Makino, I…!”

“The only person who’s at fault is the bandit, and he’s now dead,” she insisted. She then brought him in close for a hug. “Don’t you ever think otherwise, you understand?”

“…but…!”

“I know you plan on being there for Luffy, and I need you to know that it’s not your fault, got it? Sometimes… things happen… and we can’t change it, but we can control how we act for them.”

“O… okay…”

It was then that Yasopp finished rowing back to shore, with Beckmann attempting to hold Shanks still while Luffy sobbed uncontrollably. Hongo appeared with his emergency kit, attempting to stop what was left of his captain’s arm from bleeding out right there on the dock. Yasopp threw Luffy over his shoulder and brought him to Makino, who grabbed onto him tightly.

“I thought… I thought he could…” she said unsteadily.

“He was so concentrated on saving this little guy that it was too late,” Yasopp replied. He stroked Luffy’s hair as the boy cried into Makino’s shoulder before turning his attention to his own son. Scooping up Usopp in a hug, he ignored the fact that he was currently sopping wet and covered in his captain’s blood—all he needed right now was his boy. “I’m so glad he didn’t get you too—the fact both of you are safe… it’s worth more than any treasure.”

Shanks bellowed in pain, causing all four of them to recoil. Usopp stared at the man as he writhed under Beckmann’s hold and Hongo’s attempts at treating him.

‘A captain has to know what his crew needs,’ he thought. ‘He needs to make it happen. Luffy needed to live… and he made that happen…’

There, on the little pier at the edge of the little village, the little boy in his father’s arms realized something very, very important: a captain was not a captain unless he had a crew, and once he had them, he should be prepared to do everything for them… even die for them… just like his mom died taking care of him.

A captain took care of his crew.

A crew is a captain’s greatest treasure.

The people one cared for are worth more than all the gold in the Grand Line.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It took a few days until Shanks was able to be let out of bed. Hongo and Makino took turns watching him, waiting for the fever that set in to break, hoping he hadn’t lost too much blood. Once he was up and moving, Luffy seemed to completely forget that Usopp existed, instead clinging to the man who saved his life. It made sense to the other boy, but it still didn’t mean that he wasn’t at least a bit jealous.

It was a week since what the village was officially referring to as the “Bear Incident” and the Red Hair Pirates were enjoying themselves in Party’s Bar. Usopp was sulking in a booth while eating with his father, with Monster passed out on the opposite bench seat. Yasopp looked at the pouting lad and felt his nerves messing with his stomach. Fuck… why was this so difficult? He leaned in and lowered his voice so that only his son could hear.

“Usopp…?”

“Yeah, Dad?” He put down his fork as he saw that his father’s face was sad and full of worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to know if you like it here.”

“I do!” the boy replied, perking up. “Makino makes good food, and the people here are really nice, and Luffy’s, like, my best friend! After Kaya of course! Why?”

“Well… because…” Yasopp exhaled heavily, not enjoying his position. “Shanks wants to move on soon.”

“Move on…? To a different island…?”

“To the Grand Line.” He scratched his son’s scalp and watched as he grew quiet. There was something criminal about the boy having his hair and complexion, but his mother’s nose. “It’s very dangerous, you know, to be on the Grand Line. It’s more dangerous than fighting the Lord of the Coast. Even people who are born and raised there can’t survive.”

“I don’t think I want to go to the Grand Line.”

“…which is why I was talking with Miss Makino earlier, and her and I think it would be better if you stayed here, in Foosha.”

“What about you…?”

Yasopp bit his lower lip and breathed in deeply, trying to keep himself composed. “I can’t stay. I’m a sailor, and the sea calls to me. It’s why I never was around before—it’s too strong for me to resist.”

“Oh… is that why everyone but Mom said bad things about you back in Syrup? Because you can’t tell the sea no?”

“Yeah… something like that.” He then let out a slight chuckle. “Besides, not only am I a sailor, but a pirate. Mister Woop Slap says pirates can’t stay here for too long, or Luffy’s grandpa might come and beat them up.”

“Luffy says that’s just what his grandpa does like normal,” Usopp deadpanned. Well, it had been worth a shot. “It’s nice when you’re gone, but it’s better when you’re here.”

“Tell you what: I’m going to let you stay here with Miss Makino, where it’s safe and you have good people around you, and in the meantime you are going to do your best to become big and strong. When you do, come to the Grand Line and find me. How does that sound?”

Usopp broke into sobs, clinging to Yasopp’s shirt. The kid was unintelligible through his tears, but his father held him in his arms and pat him on the back, soothing him best he could.

