#at real risk of being out on the street again

[strnilolover]

NNN - matt sturniolo - never been good at goodbyes

⚠︎TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠︎ : Car accident, Death, Crying, Grieving, Funeral, Slight Depressive State, Slight Descriptive scenes, and More.

Other Information : This will start off with Matt’s pov then switch to readers. PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS FANFICTION AND NOT REAL LIFE. Matt is still very much alive and will be for years.

⚠︎THIS CONTENT BELOW MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR SOME READERS. VIEWERS DISCRETION IS ADVISED. IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY ANYTHING IN THE WARNINGS PLEASE DO NOT READ OR READ AT YOUR OWN RISK⚠︎

Matt’s POV

Matt normally never had bad bad days, always being able to keep himself under control and keep things from getting to him. It was something he’d grown so used to doing after years of practicing and years of therapy. But, not all days were days he was able to control — and though that bothered him, he knew it wasn’t always something he could control.

Today had been a particularly stressful day for matt. There were meetings upon meetings and overall he just wasn’t feeling the best all day. He never liked to blame the way he was feeling on his anxiety, but he couldn’t help to think that maybe something happened this morning that just ticked him off and made him feel off all day.

So he decided to take a late night drive, after dropping nick and chris off at home. Matt’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his fingers tapping along to the rhythm of the music playing from his playlist. The streets were quiet tonight, then again, he did decide to drive through the country side so he didn’t have to deal with other cars and people.

As he steered the car on the smooth roads, he could feel his mind starting to become more at ease. His mind now thinking about you and how he was ready to tell you about his day once he got home. It wasn’t often that matt didn’t text you before he did anything, and he didn’t text you to tell you he was going out for a drive — his mind being too caught up in his thoughts before hand.

As he continued to drive, his phone buzzed from the passenger seat, and he smiled to himself, already guessing it was you. You were probably wondering why he hadn’t texted you at all yet — or goodnight yet. He resisted the urge to pick his phone up, knowing that was too dangerous, telling himself he’d text back once he was home. Just a few more minutes, he thought.

You always texted him if he wasn’t responding in the normal times he did, but a lot of the time you understood why he didn’t answer or why he couldn’t. He could probably already assume that you typed out a little thing about him not texted and then a good night — since you weren’t one to stay up too late like he was.

Matt continued to hum and tap his fingers along to the music, watching as little droplets of rain his his windshield in tiny patters — which caused his to reach and turn the windshield wipers on.

The roads started to become damp from the rain as the downpour started to pick up and his headlights cut through the darkness as he rounded a bend. There wasn’t much light along the road, his only source being his headlights in from of him and how they reflected off the road signs. But, when he went to make a particularly sharp turn — thinking he had it — he lost control of the car.

He felt the tires slip, the car skidding on a patch of wet road. His heart lurched as he tried to steady the wheel, but it was too late. The car spun, a flash of panic shooting through him as he lost control, his mind racing to make sense of what was happening.

“Fuck — Fuck Come on,” he shouted, desperately trying to regain control. But the car kept sliding, veering and turning. And as the car hurtled forward, time seemed to slow, and he felt a strange, overwhelming calm settle over him. He knew it was too late, and honestly all he could think of was your face, the warmth of your smile, the love you shared. In that moment, everything else faded away, and all he could think of was you.

He wished he could see you one last time, to hold you, to tell you just how much you meant to him. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips, a final act of love as the world around him dissolved. He felt tears well in his eyes and slip down his face as his eyes quickly caught a glimpse of bright headlights heading straight for him.

“I love you,” he whispered, just as everything went dark.

Your POV

You slowly stirred in bed, the gloomy light pouring into your room through the blinds. You were by no means a morning person, and you never have been.

You groaned, turning to stretch your legs and arms as you snuggled deeper into the blankets before opening your eyes. The light wasn’t too harsh, considering it had been raining all night so it didn’t take you long to adjust before you were reaching over to your night stand and grabbing your phone from the charger.

You squinted as you turned your phone on, yes the light from day didn’t bother you — but the phone screen was a whole other story. You looked at the time 11:24am before slowly unlocking it, hoping to see a notification or two from matt in your messages, but to your surprise there wasn’t any. None responding to your texts from last night either — maybe he just got really busy again?

Furrowing your brow, your fingers typed across your keyboard, sending him a quick

Good morning love! Hope you slept well. Text me when you’re up?

Before setting your phone down on the bed beside you. It wasn’t — strange — per say for him to not text you for this long, but you understood that sometimes he just got too busy to check his phone for long periods of time. With a sigh you pulled the covers off of your body, swinging your legs over the side of your bed as you sat up.

You had some things you needed to do today — grocery shopping, dropping some things off by the local animal shelter and a few straggler errands. Your hands rubbed your face, stretching once more before you rose to your feet, pattering your way over to your bathroom to get your things ready for a shower.

You couldn’t help but to think of matt, i mean why hadn’t he texted? or why hadn’t his brother said anything to you in place of matt texting? You shook your head, looking into the mirror briefly. ‘I’m sure i’ll hear from him at some point’

You turned away, reaching the shower as you turned the knob to hot, closing the curtains as steam filled the room. You discarded your clothes, stepping into the hot water — your muscles relaxing slightly as the water cascaded down your body. It both woke you up, but it tempted you to fall back asleep — though you couldn’t and continued on to wash your hair.

Once your shower was done, it was around 12:30pm and you rushed to get dressed. Grabbing a plain white shirt and some black sweat pants, slipping on matt’s red zip up jacket. You grabbed a pair of socks, sitting on the edge of your bed as you slipped them on along with your shoes — quickly getting up and grabbing your phone from the bed.

You checked your notification board, but there still wasn’t anything from matt. You felt a pang in your chest, but pushed it aside, sending one more text before you were out your bedroom door — making your way into the living room.

I hope you’re doing okay baby! I have to run some errands so i may not text much. Love you bunches! ❤️

Your steps were small, striding toward the front door as you grabbed your bag and the keys to your car. You paused for a moment, feeling like you were forgetting something — but after trying to wrack your brain, you came up empty handed. So, you walked out your front door, closing it and locking it behind you before making your way to your car.

Slipping into the drivers seat, you started the engine, your eyes catching a glimpse of something in your passenger seat. You stared at it curiously before picking it up — it was one of matt’s rings, wedged into the seat. You held it up, smiling to yourself at matt’s forgetfulness in leaving things laying around. ‘I’ll just have to give this back to him later’

You thought for a minute of what to do with his ring before deciding to put it on your finger. After situating it, you put the car in reverse, making sure to look behind you as you pulled out of your driveway. You had a pretty packed day ahead, but all you could think about was hopefully seeing matt at the end of the day.

4:45pm

You were utterly exhausted, pulling your car back into your driveway you had left hours ago. It felt as if the day had dragged on, still no messages from matt which was starting to worry you. You had even sent chris and nick both messages asking if they knew where he was or if they were busy — but they hadn’t responded either.

You parked your car, turning the engine off as you stepped out of the drivers side door. Quickly, you popped the trunk, wanting to grab all the groceries and take them inside in one go. Which was … pretty successful, you had a few items slip, but got them inside without much of a fuss.

You grunted as you carried the groceries inside, closing the front door with your foot before making your way over to the kitchen. Setting down the bags, you started to unload them, making sure to set aside the items you were using to cook dinner.

7:15pm

It had been all day — all day and matt still hadn’t texted you back. You started to grow worried, he had never gone with long without texting you — and neither did his brothers. This pit formed in your stomach, the feeling making you feel absolutely sick to your stomach.

Suddenly, you heard a knock on your door — the sound snapping you from your thoughts. Your body moved from the couch, rushing to open it, hoping to see Matt standing there, laughing at how worried you’d been. But when you swung the door open, you found Nick and Chris standing there, their faces pale, eyes rimmed red. The air around them felt heavy, as if carrying an invisible weight that fell on you the moment you looked into their eyes.

“Hey,” Nick started, his voice thick, barely holding back the tremor. Chris had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his head down as though he couldn’t bring himself to look at you.

Your heart began to race. “What’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Where’s Matt? I’ve been trying to reach him — and you guys all day! but none of you have been answering me.”

Chris looked away, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before Nick stepped forward. “Can we come in?” Nick’s voice was strained, like each word physically hurt him. The pit in your stomach felt almost too much right now, filling every corner of your mind.

You stepped aside, and they entered quietly. As you sat down on the couch, Nick and Chris took seats across from you. For a moment, there was only silence. The two of them shared a look, and you could see that neither of them wanted to say what they’d come here to tell you.

Chris was the first to speak. “Last night, Matt… he… he was driving,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “He… there was an accident.”

You stared at them, every word hitting you like a punch to the gut. “Is he okay?” you asked, your voice a desperate whisper, searching their faces for any sign of hope. You wanted to hear that he was in the hospital, that he’d be okay, that they were just here to tell you he’d need time to recover.

Nick swallowed hard, his eyes filling with tears he couldn’t hold back any longer. “He… he didn’t make it.” he choked out, his teeth gritting together.

The room went silent, the words echoing around you, wrapping around your heart and squeezing until you couldn’t breathe. You stared at them, waiting for one of them to take it back, to tell you it was a horrible mistake, a cruel joke. But their broken expressions only confirmed the nightmare that was unfolding before you.

“No,” you murmured, shaking your head, tears blurring your vision. “No, that’s… that’s not possible. He was… he was just here yesterday.”

Chris reached out, placing a gentle hand on yours, his own voice choked with grief. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and you could see the pain etched deep into his face. “We came as soon as we could, we didn’t want you to find out any other way.”

You pulled your hand away, curling up on yourself, as though somehow shrinking would lessen the pain ripping through your chest. Every memory of him, every laugh, every touch, every whispered word flooded your mind, filling you with a love so intense it was unbearable.

Nick spoke softly, his voice breaking. “He loved you, you know? So much. He… he never stopped talking about you, how much you meant to him.” His words felt like a double-edged sword, cutting into you and yet comforting you at the same time.

You buried your face in your hands, sobbing as the reality of it all began to sink in. Matt was gone. The person who made you laugh until you couldn’t breathe, who held you close on quiet nights, who loved you more than anyone ever had… he was gone.

Chris wrapped his arm around you, holding you as you broke down, his own tears streaming down his face. Nick sat beside you, reaching over to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder, though his own strength was failing. The three of you sat there, bound together by your shared grief, the silence heavy with the weight of all the things left unsaid, all the future moments that would never come.

You shook as the sobs continued to wrack through your body, sniffling, you wiped your nose — desperate to try and find the right words. “Y-you — why…why didn’t y-you guys tell m-me sooner?” you gritted out, the tightness in your chest making it hard to speak. Nick and chris shook their heads, not being able to give a proper answer.

You knew they were feeling it too — he was their brothers. Your head rose out of your hands, tears streaking your face as you looked at them. Your arms coming up to wrap around them and hold them close to you. You all cried together — and as you looked over to chris, you noticed matt’s ring on your finger, and that made you break.

12:54am

Later that night, you found yourself scrolling through old messages, rereading his words, listening to his voice notes, clinging to every last piece of him you had left. His laugh, his voice, the way he always said “goodnight” and “I love you”—they all felt so close, yet impossibly distant.

You couldn’t help the tears that left your eyes every time you skimmed over the words — or listened to the recordings. Every time felt like a stab to your heart, like it was being chipped away at more and more. Your best friend was gone — the love of your life…your soulmate…and you would never see him again.

When you finally put your phone down — the tears hadn’t dried. Your head rested against your pillow as you wore matt’s hoodie, hugging a stuffed animal that he got you close to your chest — your fingers fiddling with the ring on your finger. Every time you thought of him, a new wave of tears fell down your face.

You didn’t get much sleep that night — or in the week that led up to his funeral.

One Week Later

The day of the funeral arrived much sooner than you were prepared for, though, in truth, you didn’t think any amount of time could have readied you. The past few days had passed in a fog, each moment blending into the next, leaving you feeling numb and disconnected from reality. It was as if a part of you had been ripped away, leaving a hollow space where Matt had once been. Now, you were about to say goodbye for the last time, and every step felt heavier than the last.

You stared at yourself in the mirror — the black dress you wore clung to your skin, and you desperately wanted to get out of it. But you couldn’t…not now at least. You hadn’t felt well enough to drive, so instead you had nick and chris send an uber — because you didn’t trust yourself.

The sky was overcast as you made your way to the cemetery, a dull gray that matched the ache inside you. There were people gathered around, friends and family, familiar faces etched with grief. As you approached, you saw Nick and Chris standing together, their faces pale and somber, each of them carrying their own unbearable weight. They looked up as you joined them, offering you small, broken smiles that only deepened the sorrow in your heart.

“Hey,” Nick said softly, pulling you into a gentle hug. You clung to him, feeling the grief between you, a shared wound that neither of you could heal.

Chris joined, wrapping his arms around the both of you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into their strength. “He loved you so much,” Chris whispered, his voice cracking. “He’d want you to remember that.”

You nodded, unable to speak, afraid that if you opened your mouth, you’d break down entirely. Instead, you stayed close to them, feeling a strange comfort in their presence as you all prepared to say goodbye to someone you loved deeply.

The ceremony began shortly after, the words of the officiant filled the air, and you found yourself drifting back to memories of Matt. You remembered his laugh, the warmth of his embrace, the way he’d look at you like you were his whole world. Every shared moment played through your mind, each memory a bittersweet reminder of all you’d lost.

When it was time for people to come up and say a few words, you felt a lump form in your throat as Nick and Chris took turns sharing stories about Matt. They spoke of his kindness, his humor, his fierce loyalty, and the way he could make anyone feel like they mattered. Their words brought laughter through the tears, but it was the kind of laughter that hurt, a reminder of what could never be again.

And then, it was your turn. You hadn’t planned to speak, afraid that the words would betray you, that you’d fall apart in front of everyone. But as you looked at the faces of those who loved Matt, you realized that he’d want you to speak, to let the world know what he’d meant to you.

So With shaky steps, you walked to the front, your eyes falling on the casket. The reality of it hit you all over again, the finality of it, and you took a deep, unsteady breath before you began.

“I don’t think any of us are really ready to say goodbye,” you started, your voice thick with emotion. “Matt… he wasn’t just someone I loved. He was my best friend, my partner, my everything. He made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. And now, I’m… I’m not sure how to move forward without him.”

You paused, tears blurring your vision, but you forced yourself to continue. “I’ll never forget the way he made me laugh or the way he’d stay up late just to talk, even if he had a million other things to do. He cared so deeply, for everyone in his life, and I feel so grateful to have been loved by him.”

A small, sad smile tugged at your lips. “Matt was… he was the best part of my life. And even though he’s gone, I know he’ll always be with me, in the memories we shared, in the love he left behind. I’ll carry him with me for the rest of my life.” the last lines felt heavy on your tongue, almost inaudible as you cried.

You couldn’t look at anyone as you returned to your seat, feeling drained, the weight of your words settling over you. Nick and Chris reached out, each of them gripping your hand as the ceremony came to an end. As people began to disperse, you stayed behind, wanting one final moment alone with him.

“You coming?” Chris asked as he stood up, nick looking at you as well. You sat there, shaking your head as you looked up. Your eyes were sore and red — they were raw from all the times you’ve cried within the last week. “m’gonna stay here for a few moments.” you whispered, and they both gave you an understanding look before they headed inside the building to talking with the other people.

The grave site grew quiet — everyone else having retreated, leaving you with only the gentle whisper of the wind. You rose from your seat, walking over and kneeling down, placing a hand on the cool surface of the casket, the final barrier between you and Matt. The tears welled and flowed freely now, unchecked, as you whispered all the things you wished you’d had the chance to say.

Taking a deep breath — you choked on a sob, leaning forward to press your forehead to the casket, feeling the coldness of it seep into your skin. “I love you, Matt. I always will. Thank you for loving me, for giving me so many beautiful memories. I’ll keep you in my heart, forever.”

The clouds above began to drizzle, and you allowed the rain drops to fall over your skin. Sitting there on the ground, your knees digging into the dirt — you cried, whispering over and over again hoping matt would hear you.

“I-I’ll be with you one day, my love.” was the last thing you choked out before pressing a kiss to the top of his casket — rising to your feet and turning away.

4 years later

Today you were going to visit matt’s grave — something you have been doing for the last four years ever since he passed. It still wasn’t easy — and you don’t think it ever really is going to be.

But, you learned to become strong, not just for yourself — but for your daughter too.

A few weeks after matt’s funeral had happened, you had noticed your period was late and you hadn’t been feeling the best. And even though the thought of possibly being pregnant filled you with dread — it also made you feel happy.

So when those two pink lines had shown on the test — you were overly overwhelmed. You were carrying matt’s child — a piece of him that you would keep close to yourself forever. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing that day, calling chris and nick to tell them — they were with you every step of the way.

You were currently getting your daughter buckled into her car seat, making sure she was safe and secure before you even thought about driving anywhere. Once you were sure she was strapped in safely, you closed the car door — climbing into the front and setting off to the graveyard.

“Mommy, where are we going?” your daughter asked, always so curious to know where you were going to take her. You smiled, looking into the mirror before training your eyes back in the road.

“We’re going to go see daddy, honey.” you said, putting the turning signal on to turn into the driveway of the graveyard. Your daughter let out a sound, turning her head to look out the window. You felt a pang in your heart, you always did whenever you visited matt — but this time, you were bringing your daughter along.

You drove a little more up the road, pulling over to the shoulder as you killed the engine. Stepping out, you came around to open the back door — unbuckling your daughter and carrying her out on your hip. Slowly, you walked over to where matt’s grave was, sitting down softly in the grass as you sat your daughter on your lap.

Her curious blue eyes looked at the headstone — reaching her little hand out to trace the words that were engraved into it. “Mommy…why is daddy’s name written on here?” she asked — her little head turning up to look at you.

You laughed sadly, feeling the tears well in your eyes. “This is…this is where daddy is resting baby-“ you say, patting the ground where he was buried years ago. “-i’m sorry you never got to meet him baby.” you whispered, sniffling softly as your hand came up to wipe your tears away.

Of course you’ve told your daughter about matt — about her dad. She didn’t fully understand it yet, but you hoped she would as she grows older. She deserved to know how wonderful her daddy was — and even though she’s got two amazing uncles to show her that, you wanted to show her in your own way too.

“Let’s…let’s put the flowers down that we brought for daddy, okay baby?” you said, handing her the little flowers you brought for matt. She smiled brightly, her little hand taking them from you and placing them on the ground in front of your bodies.

You sat there for a little while, talking to matt and telling him about everything that has been going on. Even introducing him to his daughter for the first time — the words getting caught in your throat as you did. Of course you told matt about her on other visits, he was the first person you told when you found out you were pregnant before nick and chris.

But, after a while when the grey clouds started to roll in — you decided it was time to go for the day. So you carefully stood up, placing your daughter on your hip as you reached a hand forward to matt’s headstone, whispering a goodbye as you began to walk away.

“Bye bye daddy!” your daughter called back — and your chest tightened.

You never were good at goodbyes, were you?

© strnilolover

[seokljin]

set me free is a song i dream about, actually dream about, often and for a long long time. since the very first moment; it means the world to me, actual skys & oceans. so to think how it must mean lots to jimin too, for him to make a rendition of it... my heart is filled with sparks.

[joelsgu4tar]

JOEL MILLER FIC RECS

⇾ 18+ minors DNI, read at your own risk! ⇽

an appreciation to all my favourite writers out there you deserve all the love <3

Series

— Something To Fight For by @auteurdelabre | After a disastrous blind date you decide to stay away from the miserable Joel Miller forever...

— I Know Who You Are by @punkshort | A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long-term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

— The One You Need by @loliwrites | When you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at arm’s length, your neighbour Joel finds his way into your life.

— By The Grit Of Sandpaper by @penvisions | An offhand comment from you inspires Joel to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed...

— I Wanna Be Your Lover by @shellshocklove | Miserable after losing your job, your friend drags you out to a club to dance away your sadness. on the dancefloor, you meet a handsome stranger, who then whisks you away into his fantasy world as his assistant for his porn career. what happens when the lines get blurred?

— If The Door Wasn't Shut by @heartpascal | months of travelling with Joel and Ellie come crashing down on you, the fear is suffocating.

— Stay In Bed by @psychedelic-ink | After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance.

— That's A Real Fucking Legacy by @wyn-n-tonic | When Tommy disappears in search of a better life with a promise to come back for you, his years of absence and the grief it leaves behind drives you and his brother closer together until the man you're sharing a bed and starting a family with is Joel Miller and not the one you always thought it would be.

One-Shots

— No Time To Die by @davosmymaster | The main difficulty of being Joel’s closest friend is not falling in love with him, but you still do. Those feelings are buried until you join him on a mission to trade supplies with Bill and Frank. With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

— White Lies by @poeticpascal | Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

— Saying Thanks by @vivwritescrappythings | Joel is your grumpy patrol partner who doesn’t even talk to you in the streets of Jackson. But one night a man grabs your arm at the Tipsy Bison, and Joel’s decided he doesn’t like it.

— Soft & Sweet by @cavillscurls | You share your first kiss with the last man you ever expected: your older, grouchy, overly protective patrol partner, Joel Miller.

— Who We Are by @gracieheartspedro | Being stuck on the road with an older guy you've been crushing on for ages won't be so bad, right? wrong. because he's been pining after you, too. and one of you will have to give in eventually.

— Warm Me Up by @tightjeansjavi | While on patrol, you and Joel find yourselves caught in a treacherous snowstorm.

— Love In the Time Of Cordyceps by @sameheart-sameblood | When the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. Joel Miller makes that rule hard to stick to.

— Puppy Love by @absurdthirst | You always follow Joel Miller around, you've got his back. You're in love with him. Putting up with Tess's nickname of puppy dog, you don't realize that Joel feels for you until the end.

— Light The Flame by @yeollie-plz | Your mom moves the two of you back to Texas and attempts to reignite an old flame. What will happen when she learns his candle now burns for you?

— Best I Ever Had by @endlessthxxghts | Someone tries to hit on you on your night out with Joel, insulting your man in the process, and oh you don't like that. You blow off some steam in more ways than one.

— Make A Move On Me by @freelancearsonist | You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodelling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.

— Fire Walk by @motherofagony | A chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt.

— Cry Baby by @psychedelic-ink | bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in Jackson. As the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of Joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life. 

Neither of you speak. 

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything. 

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue. 

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again. 

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on. 

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away. 

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted. 

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart. 

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands. 

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. 

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces. 

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied. 

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears. 

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed. 

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding. 

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for. 

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath. 

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond. 

“Love you back?”

You blink. 

Your stomach drops. 

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself. 

What a way to make an exit from your relationship. 

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something. 

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp. 

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions. 

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable. 

He swallows. 

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice. 

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her. 

“Wait.”

He says your name.  

And of course you pause. 

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle. 

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?” 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again. 

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring. 

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about. 

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break. 

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink. 

And for some reason, begin sobbing. 

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in. 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath. 

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper. 

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty. 

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly. 

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel.  Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes.  “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft. 

“How could I not be so in love with you?” 

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold. 

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw. 

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat. 

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog. 

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone. 

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder. 

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up. 

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning. 

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him. 

Spencer kisses you on the cheek. 

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is. 

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on. 

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand. 

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other. 

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy. 

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this. 

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets. 

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC. 

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly. 

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes. 

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck. 

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs. 

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon. 

And he’s laughing. 

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall. 

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige. 

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all. 

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip. 

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face. 

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same. 

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own. 

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips. 

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first. 

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology. 

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly. 

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth. 

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you. 

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth. 

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak. 

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him. 

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back. 

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly. 

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too. 

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight. 

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would. 

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly. 

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours. 

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel. 

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks. 

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee. 

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now. 

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy. 

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming. 

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him. 

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his. 

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart. 

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I��m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall. 

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet. 

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours. 

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod. 

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly. 

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would. 

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised. 

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case. 

But at the same time—everything’s different. 

And you won’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face. 

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled. 

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage. 

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you. 

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement. 

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself. 

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest. 

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs. 

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

-

part seven

[wtfsteveharrington]

"an exploratory kiss, testing the waters between them" with Luca please!

a/n: i love luca so so bad i fear s3 has giving me horrific brain rot for him baby boy i’m knocking on ur door and getting on one knee

contents: kissing, some pda, cluelessness, all my faves

"I mean... I think we're just friends, right?"

Luca takes a long swig from his cold beer pint. Using the drink as an excuse to buy himself time to think. It was some draft IPA that was just the perfect level of pretentious where he didn’t look like a dick but separated himself from some domestic bottle. Something that would matter to no one except a man with his level of perception anxiety. Condensation dripping down his wrist which your eyes follow, trailing the drops as they roll down his forearm.

"Right. And would it be worth risking things between us to test out... Something more? Because I don't want to lose you just to find out we’re being a touch crazy.”

"I don't want to lose you either." You rush out after his sentence, shaking your head while resting your hands on your knees. The rough material of your jeans against your palms helping to keep you grounded.

It had been a half an hour since you and Luca passed some wonderful older woman on the street who needed directions. Luca was able to relay them by heart, though it didn’t stop you from double checking on your phone to ensure you didn’t send her off on a misguided path. She beamed at the two of you once she knew her way, patting Luca’s arm and asking the question that has broken the two of you ever since. “How long have you two been married?”

To which the two of you sputtered out a mess of words, none of which made any sense, and the older woman gave a tsk tsk tsk. “You better propose before it’s too late. Shouldn’t let such a catch get away.” The takes off on her journey. Both of you stood their with your jaws dropped before you finally started continuing on your path to the bar and trying to laugh it off.

But neither of you could let it go.

“We could-…“ You take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders back and strengthening your resolve, “We could kiss? That way we can feel there’s nothing there and get it out of minds.”

Luca stares down at his beer, eyeing the way the foam is slowly dissipating and contemplating his options. “Just one kiss?”

You nod, “Just one. Lips only, no tongue, nothing crazy.”

His body’s turning to you, eyes filled with apprehension. Searching your face for any sign of doubt, which he doesn’t find, before nodding back to you. “Just one. We’re realize how silly this is and put it behind us.”

Luca’s hand comes to rest on top of yours, the bar suddenly feeling so much warmer and intimate than before. Thankfully no one was paying attention to your little table tucked away in the back corner. He’s watching your breathing, watching your expression. Catches your tongue dart out to moisten your lips and he does the same.

He’s close enough now where you can feel the warmth rolling off his body, you can hear each steady breath he takes. “Just… Stop me if this is weird, yeah?”

You nod, leaning in as well until your noses brush against each other and your eyes fall closed before your lips connect against his. They’re slightly cold from his drink, hints of beer still on his lips. You stay connected for just a moment before you pull away, eyeing him apprehensively.

“How was that?”

He sucks in some air, staying close to you still. “It was, uhm, chaste. To say the least.”

There’s a flush on your cheeks at that.

“Well… I mean, We can do a real kiss if you want.”

Luca’s eyes are on yours, his hand moving to slide up your thigh and grabs ahold of it. “We should just make sure, y’know? Because that told me nothing.”

It’s a flawed plan but you’re not thinking as clearly with him this close.

Your arms wrap around his neck and you bring the two of you closer once again. Your lips finding his and you let out a soft moan as you feel his part under yours. He takes the chance to let his tongue slide against your bottom lip before slipping between your lips and into your mouth. You lace one of your hands in his hair while his free arm wraps around your waist now.

It’s his turn to groan into the kiss. The sound causes you to press your thighs together while your tongue moves along his. Your breathing is picking up and you’re convinced he can hear just how hard your heart is beating.

He tastes sweet. The IPA mixed with vanilla from the custard he kept having to taste during service. It was addicting to say the least.