“You’re one of the best things I’ve ever done, you know that?” he crooned. “I can’t bring you to the Grand Line and let you die. Then who will I have to live for?”

“I’ll miss you so much!”

“I know… and I’ll miss you too… but you have to be brave, Usopp. Be brave for me… and be brave for your mom. Please?” His son nodded into his chest. “There’s a good lad. I’ll always be proud of you… for everything that’s happened to us in the past year, you’ve been taking it very well.”

“When are you going to leave…?”

“Tomorrow.” He offered Usopp a smile and pat his hair. “Just remember that you have to let whatever happens to you push you forward, not back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Different people get pushed differently by the same things, so don’t compare yourself or get too worried. You’re your mother’s son—nothing is going to keep you down for long. I know it.”

Usopp wiped his nose on his arm and laughed weakly. Yeah… he guessed so.

“Until then,” Yasopp said, “let’s party! Go get some cake from Lucky Roux! Big slices! Go on!” He shoved his son from the booth and watched as he scurried across the dining area to where their large crewmate was lording over an even larger cake.

What was harder? Leaving his kind and understanding wife and a baby who didn’t know him or his son just as they were just becoming acquainted? He didn’t think he had the answer, nor did he want one.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Dawn was just beginning to break and wash Foosha Village with a lovely golden glow. The Red Hair Pirates all were asleep where they had been partying in the bar; even Usopp was curled up in his father’s side… that was… until Luffy began to shake him awake.

“Hey, Usopp! Get up!”

“What is it?” the boy asked groggily.

“I’m hungry, and no one else is awake to cook.”

“What about Miss Makino?”

“Her door’s locked.”

Usopp groaned and tried to shake his father awake—nothing. So, instead, he found a lockpick set on one of the other pirates and went up the stairs with Luffy. He worked patiently, eventually getting the door to give way. The pair went into the dark room and tugged at the blankets, rousing the sleeping adult.

“Miss Makino!” Luffy whined. “We’re hungry!”

“Oh fuck…” was the reply, except it wasn’t Makino…

“Captain…?” Usopp frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I… uh… fell asleep talking to Miss Makino. She’ll be down in a minute.”

“…but Shanks! You’re naked!”

“I know Luffy, just… fuck… go play until Miss Makino calls for you, alright?”

The boys left the room disheartened, but also very confused. Why was the Captain in Miss Makino’s room? It took until they were outside watching the bugs hum to life in the sunrise before Usopp realized what had happened, hitting him like a ton of bricks.

Luckily for him, the scream he let out was the same he made when a bug took him by surprise, so no one awake in Foosha paid him any mind.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

After a tearful goodbye at the docks, the Red Hair Pirates sailed off without their youngest member. The boy and his friend watched until the ship could no longer be seen on the horizon, heading off to the forest afterwards to go play with bugs. They did that for a couple months, playing during the day and pretending to be pirates up in their rooms at night, until one morning, Usopp came down the stairs and saw that Luffy was not there.

“He’s gone?!”

“Yes; his grandpa came this morning and took him to the mountains,” Makino said. “We can go visit him in a couple weeks, if you’d like.”

“A couple weeks?!”

“We’re supposed to take food up to the Dadan Family around then—that’s who he’s staying with.”

“Th-th-the D-d-d-dadan Family?! Is Luffy going to be okay?!”

“Pretty sure; his grandpa wouldn’t take him there unless the thought it would be for the best.” She watched as Usopp sat down at his usual bar stool while seeming very conflicted. “I told him about you, by the way.”

“You did…?”

“I did. He likes that Luffy has a friend in you. For the meantime, it’s probably better you stay here, with me, in a place that’s not a bandit-infested forest.”

“True, true,” Usopp nodded. A plate of food was then placed before him, brightening his expression considerably.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Kaya,

It’s me, Usopp! I know we haven’t spoken in a long time, but I thought I’d write to you now that I know where I’m staying! There was enough left over in my allowance to get some paper and Coo fee, so here I am!

How are you doing? My dad left me in a different village, where people are nicer than the ones in Syrup. It’s called Foosha, and it’s in Goa Kingdom. I live with a lady named Makino—she’s really nice! You’d like her! She owns a bar and I help out sometimes. It’s the only one in town, so lots of people come by. Pirates, Marines, bounty hunters, bandits—we see them all! I’m saving the money I make so Luffy and I can sail to the Grand Line when we’re older! Maybe you can come along too?

Oh, yeah, that’s right: you’re my first best friend, but Luffy’s my second best friend. He used to live with Makino too, but now he lives in the mountains with his brothers Ace and Sabo. Luffy ate a Devil Fruit! He can stretch! It’s pretty cool, but not as cool as my shooting skills! I’m getting really good and some day, I’ll be better than my dad!