Minutes, hours, days pass by as you lose yourself in him. Eventually you hear him groan, pulling back slightly to press another kiss to your bottom lip before leaning back in his chair. Beaming at your shocked expression.

Your hand comes up, fingers resting against your lips as you chase the feeling of the kiss. Oh.

Luca has to adjust himself on the seat, chuckling at the sight of you as he tries to relax his breathing. “She, uh, she might have known what she was talking about.”

Luca looks smug, even with his blushing cheeks, as he takes another drink of his beer. His hand never leaving your thigh.

[ceilidhtransing]

Having spent pretty much the entire year immersed in studying Nazi Germany, the Holocaust, and genocide more broadly, my heart is bursting with the need to stress how much you should take Project 2025 seriously. This is a long post but please stick with me.

Don't take this post as an attempt to concretely predict anything. We can't ever fully know the future and I think it's silly to say with total certainty “if Trump wins then America will become just like Nazi Germany” - not only because the future isn't written yet, but also because Germany under the Nazis was a very specific regime with its own quirks and peculiarities and I don't think that even a worst-case-scenario Trump regime would look exactly like Hitler's Germany. No two regimes ever look exactly alike: it would use the same colour palette as all far-right dictatorships but be constructed from a different medium, like what a watercolour is to an oil painting.

But just because Trump is a very different person from Hitler, and a worst-case-scenario Trump dictatorship would not literally be “Nazi Germany all over again”, that doesn't mean that what happened in Germany isn't instructive here. Forget the specifics of whether or not Trump as a dictator would organise a state identically to how the Nazis organised Germany or whatever; on a far broader and more relevant level, there is a distressing number of similarities. And too many people are falling into the same thought traps as they did then.

Please don't assume that Trump is “way too incompetent” to achieve what's in Project 2025 or Agenda 47. They said the same thing about Hitler. They said that there was no way this showman could govern effectively - holding big rallies and making speeches that get people riled up isn't the same as being good at running a functioning state and achieving what you want. The New York Times even wrote after he became Chancellor of Germany that this would only ���let him expose to the German public his own futility”. And in many ways Hitler was pretty incompetent. But that didn't end up mattering. The greatest crime of the Nazi regime, the Holocaust, was masterminded mostly by a whole load of people besides Hitler, who were delegated the nitty-gritty task of actually orchestrating it. Hitler's personal incompetence didn't prevent war or genocide.

Please don't assume that Trump is “just a wacky nutcase” who “can't possibly be a real risk”. They said the same thing about Hitler. The mainstream media gave constant coverage to all the crazy extreme things Hitler said as if he was merely a bit of a joke and not a massive threat. The Nazis were quite happy with this. To quote Goebbels repeatedly in his diary, “The main thing is they're talking about us.”

Please don't assume that being in power will “moderate” Trump and that “of course he won't be able to do all the crazy stuff once he actually has to govern”. They said the same thing about Hitler. It was a common sentiment in the early 1930s that all the sensible politicians around him would force him to moderate his stances. Fritz von Papen, the last Chancellor of Weimar Germany, persuaded President Hindenburg to make Hitler the Chancellor by assuring him, “In a few months, we will have pushed [Hitler] so far into the corner that he will squeak.” It turns out that power doesn't “moderate” people who are openly talking about a dictatorship.

Please don't assume that there's any truth to the whole “Trump has nothing to do with Project 2025 and trying to link it to him is just liberal hysteria” line. They said the same thing about Hitler. People repeatedly asserted that Nazi street violence wasn't really representative of the party leadership; it wasn't representative of Hitler. He was even subpoenaed by a very brave lawyer in 1931 in a bid to prove that recent violence by Nazi stormtroopers was committed with the knowledge and encouragement of the party leadership, with part of the prosecution's argument hanging on a pamphlet by Goebbels that promised a violent overthrow of the state if the Nazis couldn't come to power legitimately. Surely no legal political party could be publishing that. In a successful attempt to escape criminal charges, Hitler repeatedly lied that the pamphlet was not official Nazi Party material and that he didn't know anything about it. No Trump didn't write it, no it isn't an official GOP manifesto, but the links between Project 2025 and Trump, the previous Trump administration, and Trump allies are extremely well documented. Just the other day, Project 2025 co-author Russell Vought was caught calling Trump's disavowals of the document “graduate-level politics” and saying, “what he's doing is just very, very conscious distancing himself from a brand ... he's in fact not even opposing himself to a particular policy.”

Please don't assume that “there's no way something like that could happen here; we're way too educated and advanced”. They said the same thing about Hitler. The Germany of the 1920s and 1930s was one of the most educated and most scientifically and industrially advanced nations in the world, and its cities were some of the most progressive in the world. People were stunned and horrified that it was in Germany of all places - Germany, land of music and art and science and literature! - that fascism took root. Germany's economic and social advancement didn't stop about 40% of its voters choosing the Nazis. It didn't stop them taking power.

Please don't assume that Project 2025 is “just a wishlist” and “not actually a serious plan”. They said the same thing about Hitler. As is hopefully very clear by now, plenty of people did not think that the Nazis were capable of, or would dare to try, putting into actual practice the horrific ideas about race that undergirded so much of their ideology. “I like Hitler; he talks sense economically and I think all this stuff about Jews is just bluff and bluster.” “Every party has a loony wing, right? You have to understand they're not serious when they talk about this stuff; they're just telling their base what they want to hear.” “God have you heard this crazy race science shit about head shapes and stuff? It's hilarious! I'm sure none of them at the top really believe that; there's no way they'd be that nuts.” When a group of people like this tells you what they believe and tells you what they want to do with power, believe them. No matter how ridiculous they seem, they're not joking.

In the words of Hans Litten, the lawyer who subpoenaed and cross-examined Hitler in that court case in 1931, “Don't listen to him; he's telling the truth.” Litten was arrested on the night of the Reichstag fire in 1933 and spent the rest of his life being tortured in concentration camps before dying in Dachau in 1938 at the age of 34.

A tyrannical dictatorship can often be seen coming a mile away. I don't want to imply for a second that what the Nazis did came as a surprise to everyone and couldn't possibly have been predicted. There were people who saw this coming in the 1920s and 1930s and tried to sound the alarm while they still had a chance. But they were too often in the minority, taking the threat seriously while others had convinced themselves that there was no need for concern because the Nazis wouldn't really do all the things they repeatedly talked about wanting to do. Everyone should have seen this coming, but too many people wanted to believe it couldn't be true.

Don't let this scare you. Let it energise you. Talk to the people in your life about Project 2025 and Agenda 47. Push back against people who assert that “they'd never actually do all that stuff” or “Trump didn't even write Project 2025” or “it's not a real plan, just a list of crazy shit to get the base riled up”. Have conversations with folks you know who are on the fence about voting or about who to vote for and who seem persuadable. Make sure you're registered to vote, and keep making sure, especially if you live in a red state where people keep mysteriously dropping off voter rolls.

Now, again, please don't read this as some confident prediction that Trump will be a Hitler figure. I want to stress that is a worst-case scenario. If a Trump presidency is what happens, I would much prefer the best-case scenario: that he spends four years fumbling around and not really accomplishing anything and then gives up power at the end without much of a fight. But it would also be a folly to be smugly overconfident that the worst-case scenario “won't” or “can't” happen. It could. It has happened before. There is no reason it couldn't happen again.

[ylangelegy]

⋆.˚ childhood best friend ♡︎ chan.

── .✦ the one where bang chan learns what 'home' means. #우리의_찬란한_청춘_방찬에게 #BrightestStarBangChan

✰ gn!reader, idol!chan, fluff!!!, angst 🙁, childhood best friends, long distance friendship, homesickness, hurt/comfort, ambiguous romance [pining/crushes], open ending. end notes included! ❤︎ all sfw. intentional lowercase. wc: 1,800+

🧸 childhood best friend chan who moves in next door, who came from seoul to sydney and was scared he wouldn't meet anyone his age.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who is the only one to attend your birthday party. he flashes you a grin and tries to cheer you up by saying, "that just means more cake for us!"

🧸 childhood best friend chan who introduces himself as christopher— but you can call him chris, he says hastily. he knows his full name is too long. you assure him no, it's okay, you'll call him christopher. he rewards you with another one of his signature dimpled smiles. the first of many.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who spends most of his summers with you. his next door neighbor, his new best friend. he tries to teach you how to play soccer. you burn songs you think he'll like on to CDs. the two of you learn to bike down your street. see? you both still have the scars to prove it.

🧸 childhood best friend chan whose fondest memories with you are set in beaches. you're both still too young to surf, so you kill your time trying to outswim each other. it's a tender rotation of portraits— hands sticky with fruit-flavored ice cream, sand in your slippers, the smell of sunscreen.

🧸 childhood best friend chan slash guitar teacher. you spend one too many evenings out on his porch with his beat-up acoustic guitar. as his fingers gently guide yours over the strings, you consider romance. but for only a moment. because you'd rather have him like this than risk not having him at all.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who sticks to your side at school. everyone thinks you're dating; the two of you give up on correcting peers. chan doesn't quite understand why he's so happy to have people assume, and why he's even happier to have you acquiesce.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who tells you, first, about what he plans to do. "it's just an audition," he tells you, but you already know. you already know what he's destined for, who he's going to be, as early as then.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who practices his bruno mars audition song with you over and over and over again until you forget what the original version sounds like. nowadays, whenever you hear just the way you are, it's only ever in the voice of thirteen-year-old christopher.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who calls you up excitedly, who only says two words. "i'm in," he breathes, and there's so many things you can say in that moment. of course you are, and i never doubted you, and you're leaving me?, but instead you settle on, "i'm proud of you."

🧸 childhood best friend chan who doesn't cry at the family dinner. doesn't cry at the airport. he laughs when you tear up, teases that you're being silly. think of it as summer camp, he tells you, and when he hugs you goodbye, his hands shake just a teensy bit.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who cries on the plane— because at least, there, no one who loves him will see.

🧸 childhood best friend chan slash trainee who keeps in touch. he texts a lot in those first couple of years. you'd like this café. these cherry blossoms look really good. dance practice today was tiring. you learn to read between the lines; he is saying i miss you, but he cannot say the words themselves, because then it becomes real.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who never misses a birthday, whether its yours or someone in your family's. shipping fees are too stressful and so he perfects the art of long-distance gift-giving. here, an 8tracks playlist. here, a digital flipbook. here, a video of him singing your favorite song.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who gets busy, who gets frustrated, who watches dozens of trainees debut before him. you try your darnedest to sympathize but there is only so much that you can know about this industry, about his lifestyle.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who never blames you. how could he? he made his choice. but still. but still. there are days, weeks, months, where he forces himself to keep his distance. because this is a whole other kind of hurting— saying goodbye and knowing that the door is still left open a crack.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who watches your life in pictures, in the squares of instagram photos, the tagged posts on facebook. you graduate high school, and then uni. you work part-time jobs. you finally learn how to surf. and he is proud, and he is hurt, and he is yours, still, in ways that neither of you can comprehend.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who, after being distant for what feels like forever, extends an olive branch in the form of a follow request. finstas are only just becoming a thing in his part of the world. every trainee has one. the first person he thinks to follow is you.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who starts reacting to your stories, who replies every so often. your haircut looks nice and how's your mum? and wow, that part of town has changed a lot. it's all so stilted, all so polite, but he's trying, he's trying, he's trying. he needs you to see that.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who finally calls you one evening to tell you everything. you are horrified by what he's gone through, by all the times he's been passed over, but chan reassures you. even as you apologize, again and again, for not knowing.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who tells you, "i chose this. i want to keep choosing it. but—" a beat. then, softly, the words he's held himself back from saying. "i just miss you, that's all."

🧸 childhood best friend chan who slots right back in to your life. he's still plenty busy. at least now he knows that you're always just one message away, that you'll appreciate his updates of i met another aussie today or there's a new day6 song or i can finally stop dieting.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who excitedly tells you about 3racha. about his genius lyricist j.one and his killer rapper spearb. his own moniker is plain and simple, he says with a laugh. cb97. but it's him, it's his, it's a start.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who sends you the first demo of a song he's genuinely happy to have produced. my heart is in your hands, he jokes in the e-mail subject line. j.one is good. so is spearb. but chan, cb97, your christopher, who sings "i'd like to start off this speech with a 'thank you' to everyone that helped little chris to grow up"? he's everything.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who tells you in vague terms that he might not be reachable for some time. there's a lot of things he wants to tell you, wants to divulge. there are other people on the line, now, though, and so he holds back. you understand. you tell him you'll wait. he is so, so grateful.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who is introduced as the leader of JYPE's newest boy group. he is not christopher or chris. he is chan, now. bang chan. you watch the survival show with his family. you give them a handwritten letter for him, when they go to visit him in south korea. you see him become everything he said he would be.

🧸 childhood best friend chan whose hair is two-toned dirty blonde and aqua blue when he debuts with hellevator. you buy his photocard. you still have it up in your room; it makes him cringe, but he is secretly pleased that you cared enough to do such a small thing.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who bears the weight of impossible expectations. leader, producer, idol. son, brother. friend. he is so many things all at once. they say he is too much. they say he is not enough. he doesn't know who to listen to.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who blames himself for things that are beyond his control. for 2019. for 2020. for 2021. for— there isn't a year where chan isn't blaming himself for something, really.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who finds comfort in the smallest of things. a noisy dorm with seven other boys. the thrill of turning a note in to a living, breathing song. you. your little updates. you. your easy responses. you. your unwavering support. you, you, you.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who wonders often sometimes what it would have been like if he stayed.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who can see it so, so clearly. the college you would have both gone to. working at the record store; busking in the mall. summers of surf and sun. your fingers fitting in to the spaces between his.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who thinks he would have been happy with that life. happier than right now?... he's not sure. all he knows is that he would have been happy. the two of you could have been so happy.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who often sometimes feel like his youth was taken from him. his teenage years were spent as a trainee; his early twenties were spent fighting for every scrap. he doesn't regret the choices he made. he doesn't want to. he can't.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who doesn't tell you any of this. a part of him doesn't have to. you know just how much he gave up. you know just how much he gained. you know why there are certain encores that make him cry, why there are songs he can't bear to perform live. why it's always so hard for him to name 'home' nowadays—

🧸 childhood best friend chan who wants to believe that 'home' means sydney. who, to make things easier, says 'home' is seoul. who will sometimes say that 'home' is STAY, 'home' is stray kids. who knows, deep down, that home is a three-letter word of y-o-u.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who, when he makes his way back to sydney, is scared shitless. he's been gone for so long. it's an endless litany of 'what if's. what if berry doesn't recognize him anymore. what if all his favorite restaurants have shut down. what if you realize you don't like the person he's become. what if, what if.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who is only partially reassured when he realizes there's still a spot for him at the dinner table, when his old friends don't treat him any differently, when the path to the park still feels familiar.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who realizes that all of his worries are unfounded when you greet him with "long time no see, christopher." not chan. not chris. christopher.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who smiles the same way that he had when he first met you. all bright eyes and dimples.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who holds out his hand, waiting to see if you'll take it.

✰ i think a lot about a line in The Myth of Sisyphus, where it goes something along the lines of "one must imagine sisyphus happy." in some way, this is me #coping (lol). one must imagine bang chan happy. because maaan, does he deserve it. happy birthday, chris.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny and the Fan Blog part 2

Danny is trying to get a picture from the Gotham Bridge of its sister city, Bludhaven. He has dropped his invisibly, sure that being on the edge of a dangerous out-of-the-way ledge will keep unwanted mugging away.

He had flown down to the bottom metal part of the arch right smack in the middle- still far from the water but lower than where the cars and people were.

He sinks to his knees, hoping the bridge's light can get his shadow against the waves for an epic piece. Danny aims his lens, adjusting the focus again, and then presses the button.

At the exact moment, he does, a boat out rushes from underneath the arch of the bridge, and a body flings itself off the bridge's edge above him. The person twists masterfully midair, landing on the boat's deck with a soft thump and not a wasted movement.

Danny's mouth drops open, watching the boot disappear into the horizon before scrambling to see the photo.

It's gorgeous.

The water is highlighted by the golden glow of the street lanterns, and they bounce off the sleek black boat, with the skyscrapers of Bludhaven painting the perfect drop back. But what ties the picture together is Red Robin mid-fall, half twisted and arms above his head that its hard to tell if hes a fallen angel or a rising one.

He's got a half smile on his face, black hair blowing in the wind and Danny breath catches.

It's the best picture he's ever taken.

He stares at the screen of his camera, wondering how he could have been so lucky to have captured the perfect moment. Danny won't even have to do too much editing. It's ready to be posted right now.

He was so excited to share it that Danny abandoned his place, turning invisible and flying back to his apartment. He arrives to find Jazz working on her homework on the kitchen table, but her hand rests on a ghost gun until he drops his powers and becomes invisible.

Her face lights up at once, and her hand lifts from her weapon. "Danny! How was the photos tonight?"

"Only got one." He admits, sprinting forward to show her, "But look at which one!"

He brings up the image from the memory card, displaying it proudly. Jazz mouth slacks. "Woah, Danny, that's amazing! He looks so good in it! How on earth did you manage to get this?"

"Luck, really." He grins, reaching for a plate with apple slices and peanut butter that Jazz likely set out for him. It is his favorite snake.. "I was at the right place at the right time."

"And where exactly was this place?" He winces at the tone, he knows she doesn't like him taking too many risks, but it's not like he's in any real danger. Even the Meta collars that canceled people's powers would never work on him. Danny is a ghost, and no one has the technology for that unless someone finally starts taking his parents seriously.

Vlad has been fine since Jazz convinced him to see a therapist. He is currently in the ghost zone at some mental hospital retreat that has been doing wonders for him. They visit whenever chance they get.

"I may have been under the Gotham Bridge."

"Trigate Bridge or Brown Bridge?"

"There is more then one bridge?"

"Danny," Jazz sighs. "There are four bridges."

Danny shrugs, taking a bit from his snack, and starts his laptop. He's sending the photo onto his blog from his camera, watching the photo download with anticipation. "I don't know Jazz. I ignore stuff like that."

"Well, maybe you should. You have yet to learn how important it is to pay attention to the things around you in this city. Danger is around every corner. Just this afternoon, someone tried to steal my phone!"

Danny's head jerks up. "They what?"

"I know! I was just minding my business reading a fascinating article on child development in the tablet era when some thug walked right up to me with a gun. I would have handled it trust me, his stance was pathetic at best, but Red Hood came to my rescue." Here Jazz's face reddness and Danny has a moment to wonder if he could take Red Hood in a fight. Maybe. He's sure he would win but it would be a close call.

He would do it, too, anything to keep no good punks away from his sister.

Jazz sees the face his making and rolls her eyes. "What? I'm allowed to drool over boys every once in a while. Just like you do."

"I do not droll!" Danny shouts offended.

Jazz gestures to the laptop screen, uploading the photo onto his blog. "Sure. And you just happen to stare at Red Robin's photos for the artistic application."

"I-I do! I took them!" Danny shutters, watching his sister's face break into a teasing smile. He feels his own lips pull upwards against his will and suddenly, they are laughing. It's strange, how at ease they both feel here.

They were never this carefree back at their parent's home. The realization makes Danny feel slightly guilty for noticing- because it wasn't like his parents didn't love him- but there was always tension at home. Even before the accident, he knows now that it wasn't healthy.

Jazz must have felt the change too, because before while she was racing towards adulthood- always strung so tight and nervous- she missed out on being a typical teen. Danny never had a chance to sit down with her and gush about boys, nor had she ever prioritized making friends.

Sure, Jazz was pretty, brilliant, and basically the pride of Casper High, but Danny never noticed she had no friends. She never hung out with people at the mall, she never got invited to go out, and she never texted funny memes to others back home.

In Amity, people knew of and respected her, but no one was close to Jazz. Maybe that's why she got so excited to be part of Team Phantom when she first found out.

Jazz Fenton may have been the intelligent sibling, but Danny Fenton was the social one, leaving her feeling crippling lonely while he had his two best friends.

He knows that now.

"Speaking about drolling over boys- how's Jason?" Danny teases just as Jazz's phone buzzes with a new message. The notification displays Jason's shy smile before Jazz yanks it protectively close to her face.

Jason Peter is someone Danny can approve of instead of that thug Red Hood. Jason and Jazz met at one of their classes at the beginning of the semester when Jazz was still unused to the city. She always went to class ten minutes before it started and read to pass the time instead of speaking to her college mates.

She had been reading Pride and Prejudice- one of the fancy covers kind Vlad had gotten her- and Jason had practically teleported to her table gushing about the artwork. Then, when he sat down, the two broke into a healthy debate about the characters.

Jazz admitted to him later that she was surprised by a man in a leather jacket with a white streak in his hair and multiple piercings in his ear having such in-depth character analysis of her beloved novel.

They've been hanging out ever since.

"He is fine, thank you." She huffs, typing a response to the text. Danny places his chin on his hand, smiling as her eyes soften. "He asked me to see a play this Friday. Or, well, he said he was going to one and wanted to know if I wanted to come along."

Danny perks up. "Like a date?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" Jazz nervously plays with her hair. "He made it sound like we were just hanging out. Do you think he meant it like a date?"

"It could be either way if he didn't clarify," Danny admits, then smiles to settle her sudden anxiety. She always doubted herself about spending time with people outside the family or Team Phantom. Doubts that were the result of her upbringing. "But why don't we go shopping tomorrow? Get you a nice dress, and I'll do your make-up. Once we're done, he'll wish it was a date!"

Jazz's smile may be wobbly, but it was there, and it was real. They chat more about the play and what she should wear. Danny forgoes any black, claiming it's too fancy for a first date, and trades ideas for her outfit.

Neither notices that the photo has finished uploading or that people are already commenting and losing their minds.

Nor did they notice a particular hacker with the handle- Oracle- attempting to break into his computer only to be booted out by Technus' system. It flings Oracle to the closest computer system that is close to his.

Somewhere deep underground under a particular mansion. Oracle panics, thinking that Phantom piggyback rides her signal to the cave and quickly shuts everything down. She bites her lip before picking up her personal phone and calling Bruce.

"We have a problem."

Else where Tim is helping Dick with an out-of-control gang. He isn't aware that a photo of him has just circulated through Gotham nor of the sudden new simps awaiting him.

(Lady Gotham laughs)

[flowercrowngods]

based on this post, because at this point i think it's safe to say @unclewaynemunson is actually my muse or something (hi anna i hope this is okay even though it’s, like, way angsty and way too long huh)

🤍 also on ao3

Two days after Starcourt, concussed and beaten, Steve has a seizure.

His ears are still ringing when the doctor gives him a stern glance over the rim of his glasses and pronounces him unfit to drive. No, in fact, he claims Steve poses a real danger to himself and others if he sat behind a wheel again.

Immediately, Dustin and Robin jump to promising that they won't let him do that, and in another life Steve is sure he would be grateful, or at least reasonable about it, but in this one he has a horrible second where the floor falls out from under him and he wishes, for just one second, that his head had been shaken a bit more, just enough to–

It makes him nauseous even thinking that. Everything does, lately. He closes his eyes against the offensive brightness of the hospital room and lets the sound of Dustin's and Robin's voices wash over him as he takes a moment to really take in what the doctor's orders entail.

He can't drive anymore. No more late night drives to watch the street lights pass and lull him into a safer state of mind than his bedroom walls could. No more driving the kids to their DnD sessions, no more taking Robin anywhere at the drop of a hat, no more bickering, no more reign over the music, no more stern glances through the rearview mirror, no more "Shut up, Wheeler, or you're leaving the car."

No more "Thanks, Steve!", no more "I'll bring some of mom's cookies if you drive us to the arcade", no more "You're the best" or "You're a lifesaver" or "I owe you one".

No more place for him in the group, no more use for him, no more...

No more. Nothing. Now he's just Steve, would-be lifesaver, 'has-been babysitter', 'could-have-been somebody until he lost his license to drive because he wasn't quick enough, wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough'. Just Steve.

He doesn't know how to be that. Who is Steve Harrington without his car, without the one thing he was good for anymore?

The pit in his chest is deep enough, dark enough to pull him in, and for a moment the very thing he is good for is misery.

He waits until a nurse makes everyone leave for the night, and then he cries. It makes his head hurt, pressure building behind his eyes, but he's used to being in more pain than any teenager should be in, so he curls in on himself and hides underneath the blanket.

Here's to hoping the others won't notice just how useless he is now. Not too soon, anyway. He wants another month. A painless month filled with laughter and hugs, and then they're free to leave, to pull back slowly. Calls unanswered, radio channels changed so he won't reach them, sheepish apologies and rain checks, because now Nancy will drive them. Or Jonathan. Hell, maybe Max will take the risk just to avoid him.

---

He gets a week of daily visits in the hospital, the doctors and nurses insisting on keeping him here, a watchful eye on his vitals, scanning his head three times during his stay, insisting he has head trauma of a severely worrying degree.

Nancy picks him up from the hospital and it's awkward, tense, too much left unsaid between them but there's no one else to do it. Steve's hands are shaking, gripping the seatbelt the whole way home – and then his heart falls when he sees his Beemer in the driveway. The glorious, trusty, wonderful, best fucking car anyone could wish for. His baby. His.

He throw up into the brushes when he realises that he won't get to take it on one last ride. Maybe he shouldn't be so attached to a car. Maybe he's being pathetic about it. At least he can explain away the fat tears in his eyes now, and Nancy doesn't press.

The first thing he does when Nancy is gone is calling Robin, and she's excited when she says, "I'll come right over!" and Steve wants to ask, how, but he keeps his mouth shut, biting his lip. It's stupid, but the thought of someone else driving Robin over makes his skin crawl.

"Alright," he says instead, his voice raspy, and he hangs up before she can detect something in his voice.

After that, he goes outside again and runs his hand along his Beemer. It's shining in the sun; he had it cleaned the other week, the full program, every step in the book to celebrate four years since he got her.

"Four years, huh," Steve says, his nail catching on a minor scratch that isn't even visible but might be more familiar to him than even his home. "Damn good four years."

He's talking to his car. God, it's so stupid, it's so stupid, it's so stupid–

Steve's knees give out and he gives in to the desire that's burning under his skin sometimes, the desire to just sit down and ignore the world. Because everything is less real when you're sitting down somewhere you're not meant to be, and the ground is warm, and Steve just wants the world to go. His head is leaning back against the warm metal of the driver's door, and he closes his eyes for a while, his head still spinning, his ears still ringing, everything still awful.

After a while, there’s a shadow followed by a weight settling down between him, a head landing on his shoulder, a hand taking his.

"I'm so sorry, Stevie," Robin says. The lack of dingus makes it more real, somehow. More tragic. More pathetic.

"I'll live." And it feels a bit like a lie.

---

He gets his month. A month filled with barbecues in his backyard, the kids coming by after school to check on him, and Robin has practically moved in. Joyce picks him up on Friday nights for dinner at their house for a change of scenery.

It’s a good month, though Steve feels trapped. Caged. A bird without his wings, a boy without his car. Steve without his one purpose, the one thing he was good for. He has to be picked up because they don’t trust him walking, or they have to come to his place. And soon the worried glances that are thrown his way are too much, caging him further, reminding him of what this is. A pity party — quite literally. No one trusts him anymore, there’s always someone jumping to help him, not caring or listening to his protests.

And he can’t leave, because “What if you have a seizure in your room?”

It makes him want to scream.

Maybe it shows, or maybe everyone’s just fed up with him now that he can’t provide his taxi services anymore, but after summer the Byers dinners stop and the kids pull away.

“Told you that’s all I’m good for,” Steve says with a mean, pained huff as he hangs up the phone. Claudia said Dustin isn’t home, but he could hear the kids in the background. It hurts more than it should.