Okay, it’s time to wrap up now. It’s almost time for bed. I’ll send this in the morning.

Usopp

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Luffy! Luffy, where are you?!”

Usopp looked around the treehouse, trying to find his friend. While it wasn’t unusual for him to not be there, at the same time it felt as though something was off. The boy shuffled around in an attempt to find any of the hideout’s usual suspects and got nothing.

Huh.

Shifting his backpack, Usopp cautiously wandered the forest in search of his friend. It wasn’t really like Luffy to not be around during Supply Day, when he and Makino brought food and drinks and other things up to Curly Dadan and her bandit crew. He was getting pretty good at dodging the dangerous parts of the forest—the things that Luffy’s grandpa said would make him stronger—and was actually beginning to like the place.

Except, when he finally found Luffy, he and Ace were standing near a cliff, the younger sobbing as they watched the Grey Terminal smolder in the distance. A couple sticks tied together into a cross had been stabbed into the ground and something sickeningly familiar coiled in the pit of Usopp’s stomach.

“Luffy? Ace? Where is Sabo?”

Ace was the one to turn around first, his face more dour and serious than the other boy had ever seen. “The Celestial Dragons murdered him. They didn’t care that he was just a kid.”

“I hate them!” Luffy hissed. “I want Sabo back! We made a promise…!”

“That’s not gonna help!” Usopp snapped. He then gasped, shocked at his own outburst, and softened his tone. “Wanting a dead person to come back isn’t going to do anything, like when my mom died. You have to be brave…” He then looked down at his hands—chapped from experiments with his chemistry set and wiping tables at the bar—and began picking at his fingers. “You have to let it push you forward.”

“Smart,” Ace nodded. He watched as Usopp pulled some food from his backpack and offer it consolingly to Luffy. “You sure you don’t want to stay here with us? There’s an opening now and… well… Sabo did like you. He’d like you being our third.”

“I can’t replace him,” Usopp said, shaking his head. “Besides, I learn a lot in the village! I don’t want to stop learning because I’m out here fighting to survive!”

“Fair,” Ace chuckled. The smile on his face was genuine, which made Usopp feel better.

“Then you and I can go!” Luffy insisted. “Ace and Sabo were already going to leave me behind! I can be co-captains with Usopp!”

“Luffy, that’s a lot of responsibility,” Ace warned.

“Well, yeah, but I’m gonna get stronger! And stronger! And stronger! And Usopp’s gonna get smarter, and we won’t let anything beat us! We won’t let anything like what happened to Sabo happen again!”

“We’ll do our best,” Usopp agreed. “Because that’s what friends do, right?!”

“Shishishi—right!” Luffy grinned through the remainder of his tears and snack. He and Usopp clapped their hands together, sealing the deal.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a busy afternoon in Foosha Village, with many ships at the port on their usual trade stops. In Party’s Bar, the young teenaged busboy hurried to clear tables and wipe down surfaces, moving quickly as he worked.

“I’m gonna go wash some dishes, Miss Makino,” Usopp said, presenting her with the full tub. His boss was mid-pour of some beer and nodded as she finished it off.

“Let me know when you’re done, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am!” He carried everything into the kitchen and found that the water from when he did glasses a few moments earlier was still hot. Taking advantage of that, he got right into washing dishes, not even noticing that someone else had slipped into the kitchen behind him.

“Usopp, I’m bored!” The teen nearly dropped the plate in his hands at the sound of his friend’s voice. Turning around, he saw that it was definitely his best friend and co-captain, having snuck his way in without a problem.

“Luffy, I’m working.” He put his hands on his hips and scowled. “Don’t you know what a job is?”

“Jobs are boring—let’s go have fun!”

Usopp stuck his head out the kitchen door with a scowl. “Miss Makino! Luffy’s being a bad influence!” The woman in question simply smiled as she dried a glass with an expert hand.

“You’ve been working very hard, Usopp,” she said. “I think you’ve earned a bit of time with Luffy being a bad influence. Go on.”

“…but…!”

“Go! Go!” She shooed them both out through the back, insisting she had things covered until dinner. The teens then found themselves wandering around, with Luffy eventually bringing them to sit on the cliff overlooking the harbor.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Luffy wondered, his gaze unfocused over the ocean. Usopp shrugged.

“Ace might have made it to Logue Town by now… and my dad’s in the Grand Line, so I dunno…” He looked at his friend and wondered. “Are you sure you want me to sail with you?”

“Well, yeah, of course I do,” Luffy insisted. “You’re my friend and co-captain! Like how Ace and Sabo were gonna be co-captains!”

“…except, Ace and Sabo were brothers—your brothers—and I’m just a kid who lives in town.”

“That doesn’t make it different.” Luffy then laid down, turning his face to the sky. “We’re gonna do great things once we get to the Grand Line!”

“The two of us?”

“Well, yeah, but of course we’ll have a crew first. I’m sure Shanks and your dad will laugh at us if it’s just us two in a dinghy.”

“Ha, yeah…” Usopp hugged his knees and frowned at the ocean waves. “Doesn’t mean it’s not scary.”

“Shishishi—of course it’s scary!” Luffy laughed. “That’s the whole point of adventure, isn’t it? Doing things and seeing places other people are too scared of? Being more free than anyone else out there?”

“I guess, but…”

“You worry too much, Usopp.”

“Maybe that’s because you don’t worry enough.”

“Mmm… probably. But that’s okay. We’re still the captains, and that means we’ll take care of the crew and each other. That’s what counts, right?”

“Yeah… I guess it does.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Usopp admittedly wasn’t entirely prepared for when he set out from Foosha Village with Luffy, but he didn’t think that things would be as crazy as they became.

Making a new friend while surviving a mace-wielding nutcase? Check.

Recruiting a bounty hunter to the crew so powerful he was referred to as Pirate Hunter? Check.

Letting their new friend go off to do something as insane as join the Marines?! Check.

Team up with a girl to fight against a murderous clown that could slice himself into tiny bits? There was not enough insanity Usopp could conjure to have predicted that one.

However, when the young woman said that she was a navigator, there was a single request he had for where they would go next.

“So, this is where you’re from?” Nami asked. She raised an eyebrow at the sleepy little town. Their small boats were moored by the harbor and they were now walking along the path that led into the village. “There’s not a lot to it, is there?”

“No, but it’s still important to me,” Usopp said. “Let’s go see what’s going on these days!”

“Are we going to visit Kaya?” Luffy asked. Zoro and Nami looked at each other, then Usopp.

“Who’s Kaya?” Zoro wondered.

“Oh, that’s just Usopp’s super-best friend when he lived here!” Luffy explained. Usopp began to blush, which made the other two smirk. “He only talked about her, like, all the time when we were growing up!”

“We wrote a lot after I left, so we’ve been keeping in touch.”

“Well then, let’s go meet her,” Nami grinned.

Usopp swallowed hard—that was the look of a woman on a mission, and he wasn’t entirely certain he liked said mission. The crew meeting Kaya was sort of the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. He knew it was inevitable, however, and continued to lead them into the village, where everyone stared at them with some form of curiosity or disdain.

“Some welcome wagon this is,” Zoro noted as someone closed some window shutters at the sight of them. “I’ve gotten better receptions in dive bars in my bounty hunter days.”

“Well, Dad wasn’t too popular with the village, and Mom defended him, so she wasn’t liked a lot either,” Usopp shrugged. “Before I met Luffy, I only ever had one friend…”

“…and that’s this Kaya…?” Nami finished. He shrugged—well, yeah. “Do you think she’d like to come along?”

“Probably not—she’s been sick since her parents died a couple years ago. Even if she wanted to go, she’d likely need a doctor to come along too, and I don’t think any of us are good enough at medicine for that.”

“No, I guess not,” Nami said. She then noticed that they had walked past the last house, continuing on the path. “Uh… Usopp? Where does your friend live?”

“Right outside the village,” he said. “It’s how we became friends—we both didn’t live in the main part of the village, so we were practically neighbors!”

Except the crew didn’t expect his “neighbor” to live in a literal mansion, where the door was answered by a tall butler with slicked-back black hair and eyeglasses.

“Miss Kaya is too ill to visit with the likes of you; now go away.”

“Who the hell are you, telling me Kaya’s not doing well?!” Usopp fired back. He glared at the man standing in the doorway to Kaya’s house, unsure of the aura he was giving off. “I’m the Dread Captain Usopp, and I’ve been Kaya’s best friend since we were kids!”

“I’ve never seen you before,” the man sneered. He looked over Usopp’s shoulder at the rest of the crew, who were standing a few paces back. “Now you hooligans better leave before I call the police!”

“Klahadore! Don’t!” It was then that Kaya appeared at his side, looking rather cross. She also looked extremely frail, which was a distinct change from the girl who Usopp used to climb trees and play tag with. “This is the friend I’m always writing to! It’s him!”

“Miss Kaya! You should not be up!”

“My friend is back! That’s reason enough!”

“This is a charlatan, not your friend; besides, you are in no state to receive visitors.”