“What is?” Robin asks from her place on the floor with her back against the wall.

“Nothing.”

She frowns. “Come on, dingus, you can’t start and then—“

“No, I mean it. Nothing. That’s what I’m good for now that I can’t drive them anymore.”

“Bullshit!” she says, and it comes out so harsh that it makes Steve flinch. He swallows. Right. Robin isn’t hear to listen to him whine about how he feels like he has no place in this town, in this group, in this life anymore now that his head is so fucked up he can’t even be trusted to live alone.

That’s why Robin is here, right?

The babysitter becomes the babysitted… or something.

She doesn’t care, not really. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t ask.

“Steve, they’re kids.”

“Yeah, well. So am I.”

He turns away from her and ignores the tears threatening to fall. The door to his room falls shut and he would love to lock it just to make a point to the world at large, a point that it can’t shut him out if he shuts himself in, but he knows it’s too risky. If he has a seizure, Robin needs to get in.

He can’t even stay in his room alone without supervision anymore. What kind of a fuck-up is he becoming, where does it end? He’s already managed to chase away the kids, even Dustin only checks on him sporadically anymore, and it hurts. He wants to know why, wants to know what he did, how to take it back, how to get them back.

But then he remembers how it all started. Dustin needed a ride and someone to take a beating. Both of which he can’t do anymore without risking life and death of himself and others. He’s a safety hazard. He’s useless. He’s Steve fucking Harrington, which doesn’t mean anything anymore.

---

And then it’s spring, and Chrissy Cunningham is found dead in Eddie Munson’s trailer. The group is back together again, the Party assembled once more. And Steve, for a just one second, hopes that he can get it right this time, that he can do this again. One last time. Because Vecna slash Henry slash One surely is it.

But then they turn on him — even Eddie looks confused, which is a rather adorable look on him — the moment Steve tries to get a word in.

“You’re not coming with us, Steve.” That’s Dustin, and Steve just rolls his eyes, but then Robin joins in.

“Yeah, no, I’m with the gremlin on this, dingus.”

“Hey!”

“Oh shut it, Henderson.” She turns to him, her eyes softer but no less burning another hole inside Steve. “We can’t risk it, Steve.”

“Risk what?” It’s a challenge. His shoulders squared, his jaw clenched, he’s challenging her, and it’s cruel.

She holds his eyes, her expression icy, like he’s stupid. “We can’t risk you dying. We can’t risk you getting a seizure mid-fight or just by being in the Upside Down.”

“Hey, woah,” Eddie tries to get a word in, but Steve won’t hear him as the desperation, the loneliness, the feeling of being caged like a bird and still the only human left on a desolate planet, all that breaks free.

“We all know that dying in a fight is the only thing I’m good for anyway.”

The silence among their war council, as Max dubbed it, is deafening.

“What?” Lucas sounds small when he asks that, and Steve closes his eyes. He hadn’t meant for him to hear that. Any of them, actually. They weren’t supposed to know.

“Steve, that’s not true.” Dustin’s words are filled with disbelief and worry, and Steve hates the worry, it makes his skin crawl, it makes his heart race, it makes his fists clenched and it makes him want to scream again.

“What else then, huh?” he asks weakly. “What else is there? None of you even talk to me anymore since Starcourt. Since summer.”

“Because you were pulling away,” Nancy explains, though her words are weak and her mouth clicks shut when Steve looks at her.

“Because we’re scared.” Max this time, and Steve doesn’t want to look at her, doesn’t want to tell a child that she’s not allowed to be scared for him— not more than he is, anyway. It doesn’t make sense for him to be hurt. They don’t want him to die. That’s a good thing, right? They didn’t want to see him hurt, so they looked away. It makes sense.

But it also hurts.

Steve shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose before all but running from the trailer. He doesn’t make it far (“Stay close so we won’t have to worry”), just needs some fresh air and to sit down somewhere the world will become a bit less real again.

The stairs it is. He tries to breathe through the lump in his throat, clenching and unclenching his hands to get rid of the anger and the hurt and all that excess energy.

He doesn’t want to die, is the thing. The very thought makes him nauseous and panicky. He wants his life back. His car. The freedom to just jump in there and get away. He doesn’t want the cage or the worry or the hovering or the loneliness when he isolates himself from all that.

Face buried in his hands, Steve almost misses it when someone comes to sit beside him. The thick smell of leather and cigarettes tells him who it is without looking up.

Eddie doesn’t speak for a while, just sits with him as Steve calms down.

And then, after a while, he lights a cigarette and asks, “You get seizures, Harrington?”

Steve nods. “Sometimes.”

Eddie hums. “That sucks.”

He nods again, and then that’s that. But even though it was a rhetorical question and Eddie didn’t even need an answer, it feels pathetically good to be asked about something. About himself. It only makes the pit inside his chest deeper, cutting into his soul with a sharp edge, this tiny little moment of normalcy. He wants to cling to it. He wants to talk to Eddie. God, he hasn’t really talked to anyone in so long.

“Before Starcourt — remember, the mall? The fire? Yeah that was, uhm. More monster shit. And Russians who thought I was a spy and then… yeah. Anyway. Uh. We used to be friends, I think. The kids and I. They used to care — or I like to think that they did. And then I got one too many head injuries, and the seizures started, and then they… It became too much. For them, for me. And the caring stopped. And, like, it’s fine or whatever, but I still care, and I can’t let them do all that alone. I know that all I was good for was taking them somewhere with my car, but I can’t drive anymore, so now I’m just… I’m just Steve. No titles attached, no use or function or point.”

Eddie just stares at him, puzzled and intrigued and even a little sad, and Steve wants to laugh it off when the silence stretches.

“Sorry, that’s kind of a sob story, you—“

“Wait here,” Eddie says, stubbing out his cigarette before disappearing back into the trailer. Steve watches him with a confused frown but stays put. A minute later, the door flies open and a scandalised looking Max appears, followed by the rest of the crew.

“You what?!”

“Uh,” Steve blinks. “I what?”

“Eddie told us you think you’re useless and that we don’t like you and that all you were ever good for is driving us from A to B with, like, no personal value whatsoever,” Dustin fills in, sounding no less bewildered. “Is that true, Steve?”

And God, the kid is so good at making all his questions sound like dares that Steve instinctively wants to swallow and negate it, tell them that Eddie misheard, that he’s fine, that everything fine.

But then Robin’s whispered little, “Steve” stops him from doing that. In fact, the sadness and confusion on their faces makes the dams break once more, confronted with months of spiralling and no one to drag him out, no one to listen.

Tears spring to his eyes and he gets up from the stairs to properly face them. He shrugs. It’s as much of a confirmation as anything.

And then Dustin sprints forward and tackle-hugs him, burying his face in Steve’s chest with no intention to let go anytime soon.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Steve’s shirt and Steve runs a hand through his hair immediately.

“It’s okay, Dustin.”

“No! It’s fucking not okay, Steve, stop saying that. You’re my big brother, you’re my best friend, you’re my hero! You’re the coolest guy I know and nothing’s gonna change that, okay?”

“Then why’d you leave?” His voice is so small, but Dustin only hugs him tighter.

“Because you were hurting and I was… I feel like all of that is my fault.”

“Why would it be your fault, Dustin?”

He shrugs, and it breaks Steve’s heart. Dustin thinks everything is his fault just like Steve thinks it’s his.

“It’s me who got you into the thing with the Russians. I insisted. And you were tortured for it, Steve! You… You told us to go, and we did, and then we came back and you were— you-“

“Hey,” Steve whispers, curling himself around and over Dustin. “Hey, no, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. None of that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry I pulled away, Steve,” Dustin sniffles and looks up at him. “I swear it’s not because I think you’re useless. It’s just… I’m so scared.”

And it makes sense, somehow. The anger leaves Steve when he whispers, “Me too. And I don’t like it when you’re all scared and worried. I hate it.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Shut up.”

And then they’re both laughing with tears in their eyes. Lucas and Max join them with their own promises that Steve isn’t worthless to them.

“Did you read my letter? You know, the one if…”

“No,” Steve says. “You told me not to.”

“Right. Anyway, read it. Whatever happens, I want you to read it. Because you’re my brother and you mean too much for me to, like, never let you know. But, uh. Billy died. And I hated him, but it fucked me up. And then you almost died, and then you almost died again; and then you just… collapsed. And I thought, I cant do this again, not with someone I actually like. Not with you. And I didn’t wanna watch. I watched Billy. I… I can’t watch you die, Steve.”

She’s crying by the end of it, and Steve pulls her against his chest. Shit, he hadn’t meant to make anyone cry like that.

“It’s okay, Max, I get it.”

“Not okay,” she shakes her head again. “I know it’s not. But—“

“I know.” He’s stroking through her hair. “I know.”

“Uh, guys? I hate to break up the heartfelt confession time,” Eddie chimes in. “But I think our window is closing.”

Right. The end of the world.

With one last squeeze to Max’s shoulders, he lets her go and they gather their things. Discussions about Steve’s joining their mission have been put on hold while their window is still open. They can continue this later.

Nancy drives while Max holds Steve’s hand in the back. They don’t talk and she has her headphones on, letting Kate Bush work her magic, but it’s fine. It feels a bit like healing.

He catches Eddie’s eyes on the other side and holds them for a while. Eddie smiles before looking away, and Steve does the same.

---

In the end, Steve doesn't climb the rope with them. He stays behind in Eddie's trailer even though every fibre of his being screams at him to join. But Nancy has a point when she explains to him that she and Robin got this. It's the first time he stays behind, and he hopes it will be the last.

They hug him before leaving, all of them. Promises are made to talk about this later, after, and he nods.

"Go save the world for me," he tells Robin, holding her tight, unwilling to let go.

"Only for you," she promises, and kisses his cheek before pulling away. "You better be right here when we come back."

He shrugs and gives her an encouraging smile. "I've got nowhere else to be, Buckley. Now go." The last words are whispered and it feels like goodbye. Steve should join them, he should be there! But his head is pulsing and he knows that one wrong move could leave him half blind with a migraine, and they don't need one more handicap.

The one thing he can do, though, is helping them climb the rope, and it makes him feel ridiculously proud, seeing them land safely on the other side, smiling up (or down?) at him. Robin and Nancy wave one last time before heading off.

That leaves him alone with Eddie and Dustin. The latter is already climbing the rope, itching to finally do something, preparing the trailer for their plan.

Only Eddie is left, and Steve looks over at him.

"Will you be okay, Steve?"

"Sure."

Eddie sighs and looks up at the gate, disbelief and resignation and even a hint of fascination in his eyes.

"It should be you," he says, and Steve frowns, confused. "You're the hero here."

"No," Steve huffs, smiling at the metalhead. "No, I'm no hero. The real heroes are already up there, and in California. The real hero died after Starcourt. I'm just the driver who lost his license, the boy with the bat. The protector who needs to be protected."

Eddie looks at him again, that kind of intense stare, the one that shows Steve that Eddie sees something in him. He wonders what it is, but isn't sure he wants to know.

"I think you're wrong, Steve." He says it with such gentle conviction that it takes Steve's breath away for a second, and something passes between them as they hold each other's eyes.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but then–

"Eddie!" Dustin is calling for him from the other side, and the boys snap out of their daze.

Steve steps into Eddie's personal space and pulls him to his chest. "Make him pay," he says. "But stay safe. Come back, okay? First sign of danger, you abort mission. Come back, Eddie. I'll be right here."

"Yeah," Eddie rasps, and he squeezes Steve once more. "Catch me when I fall through that gate in two hours?"

Steve laughs, a sad little thing, and he pushes Eddie away from him, hands steady on his shoulders. "Sure, big boy."

"Hey, that's my part."

"Say it when you come back, then."

This thing passes between them again, and then Eddie goes to climb the rope. Steve's hands find their way to his hips, steadying him, but Eddie is strong enough to pull himself up without problem. Huh.

"In the meantime, wrap your head around the fact that you're the one I'm coming back for, pretty boy."

And then Eddie is gone. Steve watches as he falls through the gate, landing on the mattress with more elegance this time, and then he, too, grins down (or up?) at Steve.

He gives a little wave, and then he is alone.

Plenty of room to think when your friends have gone on a suicide mission and you're the one who has to stay behind. The one who will have to do the explaining when things go south. The one who will have to watch and listen, helpless.

It makes him regret the past few months, the self isolation, all the times he pulled back, all the times he didn't push for an explanation or a conversation, all the times he hadn't asked the kids if they're alright because he was too caught up in all the ways that he wasn't.

God, he wants them to be okay. He wants to talk about this, wants them to tell him he's more than the driver without a license, more than the protector who needs protecting. He wants Eddie to come back and explain what he meant, say what he wanted to say. He wants...

He wants his old life back. But more than that, he wants them in his new life just as much. He wants to be brave enough for this new life and find a new purpose. Create one if he can't find it.

But he can't do it alone. He refuses to do it alone even one day more.

"Come back to me," he whispers, looking up at the gate from where he's sitting on the floor, back against the wall. "Come on guys, you've got this. Please work. Please, make the plan work."

And then, miraculously, it does. Eddie falls into his arms with an undignified squeal and the rest of the Party soon follow. They're unscathed, miraculously, and Steve cries as he holds them, all of them, in a group hug that makes the trailer smell like relief and grief and a new life ahead of them. Slowly, with an unnatural sound, the gate above them closes, and then silence reigns.

They cling to him now. Refuse to let go. Good thing he has nowhere to go as Lucas gasps and sobs into his chest, explaining what happened, that Jason almost destroyed the walkman, that Max could have died. And Steve runs shaky hands through his hair, pulling in Max, too, so the three of them can just hold each other for a second.

Dustin and Eddie are hugging beside them, and Nancy and Robin hold hands, a different kind of horror in their eyes, but they smile wetly at Steve as their eyes meet.

It's over. It's done.

They did it. They really did it.

Steve closes his eyes and holds Lucas and Max tighter. They don't complain.