“Huh…” Nami muttered. “This is more interesting than I thought.”

“I’ll say,” Zoro agreed. He glanced over at Luffy, seeing that the captain’s fist was clenched. “Oi. Let Usopp fight his own battles.”

“This guy pisses me off,” Luffy said. “Usopp lies, but not about important stuff. Kaya’s one of his most important people.”

“I don’t know if that’s up for us to determine,” Nami added.

“We’ve been writing to each other to years! I’m her friend!”

“Miss Kaya has been corresponding with a young man from the city with prospects and standing,” the butler sneered. “You look like someone with neither.”

“That’s what Mother and Father told you so that you wouldn’t worry!” Kaya said. “We knew your ship was sunk by pirates, and that’s what Usopp’s dad is, but he’s a good guy!”

“Pirates are nothing but cowards and scoundrels.”

“Mother always said that his father was unjustly blamed and his mother brave for loving him! She hated having to stand by and watch, but she remembered! They were brave and loving people!”

Usopp sucked in a breath—he never heard anyone describe his parents in such a way. If that was what Kaya was always told, then maybe… was his dad wrong about this place?

“I cannot let us waste more time with these degenerates,” the butler said.

“Klahadore, that is enough! I command you—!”

Everyone went quiet as the butler slapped Kaya across the cheek. She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth ajar. Usopp froze in shock, unable to move. Luffy made a motion to hit the guy back, but Zoro put a hand on his shoulder. Not yet.

“Now look at what you made me do,” the butler hissed. “Your parents left your care to me, and now…” He looked at his own hand in irritation, which he then turned to Usopp. “You four are not welcome here. Do not attempt to contact Miss Kaya any further. Good day.”

The door closed in Usopp’s face and the teen—still in shock—could only gape.

“What the fuck…?” he breathed. “Kaya…?” He pounded both fists on the door and screamed her name at the top of his lungs.

“Come on,” Nami said, gently pulling him from the door. “We’ll figure something out.”

“…but…!”

“She’s right; let’s go,” Luffy frowned.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was the dead of night as Usopp snuck onto the grounds of Kaya’s mansion, heading directly over to where he remembered her room was. He knocked gently on the windowpane and stepped back, waiting for her to get out of bed. Soon as she opened the window, he hugged her tightly, an act which she returned.

“I can’t believe he did that,” he whispered. He then held her at arm’s length and tried not to gasp at the sight of her in the moonlight. “Has he ever done that before?”

“No… and he’s been apologizing since,” she replied. “I… I should have told you sooner…”

“Come with us,” Usopp blurted out. “We can get you out of here, see the world…”

“You know I can’t…!”

“We’ll just get a doctor on the way; it’s a priority anyhow,” he said. Seas… had Kaya always been this pretty? “Please…”

“I’m too fragile…”

“…from staying in this room! Come with us! Let me take care of you! Don’t tell me after all you wrote that you don’t want to see what’s out there?”

“Usopp, you know I do, but…!” She was cut off by the sound of someone else in the house, just outside her door. “Quick! Hide!” Usopp was just out of sight when the butler entered the room. “Oh! Klahadore! You didn’t need to come in!”

“You didn’t answer and I was worried,” he said. “Why is the window open?”

“I was a bit warm,” she lied. “Besides, I’m a bit restless.”

“Are you thinking about that boy again?”

“My friend, even if you don’t believe me.”

“Your parents left you in my care—it would be a great dishonor to their memory if I didn’t question the boy and his intentions regarding you.”

“His intentions…? Klahadore, his intentions involve going out to sea and becoming a proud warrior. He made a promise to visit me before he did, and he tried, and you ruined it.”

“A pirate’s child turning pirate is worse than both those things put together. His blood is poisoned…”

“…only because you don’t know him. Goodnight, Klahadore. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Despondent, the butler left the room and closed the door behind him, his charge waiting to hear his footsteps down the corridor before she flung herself back at the window, seeing Usopp hugging the wall in terror.

“Give me three days,” she said. “That’s when I’ll have the opportunity to get out of here.”

The grins they shared were brighter than the moon and stars combined.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“I still don’t know why we’ve got to wait,” Zoro grumbled. He and the others were sitting up inside Usopp’s house he used to share with his mom, the night after he talked to Kaya. The co-captain poked his head out the window, checking to make sure no one else was around.

“That asshole butler of hers takes a weekly trip to the next town over to get certain groceries,” he said. “We’ll help her sneak out then and leave notes with another butler and the village leader to kick Klahadore out while she’s gone. Then the five of us can head to the Grand Line.”

“No offense, Usopp,” Nami said, “but what can she do other than weigh us down?”

“She won’t!”

“The witch has a point,” Zoro grunted. “She’s practically an invalid; you can’t take someone like that to the Grand Line and expect everything to turn out okay. Maybe if we already had a doctor…”

“Luffy, can you back me on this?” Usopp groaned. He looked over at the other teen, who had his nose in a book. “Luff, come on…”

“I was just looking at this book—it’s got pictures from before we met!” he said. Luffy brought the book over to the table and set it down, showing a photo of Yasopp, Banchina, and a baby Usopp. “That’s your mom, right?”

“Yeah,” Usopp nodded. Something tugged at his heart—it was the first time he’d seen a photo of his mom in a long while. He turned the page and found one of him and her together, from right before she got sick. “You know, I never thought about her being the brave one until Kaya said it earlier.”

“She risked begin shunned by the village by being with your dad, from what it sounded like,” Zoro shrugged. “That, if anything, takes guts.”

“It really does,” Usopp agreed. He tensed up and stared at the door—someone was coming. The four all readied themselves, only for three kids to burst into the house.

“Pirates!” they cried.

“Uh… yeah…” Nami grimaced. This was going to be tedious, wasn’t it? “We’re pirates.”

“No, not you pirates!” the kid with the glasses panicked. “You’ve not done pirate stuff!”

“Well, we’re gonna do pirate stuff if I’m gonna be King of the Pirates,” Luffy said plainly.

“No, you don’t get it: there’s pirates at the slopes!” the one with the green hat explained. “And they’re talking about killing Miss Kaya!”

“Her creepy butler is with them, and he says he wants to kill her himself!” Glasses said.

“We think they want to blame you for it!” the third boy said. “You’re pirates too, but you’re not mean! Doesn’t Miss Kaya like you?!”

“She does,” Nami said. She looked over at Usopp, who seemed absolutely terrified. “So, Co-Captain, what do you plan on doing?”

“We’re going to save Kaya!” he said, entire body shaking in nerves. Luffy and Zoro both grinned, as they knew that this meant they were going to be able to finally pick a fight.

It was on.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

When all was said and done, Usopp was sure he didn’t like cats to begin with anyhow. Adding the fact that Kaya’s asshole butler was a famous pirate captain that supposedly had been captured and executed years earlier and planned on killing her in order to get her money and retire? Definitely not one of the things he had expected when he set off from Foosha.

The butler crumpled to the ground unconscious, knocked out cold from Usopp’s Ten Ton Hammer. Kaya had been underneath him, making it so she had to avoid him falling on her. She looked up at her best friend and nearly cried.

“Usopp, I…!” Kaya gasped as he lifted her up to her feet. They looked at each other and giggled awkwardly. “Thank you.”

“A captain takes care of his crew,” he said. He then swallowed hard at the realization of what he just implied. “I mean, a pirate’s crew is their friends, and… you’ve always been my friend, and…”

With a smile, Kaya placed her finger on Usopp’s lips, silencing him. They then both leaned in and kissed one another, chastely yet by no means less exhilarating. The only thing that stopped them was hearing gagging noises—the Pintsized Pirate Patrol had found them.

“Oh, and what are you three going on about?” Usopp frowned. “Wait until you see someone so pretty you have no choice but to kiss them!”

“Adults are so gross!” Green Hat scowled.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Usopp deadpanned. He felt Kaya’s arms warp around his middle and he sighed, his arm going around her waist. “Now where’s the rope? We need to tie this creep up before he wakes up and tries to kill us all again!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Are you sure you can’t come along?” Usopp asked. He was sitting with Kaya on the beach, watching as Luffy, Zoro, and Nami got a tour of the Going Merry. They were getting the caravel as a gift for saving the town from the Black Cat Pirates, which honestly took the entire village by surprise. The only reason they even believed the teens was the fact that Merry backed them at all, so it was his honor to present them with their reward.

“I’ve got to get better first, but I think I’m going to do something else,” she said. “I want to be a doctor.”

“That’s… very different from sailing with us,” he acknowledged. “I’m just curious… why?”

“…because one day you’re going to be dragging yourself back here and someone is going to need to patch you up,” she giggled.

“Ouch, okay, fair.” They both laughed before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. “As long as you’re going forward.”

“Yeah.” She saw how much fun the others were having with Merry and she nodded to gesture in their direction. “Come on—a captain needs to take care of his crew, right?”

“Right.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Miss Kaya, the newspaper.”

Months had gone by in Syrup Village, with Kaya making considerable improvement with both her condition and her studies. She was reading a chapter on phlebotomy over breakfast when Merry brought in the paper.