---

Three days later, Steve's house is brimming with life again like it hasn't in months. Turns out, Hopper survived, and he hugged Steve for a whole five minutes, telling him he did good, he did great, he's a hero. Again with that shit that Steve doesn't believe, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Hop, so he just buries deeper into their embrace.

"It's good you're alive," he tells him, and the Chief sobs out a laugh.

"You too, kid. This town would be lost without you."

"Yeah, right," Steve laughs back, and then that is that.

Except, it isn't, because when he returns to the living room with Hop, Joyce and El in tow, everyone's standing, looking at him with timid expressions. Robin and Eddie are holding hands this time, and so are all the kids. They all look like they have something to say, and the only thing missing is a large banner that says INTERVENTION.

"Uh, what's going on?"

Dustin is the first to clear his throat, but only after Erica kicks him. "We wanted to apologise. For leaving you when you needed us the most."

Oh. Steve's shaking his head, placating words already on the tip of his tongue, ready to explain to them how that's not their fault, how that was all him, he could have said something, he could have asked, he could have–

"Steve," Nancy says, effectively cutting off any protest he could have voiced. "Just listen, okay? Don't say anything."

He looks at Joyce, who nods, and Hopper who looks about as lost as he feels.

Dustin continues then. "You deserved better, Steve, you really, really did. We all did, I think, but you... You put yourself in harm's way from the get-go."

"Yeah, you came to protect me when you didn't even like me." Jonathan this time. "No thoughts, just protection. I owe my life to you. Every single one in this room does, y'know."

"And what you got for it is severe head trauma and... us abandoning you." Nancy.

"You're not just the driver, Steve. You never were just a driver to us." Hell, even Mike is in on this? "You're annoying, you suck, and you don't even try not to act like you're everyone's big brother."

"You're family, Steve." Oh, baby Byers. That's what gets his eyes stinging and his lip trembling, so he bites down on it so they won't have to see. It's futile with the way they're smiling.

"Yeah. You're so much more than our babysitter," Lucas explains. "You're the best basketball coach."

"You actually listen to my music and read comics with me," Max continues with a smile. "You suck just a little less than everyone else in this town."

"Hey!"

"No, she has a point."

Steve's not keeping up with the who's who anymore, he's trying too hard to keep it together.

"You teach me new words," El says, smiling. "You give me your clothes, you take me shopping, you teach me how to deal with meanies."

And the list goes on. Everyone has something to say to him, something beyond the ways he can be useful. Something that he is to them, something meaningful, something that sounds a lot like purpose and family.

"And we were so scared, because you were hurt. Because of us. You were protecting us, and look where it got you. You're a hero, Steve. As real as they get, you are one."

"More than Wonder Woman," Max agrees. "More than Superman. You're Steve! And that's... He’s our hero."

"He’s our brother," Dustin says.

"He’s my son," Joyce adds, taking his hand.

"He’s our friend," Erica, Mike and El say in unison.

“He’s the one we stay for.” Robin’s eyes shine as she smiles.

“And the one we come back for.” Eddie’s smile is gentle, confident, and captivating. Steve can’t look away, even through his own tears.

---

In the following months, Robin gets her license and Eddie develops a sixth sense for whenever Steve needs to just sit in a car and ride around town, watching the street lamps pass and letting them lull him to sleep. There’s an upside to being a passenger, he finds, because he falls asleep like this a few times, always waking when Eddie kills the engine. He drives for hours sometimes, admitting with a blush high on his cheeks that he didn’t want to wake Steve.

Somewhere on the highway to Indianapolis, between three and four in the morning, Steve looks at Eddie in the soft glow of the night, and finds that he’s fallen in love.

And in the weeks and months and years that follow, he realises that that’s something new he’s good at.

[arjudy224]

Chemical Valley

(The Intern x Red Hood)

After the unsettling reminder of her past, Y/N has been avoiding vigilantes for the last few months. However, Dr. Harris has requested backup in the form of Gotham's newest crime lord. What could go wrong?

The Intern Collection:

Prequel: Death of a family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

I'm getting real sick of risking my life for a minimum-wage job. Driving around with Dr. Harris is one thing, but since when did the job description list teaming up with crime lords? I mean it's the Red Hood for Christ's sake. Dr. Harris gives me a protective smile from the driver's seat.

"Don't worry about Red Hood. He knows what he's doing." He starts sensing my apprehension. "Besides, he owes me a favor."

I nod with a nervous smile. Red Hood is the only vigilante that I've never interacted with. He only recently appeared in Gotham. From what I've heard on the streets, he isn't exactly on great terms with Batman.

"All due respect... hasn't he killed people? " I question glancing around the lonely alleyway.

Growing silent, Harris contemplates his response.

"Not recently." He says with what is supposed to be a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Trying to ignore the anxiety creating knots across my gut, I reply with more enthusiasm than I feel.

"Oh well... that's progress."

Harris laughs.

"It's Gotham dear. It's hard to find someone who hasn't committed murder. I wouldn't worry too much about the Hood though. If you can befriend Waylon, a little boy in a helmet is the least of your worries. "

I raise an eyebrow.

"You wanna elaborate?"

He smiles sweetly. I narrow my eyes.

"Don't ask questions that you don't want to know the answers to."

That shuts me up. We sit in silence for a few minutes while I contemplate what he just said. Dr. Harris isn't exactly wrong... Glancing at the time clock on the dashboard, I frown. I guess vigilantes aren't known for being punctual, but at least Nightwing was on time. Considering our history, maybe we were both eager to see each other again. I try to focus on the cool air dusting across my face.

A swift knock causes me to jump. The infamous Red Hood almost cartoonishly waves at me from the outside the window. My nervous heart patters like a hummingbird. Eyeing his bike, I sigh. It was silent... Of course, it was silent. What kind of muffler does he have on that thing?

Harris rolls down the window.

"Good morning. Thank you for meeting us."

Leaning on the car door, Red Hood asks in a deep voice

"What do you have for me Dr.?"

"Routine inspection of Ace chemicals. Normally, I wouldn't worry about having a backup, but with an uptick in Joker sightings... I figured it would be better to be safe than sorry."

Hood nods, then glances in my direction.

"I'll keep an eye out."

"Y/N L/N," I say introducing myself, "But most people call me L/N."

"Weren't you the one who convinced the Riddler to let you go in exchange for inspecting his lair for asbestos?" Hood asks with a tone of pride.

I smile while shaking his hand. Word must get around quick.

"Yeah, that's me. He didn't even ask me any riddles. The poor man was terrified."

Dr. Harris whips his head around.

"Why haven't I heard about this?" He demands.

I flash him a shit-eating grin.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to Dr. Maybe Metropolis hasn't made me so soft after all."

Before he can start lecturing me, I step out of the car to face my new bodyguard. Keeping my eyes trained on the ground. I sidestep the hulking mammoth of a man.

"Thank you for dropping me off Dr., but I'm sure "Little" Red and I can take it from here."

From the Driver's seat, Harris watches me with a hint of pride.

"This is not the last time we will be discussing this."

"I look forward to the debrief," I remark as he pulls away.

The ACE chemicals manufacturing plant towers over the surrounding buildings. The smoke stacks excrete a dark sticky aerosol that trickles down from above. Its gothic structure makes it look like something out of a Tim Burton film. Taking a step near the external shutter, I drag my index finger across. My glove smears a damp power off revealing the old white paint. An uncomfortable sensation settles in my chest.

There is no way this amount of air pollution is legal.

After my second round of coughing, Red Hood offers me a disposable face mask. I gratefully take it. The neon green sign serves as a haunting reminder that somehow this has passed inspection. My eyebrows narrow. We passed several kids on the way here. What does that do to someone? No wonder Dr. Harris mentioned childhood asthma. I'm more concerned about the long-term exposure to industrial solvents.

Glancing at Red Hood, I state

"There is no way this is legal."

Red Hood stays quiet for a moment. Adjusting his helmet, he replies

"The law can be anything you want as long as you kill the inspectors who challenge you."

My mouth falls open. A thousand questions flood my mind.

"Somebody must have tried."

Hood tilts his head while glancing between us and the doors.

"Somebody did try."

Tossing me a key card over his shoulder, he continues, "You can visit them in Arkham if you want."

I flounder to catch the key card. It takes a few moments to register his words. Them as in more than one? Or is he concealing their identity? By the time my brain focuses, I stand in the alley alone staring up at a sign for a trading card company.

Isn't that where the Joker.... Oh hell no...

Stumbling through the stained doors, a bubbly man contrasts the bleak external welcome. As he rambles, I analyze the faded posters nailed to the wall. Dr. Harris briefly mentioned the factory's history of producing bioweapons during the Second World War. Hazardous feels like an understatement. I nodd along with the pleasant man, yet something in my gut tells me to keep my eyes and ears open.

Walking past a dust cloud, my lungs contract. Unable to steady myself, I sneak down a back hall to take my inhaler. The rambling man continues down the other hallway completely oblivious to my absence. I tear the disposable mask off my face. Searching my pockets for the familiar medication, my heart drops. Of course, I left it in the car.

I sink into a seated position once the dizziness sets in. Do. Not. Panic. We cannot do that again. No more emergency room trips. A pair of boots emerges from the shadows.

"Are you alright?"

I nodd while focusing on each labored breath.

"Sometimes, I really hate this city." I wheeze clutching my chest.

Red Hood lets out a dry laugh before taking a seat next to me.

"I have something that might help, but you have to trust me."

A small inhaler makes its way into my left hand. Squinting, a small Bat engraving stares up at me. I give him an incredulous glance. There is no fucking way that Batman has a pharmacy.

"It works. I promise."

Reluctantly, I take two puffs. We sit in silence for a few minutes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. I relish the first full breath of air in days. My lungs expand completely. It is glorious.

"How is your friendship with Killer Croc?"

The immense pain that weighs on my chest lessens slightly.

"I'm sure Waylon wouldn't use the word friend. "

I open my eyes to look at him. Spots litter my vision. The sticky residue has left grime all over his mask. I hesitate.

"Waylon has lost everything... Everyone really. All he really needed was a friend."

Hood stays silent weighing out my words.

"What factory did they make you in?" He questions.

I can almost hear a smile in his voice.

"The same one that kicked you out for defects." I retort staring at the white paint peeling on the far left wall.

Considering the age of this building, I really hope that's not lead paint.

"Touché, Ms. Friendship. Touché"

I give him a friendly shove.

"You know, you aren't as bad as your reputation suggests."

He laughs climbing to his feet.

"I wouldn't go that far. Usually, I'm a dick."

"Better a dick than a sociopath," I say dusting off the black power on my pants.

"Damn Metropolis. Who have you been talking to?"

I shrug.

"It's Gotham. "

After a few moments of friendly silence, he asks

"You ready to find Mr. Optimistic?"

I nodd allowing him to pull me to my feet. Enjoying the comfortable silence, I open the door for him once we make it down the hall. To my surprise, Red Hood slams me against a wall before covering my mouth. Paralyzed in shock, I don't fight him. The Red Bat insignia stares at me. The soft aroma of his cologne catches me off guard. It's nice. Very musky. There's something so... familiar about it. I suddenly feel my face go red. There is no way I am evaluating how good a CRIMINAL smells. Get a grip girl.

Ignoring my mental crisis, Red Hood leads the two of us out the back door. Stumbling out the door behind him, I bend over holding my knees for stability. This is a lot of cardio for a regular inspection.

"What the hell was that about dude?" I hiss in between breaths.

Red Hood doesn't say anything.

"I know you are trying for the strong and silent type, but I think this partnership would benefit from open communication."

Standing up tall, a gunman aims a pistol directly at my temple.

Oh.. That's why.

Tag list: @nosyrobin, @jjsmeowthie, @epicy0n,@gaychaosgremlin, @rory-cakes, @luna-zendra-star

[help-itrappedmyself]

Danny punches a Clown Part 7

Masterpost

Danny wakes up some time later. Red and Agent A are there waiting for him in chairs on either side of his bed.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Less tired at least.” Danny was well enough he could feel his wounds trying to heal. “Could probably use some food though.”

“I will go retrieve it for you now that you are awake.” Agent A walks out of the med area.

“You feel up to meeting a few people? They’re going to be around so you should know who they are.”

“I guess so.” Danny sits up on the bed, bringing his knees to his chest.

Red leans out past the curtain and waves some people over. When he takes his seat, a man in a blue and black suit with a mask on and someone in an all-black suit with a head covering that comes down over his eyes comes in behind him. They stay standing by the curtain.

“You met Nightwing earlier, and this is Batman.” Red introduces. Nightwing waves when Red says his name. “We all work together here.”

Danny nods.

“Hey, Danny!”Dick comes over to sit in the chair on the other side of Danny’s bed. “We have a few questions that we would like to ask you if you’re feeling up for it.”

Danny shrugs.

“Okay, well we know you haven’t been in Gotham long, where did you come from?”

Danny wonders if he tells them a different dimension if they would believe him. If they would try to send him back. “Illinois.”

Nightwing let out a short whistle. “That’s a long way Danny.”Danny snorts at that. “Did you come here by yourself?”

“Yeah.” Danny starts picking at the edges of the blankets, trying not to look anyone in the eye- not that he could, they all have some form of mask on.

“Okay. Well, we have some concerns. Don’t know if you remember what you were talking about before you went to sleep, but you said some things about being shot at a lot, by your parents and some other people.”

“What part of that is a question?” Danny leans forward and rests his cheek on his knees, watching himself pick at the blanket. He found a loose thread that he’s started twirling around his fingers. 

“Can you tell us more about the people who were shooting at you? We’d like to look into them.”

Something in the tone Nightwing is using makes him sound all clinical. Like a social worker. Or a cop. It shouldn’t matter really because the people that did this to him are inaccessible unless they have some way to dimension hop. 

“Doesn’t matter anymore, I’m here now.”

“What made you come here? Do you have a family member, or friends that you were meeting?”