“Oh, thank you!” She took it from him appreciatively. “There’s so much happening that it’s difficult to keep up, isn’t it?”

“It can be,” he agreed. Merry watched as her brow furrowed at the front page. “What is it?”

“Usopp…” She went to the bounty poster inserts and pulled out a small pile dedicated to the Straw Hat Pirates. There was Luffy, Zoro, Nami… ah… wait… Sogeking?! “They all have bounties now.”

“Well, would you look at that; you’re right!” Merry laughed. “Declaring war on the World Government? Oh, he is going to need to get patched up next time you see him!”

Declaring war on the World Government in order to save his crewmate… he really was a brave captain after all.

[sesshy380]

I'll be honest, I've never written a JouKai before, but I've read enough over the past few days that when I stumbled across a writing prompt on Pinterest, Violetshipping was the first thing that came to mind. Prompt pic from Pinterest at the end.

Seto stared at the blond lying bandaged in the hospital bed. Joey had been unconscious since the accident, which had been four days ago. As soon as Seto had received the call, he'd called for an airlift transport to bring Joey to his estate. There was no way he was going to leave the care of his boyfriend in the hands of sub-par physicians. He would ensure that Joey received only the best in regards to medical care.

“Seto, you’ve rescheduled the shareholders meeting three times now. If you reschedule it again, it won’t look good,” Mokuba reminded him for the umpteenth time.

Seto squeezed the unresponsive hand that he held. “I don’t care. We’ll recover from any losses.”

“We have the best doctors taking care of him, and everyone knows to alert you the moment he wakes up. Please, Seto. You haven’t eaten or slept properly since he’s arrived, and we can’t afford a hit right now. You have to think about the people that work for us.”

He knew Mokuba was right, but he didn’t care. Right now the only person he cared about, aside from his own brother, was lying in a coma.

Mokuba shook his head in defeat, then left the room.

Seto leaned forward, resting his head on the edge of the bed. He was beyond frustrated. What good was having the best medical equipment and staff money could buy if it couldn’t even keep Joey out of a coma?

He’d spent their highschool years teasing Joey, referring to him as a ‘mutt’ and calling him a ‘third rate duelist with a fourth rate deck’. That is, until he saw Joey’s strength of will in the Battle City tournament. If he’d been able to make that final play…

Seto winced at the memory. It was painful to remember the sight of Joey being struck down by a very real, non-holographic, attack. After that day, Seto could never look at him as just some ‘idiot with dumb luck’. Sure, Joey was still an idiot at times, but he was his idiot.

“Wheeler, you survived the attack of a God. If a little motorcycle accident is what takes you out, then I might have to go back to calling you ‘third rate’.”

There was still no movement coming from the hand in his, even though he could easily picture Joey going off on him for threatening to go back to the ‘third rate’ taunts. He turned his face towards the annoying blond, praying to at least see some movement behind those closed lids. Joey’s face remained unmoving, and a tear escaped from the corner of Seto’s eyes as he shut them tightly to prevent more from coming. Tears would do nothing to help the situation.

Seto opened his eyes, feeling groggy. Had he fallen asleep? He lifted his head to look at the time, but paused at the sight of a pair of brown eyes staring at him.

“Hey…sleepyhead,” Joey managed to say weakly.

It took all of Seto’s self-control to not pull the idiot into a crushing embrace. Instead he put that feeling into squeezing Joey’s hand.

“Who are you calling ‘sleepyhead’? At least I haven’t been asleep for the past four days.”

Seto was certain that the weak expression that Joey expressed was one of shock.

“Four…days?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you…been here…this whole time?”

Seto sighed heavily. “Yeah.”

He was certain that the new expression was supposed to be a smile.

“Don’t you…have a company to run?”

“My favorite idiot is in the hospital. The company can wait.”

“I don’t think…it works like that.”

“I run the company, so yes it does.”

Was that sound Joey made meant to be a laugh? It was hard to tell since he winced at the same time.

“Stupid…rich-boy.”

Seto smiled at the old jest.

“Wheeler, you ever worry me like that again, and I’ll have you disqualified from participating in every future tournament.”

“Do that…and I’ll tear your Blue-Eyes…in half.”

“Not in your current condition you won’t.”

Joey closed his eyes and didn’t reopen them immediately.

“Wheeler? Joey?!”

“Could ya…not yell? My head…kinda hurts.”

Seto relaxed and shook his head. Only Joey would wake up from a four day coma and complain about a headache.

He lifted the hand that he’d refused to let go of and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on it.

“I’ll have someone bring you some pain reliever.”