“For real, are you a social worker? Psychologist, cop, what.” Danny looks up at him. “You brought me to a cave f and you’re all wearing masks, but you’re talking to me like I’m going to freak out or something. You can stop acting like I’m a child. I know what’s happened to me. Frankly, the fact that I’m trapped in a cave with people dressed the way you are is more concerning for me than being back on the street. So can we get on with you doing whatever you’re going to do?”

“We’re not going to do anything Danny.” Red leans towards him. “We just want to make sure you have somewhere to go.”

“I don’t.” Danny states plainly. He knows his circumstances and he can’t risk going back home for a while, shouldn’t go back at all except to grab his stuff and leave again. 

The three share a few glances back and forth, having quite an in-depth silent conversation. Danny rolls his eyes and goes to stand up, they all immediately try and stop him.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Nightwing asks.

“Where are you trying to go?” Comes from Red.  

“You’re injured, you should stay in bed.” Comes from Batman.

Just then, Agent A pushes aside the curtain, walking in with a tray.

“I do hope you aren’t overwhelming the patient.” He brings the tray over, Danny straightens his legs and A situates the tray in his lap. “This boy needs to eat, and to rest. You don’t need to worry about where he’s going until he is fit to be out of bed. He’s not going anywhere until he’s improved.”

“Sir, I’m sure it’ll be fine-” Danny starts.

“Nonsense. I will not stand for it. You need proper treatment or your wounds will get infected. Now, eat or your body will not have the necessary fuel to heal.”

Danny bows his head and looks at the tray in front of him. A brought him chicken noodle soup, he starts to eat as A shepherds everyone back out and closes the curtain behind them.

“Now, I know this cannot be easy for you, being injured and alone.” A comes to sit in the chair that Red vacated. “I assure you that you have a place here at least until you are better. Even if you wish to leave now, you will not be able to get better on the streets.”

 “Thank you.” Danny says. “I didn’t mean to snap at them.”

“I’m sure they will forgive you for it, you are under a lot of stress right now.”

Danny nods. “Thank you for the food. It’s amazing.”

“Of course, Mister Danny. I will be making sure you are well nourished while you are with us. Please, let me know if you have any preferences.”

“Anything that’s not alive is good for me.”

Agent A just looks at him. “You did mention something about fighting your food last night. I had thought you were talking out of a bit of delirium.”

“Oh, no that used to happen. The chemicals my parents used reanimated the food sometimes. Had to fight some hot dogs. A chicken. Our kitchen was a hazard.”

“I dare say so.” A has a very scrunched up look on his face. “Rest assured nothing of the sort has ever happened in my kitchen.”

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Chapter IV: The Way I Feel When I’m in Your Hands I Prev I Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Yesterday's tryst lingers in Aemond's mind, refusing to let him rest.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, allusions to smut (oral f. receiving), perfectionism, self-doubt

Word count: 2700

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my darling @randomdragonfires for being this fic's number one fan. ILY Sam 🩵

He still tastes it.

Her.

Tangy and wanting and addictive. 

The rush Aemond felt from being with her still bubbles inside his veins as he laces up his running shoes. Not even a night's sleep has helped his inner craving for more. 

More of her. 

After their tryst last night, when he couldn't contain his want for her, and when she came twice on his tongue, he’d been so dumbfounded as the reality of what they'd done settled in, he left wordlessly while she was still panting, slumped against the grimy wall of the boathouse with her shirt ripped open and skirt hiked up around her waist. 

She must despise him now, leaving her yet again. 

If she only knew of the panic swirling inside of him. The conflicting feelings of wanting to run away from her and needing to feel her close, just for a little longer. 

Maybe it’s for the best. 

Nothing can come of this anyway; it’s a relationship doomed from the start. 

Like everything belonging to summer, it flourishes now, only to slowly decay and rot away as the dreamy shimmer over Red Lake dulls out.

Autumn, and the promise of an ending, lurks around the corner.  

This morning, Aemond doesn’t bother with stretching, eager to just run, until his legs give in and his lungs hurt. He needs that soothing numbness that comes after a good workout; the kind that kills the rowdy demons in his head and allows him to just exist; just be, even if only for a few hours. 

Mindlessly, he sets sight on the path that twists around the small hills and trees outlining the resort. There’s no thought behind his direction, he doesn't need one. He knows the ruins of House Crane as well as he knows the spiralling cobblestone streets of Oldtown, and the skyscrapers towering over King’s Landing. 

Every well-trimmed tree and carefully groomed bush he passes is familiar. He’s watched them stay the same his entire life. Just like Red Lake, they never seem to age, never grow outdated. 

There’s an eternal charm to the resort, in the way it stays the same. 

It must’ve looked like this when mum was a kid as well. 

Like most mornings, Daeron had asked him if he wanted to join his daily outing. 

Today was something about mountain biking close to Goldengrove, a two-hours drive away. For a moment, Aemond had considered taking his younger brother up on his offer. Seemingly the perfect escape; a nice, physical activity with just the right amount of recklessness to keep him alert, without any real risk of permanent brain damage. But there was this voice in the back of his head that told him to stay. 

A barely-there, low hum that kept him tethered to the resort. 

That voice whispered about her, urging Aemond to seek her out. For what reason, he’s not sure. He can’t imagine that she wants to talk to him. She might even be looking for a new dance partner right at this moment, given how yesterday’s session ended. 

By the time his legs ache and lungs fight for oxygen, he finds himself back by the Targaryen villa. And just like the other day, accompanying the familiar scent of roses, is the sight of her. 

The fierce pounding of his heart has nothing to do with the run anymore.

There is something that stings in his chest when he sees her, a stab that isn’t entirely uncomfortable, more like the chilling rush he felt when he was with her last time. Addictive and terrifying.

She wears the same radiant smile as always, teaching a small group consisting of mostly men, eager to pull her into their arms as she teaches them a slow-paced couples dance. 

But something about her seems different. It’s all a bit too perfect, too polished, like a performance she’s trying too hard to pull off. 

And now he sees it. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

Unsure of whether he should approach her or just leave, Aemond hovers at a distance, temporarily mesmerised by the gentle way she moves, a gracious contrast to the fumbling geezers trying to keep up with her. 

Her voice is soft but commanding as she corrects their postures. Despite her overly cheery smile, there’s something magnetic about it. It’s a mask, he knows that much. And yet, he feels her draw him in. 

Her hair catches in the sunlight, glinting with each turn, and his gaze follows her almost without realising it.

Aemond leans against a nearby fence, the morning breeze cooling the sweat that clings to his skin. 

There’s a tightness in his chest. Not the physical ache from his run, but something else, something deeper. 

As she demonstrates proper hand-placement, he can’t help but admire the ease with which she moves, the fluidity in her steps. It’s as if she was made to do this; to dance. To exist in a world of grace and movement.

Still, the memory of yesterday plagues him. The way he left, abrupt and thoughtless, gnaws at him. She doesn’t know how often his mind has returned to her in the hours since, or how he can’t seem to sort his otherwise cooperative mind out. 

He told himself he wouldn’t seek her out again. What happened between them was a mistake better left forgotten. 

But now, watching her, he feels that same familiar pull. It’s not just the desire simmering beneath his skin. No, something else hides there, a strange sense of regret and the faintest whisper of something more severe. 

Something he’s not ready to acknowledge.

She catches him off guard when her eyes flicker toward him, her smile faltering for just a fraction of a second before she recovers. Her mask slips back into place, but in that brief moment, he sees it; the hurt she’s hiding behind the façade.

Aemond pushes off the fence, guilt, embarrassment and longing fighting within him. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to move toward her, determined to say something, anything, to fix what he’d broken.

But even as he walks toward her, the unease in his gut tells him that it’s already too late. 

“Can we talk?” 

Aemond’s voice is low, almost drowned out by the chatter of her elderly students. 

She turns to him, still smiling, but there’s a coolness there now. A distance. 

“Talk about what?” she asks, tone light but guarded.

“About… yesterday”

For a brief second, something shifts in her eyes. But she blinks it away, that fake smile widening.

“It is what it is, Aemond. Don’t worry about it. It won’t happen again”

Her nonchalance stings. He thought he’d feel relief hearing her dismiss his worries, but there’s a tightness in his chest, a sharp stabbing he can’t quite identify. It feels too much like the rush he’d felt when they were together; frightening in the most compelling way. 

He forces himself to nod,

“Right. It won’t happen again”

Without another word, she turns and leaves him standing there, a hollow sense of regret the only remainder of their interaction. 

An entire day goes by, yet Aemond can’t shake the lingering feeling she has instilled in him. 

He barely talks during dinner, even quieter than usual. By the time dessert is served, some white chocolate treat he won’t bother reaching for, Helaena lays a comforting hand on his restlessly tapping fingers and asks in a whisper,

“You okay, Aemond?”

“Mm”

Not long after, he excuses himself, and heads up to his room. 

The restless energy that had driven him to run this morning has returned, creeping beneath his skin like an impending catastrophe he can’t outrun. 

He knows he won’t be able to sleep, or even rest, in this state, and mindlessly grabs his pack of cigs before heading out the door again, moving carefully and with light steps so his family doesn’t notice his departure. 

He needs time to think and sort out his feelings, and listening to his brother's endless yapping, or his sister’s concern, won’t help. 

He rounds the back of the villa, and walks aimlessly around the abundantly green landscape of Red Lake resort, hoping that the cool night air will settle his nerves.

His mood causes agitation to fume inside him, clouding his own self-hatred and uneasy state. 

Why did this bother him so much? Why does he give a single fuck about what a dance instructor at a dusty old resort thinks about him? She can stay disappointed with him until he dies, and it won’t affect his life in the slightest. 

As his mind spirals, for the second time today, he is forcefully confronted with the woman that won’t leave his mind. 

She’s alone, moving in the dim light of the evening, her figure illuminated by the soft glow of the nearby lanterns. 

Aemond watches her body twists and turns in graceful arcs, fluid yet tense, like she’s lost in her own world. The movements don’t have the same seamless elegance he’s used to seeing from her. 

There's an edge to them, a sharpness that betrays frustration.

Her arms cut through the air, precise but forceful, as if she’s trying to carve space around her, or push something away. 

Her feet slide across the grass, fast, then hesitant, as though she’s caught in an unspoken argument with herself, torn between surrender and resistance. 

Every step is deliberate, but there’s a tension in the way she moves, a stiffness that shouldn't be there. She’s fighting the rhythm instead of flowing with it.

Aemond stops in his tracks, hiding in the shadow of a tree, not wanting to disturb her. 

Something in the way she dances, so fervent and desperate, tells him to not interrupt. 

It’s not the same careful grace she shows when she teaches or performs in front of others. This is personal. She moves as if the dance is both liberating  and restricting; a place where she can express what words can’t, but also where she’s trapped, unable to find peace.

Every sharp turn of her body is a silent shout of frustration. Each spin is a desperate attempt to reclaim control. 

There’s an anger in her movements, the kind that comes when someone has been pushed too far, and Aemond recognizes it. He’s felt it before; the need to throw yourself into something, anything, to drown out the chaos in your mind.

To Aemond, there’s a beauty hidden in the way she’s unravelling. 

It’s the rawness of someone who’s vulnerable, unguarded, and for a moment, he feels an unexpected pull in his chest. A need to reach out and stop her from pushing herself too hard. 

But something keeps him rooted in place. 

Maybe it’s the knowledge that she wouldn’t want his help anyway. 

Still, he can't tear his gaze away. She’s captivating, even in her frustration, maybe especially so. 

The fierce determination in her eyes, the way her body refuses to give in, even as her movements falter, reminds him of himself. It’s both mesmerising and heartbreaking to watch.

He’s so used to her being in control. 

Always composed. 

Always effortlessly graceful. 

He watches the tension settle in the arch of her back, the clench of her jaw, the way she bites her lip when she stumbles again, refusing to acknowledge her misstep.

Cautiously, he moves out of his hiding spot, 

“Why didn’t you tell me we were practising?”

Her head aggressively snaps to the side at his voice, 

“I’m not practising. I need to figure this out on my own”

She sounds as irritated as the tension in her body displays. Aemond watches her for a moment, recognizing the passion and determination etched in her features. It reminds him of his own relentless drive when it comes to perfecting his skills. 

Never good enough. 

Never satisfied.

“You’re overworking yourself,” he says, tone softer this time, “Take a break” 

She sighs heavily, exasperated, but after a beat of contemplation, she nods, 

“Maybe you’re right”

She moves away from the grass, and from him, slowly walking towards the nearby dock, feet dragging behind her in a silent invitation for him to follow.

She sits down on the edge of the dock, her legs dangling over the water. Aemond, who’d heeded her wordless instructions and followed her, remains upright, shifting his weight from one foot to another, unsure of whether he should stay or leave her alone. 

A suffocating silence hangs in the air. He observes her, but she doesn’t look up to meet his gaze. 

Her eyes are trained on her legs, a frown forming between her brows as she digs her thumbs into the muscles of her thighs. She winches and bites her lip to prevent a whimper from escaping, but still continues to amateurishly press into her flesh. 

By the sound of a third thinly concealed groan leaving her, Aemond kneels next to where she sits and grabs her leg in a firm hold, steering it so that it rests on his lap. 

His touch is firm but gentle as he works his fingers into the tight muscles of her legs, easing the tension that’s built up from her relentless practice. He focuses on her calves first, then moves up to her thighs, covertly enjoying the soft heat of her skin a bit more than he’d admit. 

She closes her eyes, leans back slightly, and hums in satisfaction as his hands continue their careful work.

“That feels really good”, she murmurs after a while. 

Aemond’s heart beats a little faster at the sound of her voice, so content and inviting. The irritation from before has been swept away by the light breeze of the lake, and he can feel her slowly relaxing under his touch, her body accepting the comfort he’s offering.

“It’s something I picked up back when I did weekly competitions. Your legs need rest” 

When he finally pulls his hands away, she glances at him, intrigued in a way Aemond can’t really decipher.

There’s a vulnerability in her eyes now; a crevice in the walls she’s built around herself. 

It mirrors the way he feels; scared shitless that the warmth spreading in his chest is anything more than shallow desire. 