“That would be…nice.”

Seto made the call, his chest feeling lighter than it had in the past four days. He checked the email that Mokuba had sent a few hours ago informing him that the shareholders meeting had been rescheduled for next week, and that he’d managed to explain that this current rescheduling had been due to a family emergency.

He was certain that some of the shareholders were probably thinking this was just an excuse to delay the meeting, but he didn’t care. There were two people that meant more to him than the company, one of them was his brother, and the other was weakly complaining about his stomach being empty.

[spritehouse]

colorful regret

ralvez + past moreid | what used to be mine drabble

⚠️Content Warnings: fighting (verbal), relapsing, panic attacks/flashbacks, referenced past domestic abuse

spencer and luke get in a fight. spencer relapses and luke spirals. (from #2 of this post)

luke hates fighting.

he's a pretty chill guy, usually avoiding conflict, especially when it comes to his close relationships, trying to de-escalate the situation, but sometimes, it's inevitable.

that doesn't make them any better—the shouting, doors slamming, hurtful words yelled across their sanctuary—the inescapability never easing the pain and panic that come with their outbursts.

and the worst part is he understands.

luke knows they're approaching the anniversary of derek morgan's death, that his partner isn't trying to hurt him, just grieving, the date ripping open old wounds that never fully healed, not trying to hurt him, but that doesn't stop the panic rising in his chest, bad memories overlaying their argument.

he knows he should worry about spencer when the younger brunette storms out of their apartment in the middle of the night—he shouldn't be alone right now—but he's too busy attempting to quell the panic clawing at his throat, hands shaking and body trembling as he talks himself down from panic attacks in the bathroom.

no, spencer doesn't mean it, wasn't trying to hurt him, sending luke spiraling, gasping for air the way his ex did, but he did.

there's no damning the floodgates of his memories, a trickle of sensation erupting into a flood of repressed recollection, screaming, shouting, sobbing echoing in his skull.

he gets through the worst of it, still shaking slightly as luke emerges from the bathroom, grounding himself in their apartment as he gets a glass of water, trembling hands gliding across the soft fabric of spencer's favorite blanket on the couch.

he almost manages to fall asleep, waiting for his partner to return, dozing in their living room, fighting to keep nightmares at bay when the front door opens.

"there you are. i was starting to–" luke's face falls when he makes eye contact with spencer, vacant pinpricks staring past him, glossy-eyed as he stumbles into their shared space.

and he knows ptsd isn't logical, that is isn't his fault, that spencer wouldn't blame him if he were sober, but the older man still feels guilty when he flees the room, slamming the bathroom door behind him as he gasps against the hand– her hand around his throat.

he can't breathe, can't think, everything reminding him of her as he staggers to the bathtub, sitting in the porcelain basin as he breaks down, sobs wracking his exhausted body until his vision blurs.

he doesn't remember having his phone in his pocket or dialing a familiar number, pressing his phone to his ear between dry heaves, only aware of his movements when a voice penetrates his panic–

"luke? can you hear me?"

he swallows, choking on a cry as he releases a quiet, affirming hum, hugging his knees to his chest.

"what's wrong, sweetie? are you okay? are you safe?"

"i– it's– he– spe– we got in a fight–" luke stammers between sharp, painful inhales, returning to himself as he forces the words past his lips. "he– he relapsed."

he can hear her shuffling, moving around her house as spencer's aunt springs into action.

"okay. where is he?"

"home– the living room."

"good. now where are you?"

it hits him that she doesn't know about his ex, about the layers of this situation, how he's seeing parts of her in him–

"luke? are you still there?"

"i'm in the bathroom. i– i should be with him, i know–"

"it's okay, luke. focus on yourself right now," her voice is calm and constant, the voice of someone who understands after years as an agent, and comforting. "you did the right thing. okay? i'm a few minutes away. keep yourself safe; i'll take care of spencer. do you hear me?"

"yeah– yes. yeah. i– yeah, got it."

"do you have someone you can call? i'm probably going to take him to my place and i don't want you to be alone right now."

"yeah, i have someone. i'll text them."

"good. that's good, luke. will you stay on the phone with me? i'm almost there."

"yeah, i can do that," luke takes a deep breath, counting the tiles on their bathroom floor. "thank you."

"thank you for calling. are you feeling better?"

"i am, sorry, i–"

"it's okay; you don't have to apologize or explain. i'm honored you felt safe calling me."

he hums in response, melting into the bathtub as he listens to alex drive.

"i'm pulling up right now. okay? i'll be up in a second."

"the door's unlocked."

"thank you, luke."

idk how to finish this scene but i have to go to sleep