He moves to sit next to her, careful so his long legs don’t touch the water beneath them. They both observe the lake shimmering in the moonlight, so tranquil and peaceful. 

The silence persists between them. 

It doesn’t feel natural, not when his mind is swirling with things he’d like to ask her.  

Have you thought about me all day too?

Do you ever think about me? 

Do you regret what happened yesterday? 

Aemond Targaryen wouldn’t call himself a coward. He’s always been fearless, always been eager to prove himself. Never backing down from a challenge, no matter how strenuous. And yet, here he sits, glued to his spot, unable to break the silence suffocating them. 

A few more moments go by with his eyes locked on the dark glitter dancing on the surface of the water. Then, the familiar warmth of her fingertips tickles the back of his hand, and he realises that she’s far braver than he’ll ever be. 

She moves closer and rests her head on his shoulder, eyes still admiring the beautiful allure of Red Lake. 

Aemond flips his hand, and lets her fingers run over his palm. 

He gently grabs her hand and lets his thumb run over the thin skin over her knuckles, 

“I don’t regret what happened yesterday” 

“Me neither”, she replies. 

“Good”

The suffocating air between them clouds his senses, and without thinking too much about it, Aemond shifts to the side. He carefully cups her cheek and steers her away from his shoulder and towards his lips.  

There is a vibration within him that only starts to buzz when he touches her. Perhaps it’s his greediness; his wish to take all she has, indulge in her touch until he grows tired of it. 

He doesn’t think he ever will. 

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a comment or reblog, it would mean a lot. Kisses!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: dululand is my native country.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay on your side. Tense and painfully awake. Aika’s sleeping form heaps in a shadow on the floor as you feel the body behind you breathing. Hot gusts, in, out, against the nape of your neck. A light dusting that feels like a furnace’s blast. 

You keep your back to Sy as you stare at the door. It’s been at least an hour since you laid down. He inched closer and closer, but gave up as you found yourself teetering on the edge.  

A snort makes you wince. You brace the side of the mattress as your eyes round. The rocky rumble continues, mellow to long calm exhales. He’s snoring. He’s asleep. 

You don’t move immediately. You wait it out until the noise is raucous. Even if you had any temptation to stay, you couldn't sleep through his thunderous blare. You hold your breath and slowly sit up, watching the slumbering canine on the floor. 

Aika raises her head as you rise but doesn’t move further. You slip to the edge of the bed and ease down until your feet touch the rug. You stand and she puts her head down, her collar jingling noisily. You swivel to look over your shoulder. Sy sleeps with his hand on the empty space of the bed, his other arm curled under his head. 

You back away, careful to tiptoe around Aika. As you get to the door, she remains as she is and so does her owner. You slip into the front room and let out your breath. You turn to face the darkness. You’re not going far. Maybe the dog senses that. 

You pull a pillow against the arm of the couch and nestle atop the cushions. You can’t close your eyes. You’re too anxious. You just lay there staring at the shadows of your apartment. 

Your eyelids droop little by little. Fatigue mutes your fear and your body slackens atop the couch. The noise of occasional traffic and the street drift in and lull you. You let your mind go black and descend into a shallow sleep. 

You give a start as you feel yourself falling. Your head snaps up and your eyes flutter open as you squeak. You’re not falling, you’re being lifted. You blink as you look up at the silhouette of Sy’s thick beard and his body heat seeps into you. 

“Huh,” you let out the confused hiccup as you squirm against him. 

“What’re ya doin’ out here, sweetie?” He growls as he carries you back into the bedroom. 

“I... couldn’t sleep.” 

He grumbles, the only acknowledgement of your excuse. He takes you to the bed, lowering you with him as he settles on the mattress again. Aika’s on her side, sleeping and unaware. He puts you on your side and pushes his body flush to yours as he wraps his arm around your middle. He holds you close, nuzzling your crown as he sighs. 

“Mmm, isn’t that better?” He purrs, “I never been so calm as I am with you, sug.” 

You gulp and make yourself nod. His words come off more like a threat a suggestion that he isn’t always this calm. You've seen him toe that line, how he’s always just barely restrained. How long can that last? 

“You’re so warm and cozy,” he rocks you slightly, “night, night, sweetie. Get some sleep.” 

You utter a ‘good night’ in return if only to assure him of your compliance. You’re brief respite only underlines his incessant clinginess. He always has to be near, always has to know what you’re up to. You suspect that isn’t new to him, not that it matters how long he’s been watching. Days, weeks, or months, it can’t undo the present. 

You close your eyes as they sting. You won’t fall back asleep, not in his arms. You’ll just lay there and wait for the few inches of freedom you get with the sunrise. It’s all you can do. 

🧸

As the morning shines in, your head pounds and your body aches. You’ve been locked in Sy’s arms all night, still as you can be. You don’t want to risk waking him again. When he’s asleep, you don’t need to worry about what he might do. 

Aika rouses first. She licks her paw until she’s bored then starts a restless tip tapping by the door. You figure she needs to go out but you don’t move. The click of her pclws finally disturbs the snoring behind your ear. 

“Aika, give me a minute,” Sy rolls away and yawns. “Swear that dog is better than any alarm clock.” 

He sits up, hunching over as he rubs his eyes. You glance at him over your shoulder as he jostles the bed. He gets up and searches out a tee shirt, pulling it on above his dark gym shorts. He tidies the stray shanks jutting out from his bear and smiles as he meets your gaze. You quickly look away. 

“I’ll take her around real quick. Why don’t you get some coffee going?” He suggests. 

You fall onto your back and push yourself up. You fold your arms as you make yourself look at him. You feel fractured. You’re about to break. 

“Sure,” you answer with a smile. 

“Good girl,” he winks and snaps his fingers at Aika. 

The dog prances out ahead of him and you watch him follow. You don’t stand until you hear the front door. You rush out and find the apartment empty, heart racing as your eyes scour the place. Your keys have gone with him. The fleeting idea of locking him out fizzles away. 

You pause and search for your phone. You don’t know where it went. He must’ve taken it. You return to the bedroom and grab a hoodie out of your dress. You pull it on over your pajamas and scurry back to the front door. You step into your slip-ons and slowly turn the door handle. 

You inch the door inward and peek into the hall. You can’t do this anymore. You won’t play along. You should’ve done this yesterday. You chalk it up to shock. You were too surprised to think clearly but this is your chance. 

You creep out into the hall and down to the door diagonal from your own. You knock, realising it might be a bit too early. You wait, swaying as you check over your shoulders. If he comes back and catches you... 

You knock again as no answer comes. You try not to let the panic down you as it swells higher and higher. Finally, Blair answers the door and you look at her frantically. 

“Please let me in,” you plead. 

“Um, is everything okay?” She asks. 

You don’t know her very well. You spoke a few times in the laundry room and exchanged tight-lipped smiles in the hallway. She looks as scared as you feel. 

“Please,” you peer down the hall again, “there’s no time.” 

“Alright, uh...” she backs up, “come in. Sorry, I--” she pauses to stifle a yawn, “had a late night.” 

You enter her apartment and wring your hands. She closes the door and you exhale. You face her and bounce on your toe nervously. 

“I’m sorry. I know it’s early, but... can I borrow your phone?” You ask. 

“Sure, but what’s going on? Are you alright?” 

You consider her question. You frown, “I don’t know.” 

Her eyes gleam with worry and she nods. She shuffles past you and disappears into the next room. You go back to the door and twist the lock. You peer out the peep hole but can’t quite see your own door. 

“Here,” Blair comes back and you spin around.  

“Thanks, uh... I... just need to make a call,” you reach for the phone and look down at the screen. It's an old flip phone.

You don’t know if they’ll listen but you have to try. At least then you can say you did. You dial and put the phone to your ear. 

“Emergency services, what’s your emergency?” The operator greets flatly. 

“Hi, uh...” you glance up at Blair, “there’s an intruder in my apartment.” 

He jaw drops and you give an awkward expression. 

“Ma’am, are you in the apartment?” The voice on the other end asks. 

“No, um, no, I’m at my neighbour’s but this man... he uh, he’s been following me and now he’s in my apartment. He’s been there all night and I asked him to leave but he won’t.” 

“Alright, ma’am, I understand, I’ll dispatch and officer to your location. Please do not return to your apartment.” 

You give your address at their request and hang up. You hand Blair her phone back and she takes it with a tremble. She clutches it to her chest. 

“There’s someone in your apartment?” She asks, her voice brittle. 

You nod and look around. Her place sure is cluttered. It smells like cinnamon and old paper. Books on books, shelves crammed with figurines, and boxes in stacks. It’s not dirty, just really full. 

“Yeah, well, he’s coming back,” you say as you chew your thumb and turn back to the door. Once more you go to look through the peep hole. 

You stay there, watching, waiting. You see Aika first. She’s off leash. She sits outside the door as Sy catches up and lets himself in. The door shuts behind him and you hold your breath. A few minutes past, what feels like years, and the door opens again. 

He hollers your name and his voice shakes you through the door. You clap your hand over your mouth and keep your eye through the lens. He paces towards you then back the other way. He continues to call your name. He marches back into the apartment and slams the door behind him. 

“Who is he?” Blair startles you as she stands shoulder to shoulder with you. 

You back up and look at her, “I don’t know.” 

“How... how does he know your name?” 

You shake your head and whisper, “he found me. Online. I don’t know what to do. He just... won’t leave me alone and I can’t get him to leave.” 

Her mouth opens, “oh? Wow that’s... scary.” 

You nod vehemently. It’s terrifying. 

“I never... I never had a man do that. Follow me... they don’t really talk to me,” she says. “I’m happy they don’t.” 

Your heart knots and you move away from the door, “it’s okay if I stay until the police show up? They told me to.” 

“Uh, sure, if you don’t mind...” she trails off and looks around at all her things. 

“No, no, it’s okay. Thank you.” 

“Do you want some green tea? My head hurts.” 

🧸

The pounding on the door alerts you to the cops just outside, but they’re not at Blair’s door. They’re knocking at your apartment. You go to look through the hole as your neighbour nurses her second cup of tea. You watch one cop’s shoulder, the only part of them you can see. 

The door opens but you can't see much. 

“Hello, sir, we got a phone call,” one officer declares, “do you live here?” 

“Yes,” Sy answers without hesitation, “I just moved in with my girlfriend.” 

“Right,” the other officer says, “and where is she?” 

Sy huffs, “I was just about to call. I took the dog out and when I came back, she was gone. I’m hoping she just went for some coffee but she left her phone.” 

“Mmm,” one of the cops hums. “You serve?” 

“How’d you know?” 

“Old man’s a vet,” the other man says, “can spot them a mile away. How long ya been back?” 

“A month,” Sy answers, “yeah, came home to my sweetheart and now... I’m terrified. What if something happened? Why didn’t I lock the door?” 

You hear a slap and silence, “sir, please.” 

“Sorry, I just, I'm so stupid.” 

One of the officers sighs and there’s another deep heave. A uniformed man moves into your view and knocks on the door, shifting it in the frame. You back up and collide with something. Blair stands right behind you, silent. You look back at her as her brow furrows between concern and confusion. 

“PD! Hello, we got a call from this location. Open up.” 

Blair gives a hopeless grimace, “we’re gonna get in trouble.” 

You cringe. “I’m sorry.” 

You go to the door and unlock it. You put your head down sheepishly and open it, “hello?” 

“Hello ma’am, are you the one who called?” 

You peek back at Blair again. You can’t drag her into this. 

“Yeah, officer, it was me,” you face him and push your shoulders back, “that man... that man doesn’t live with me. He came into my apartment and he refuses to leave. I don’t even know him--” 

“Officer, that’s a lie. You can come in and check, all my stuff is here. My dog,” Sy drawls. 

“Sir,” the other officer quiets him down. 

The one before you crosses his arm and returns his attention to you, “isn’t nice lying on a man, especially a soldier. Whatever you’re mad about, doesn’t give you the right to call us down here. That’s obstruction.” 

“I’m not lying,” you pout. “Please, sir--” 

“So if I go in that apartment and look around, I won’t find his stuff in there, hm? Just yours?” 

You stagger as if you’ve been struck. Is this part of his plan? Is that why he was so eager to get his stuff inside? 

“He brought it with him but I swear, I never saw him before yesterday--” 

“So this man, you wrote to him while he was over in the shit and now he’s back you’re playing victim? Is that right?” The officer growls, “take advantage of a man protecting his country, get some attention, and now you’re tryna throw him out? I should book you right now.” 

“Officer,” Sy steps forward, “please, don’t do that. She’s just... she’s upset, you know? I promised her some things and I wasn’t entirely truthful.” 

“That doesn’t give her the right,” the second officer grits. 

“I know, I know, but I can sort this out. You don’t need to scare her anymore,” Sy runs his hand over his close-shaved head, “she’s my woman, I can’t let you do that.” 

The officer in front of you scoffs, “good man,” he sneers in your direction, “get your head on straight and don’t be calling for your little tiffs again.” 

You stand there, gutless. That was your last resort. Really, your only. You look back at Blair one last time before you go out into the hall. You turn back and meet Sy’s gaze as you walk towards him, the officers glaring at you. You don’t care about them so much as you’re scared of what he’ll do when they leave. 

**I like Blair haha. I kinda made myself want to explore that character more so let me know if you’d like to see her as a reader character and I might pair her up with her own crazy guy.** 

[pdriesta]

CHAPTER FOUR

“i want something that i know is real”

pairings — judexblack!girl

genres — fluff, slow burn, workplace romance (she’s a pt)

warnings — sexual themes (minors dni)

word count — 6.3k

summary — y/n, a rising physiotherapist, has just been promoted to work with real madrid's men's team. after a difficult breakup, she's determined to keep things professional. but when jude bellingham, the club's charming new star, sets his sights on her, maintaining boundaries becomes harder than ever. can she resist the pull, or will she risk everything for a love she swore she’d never fall for again?

an — my favourite chapter! i eat up the sick trope

masterlist

as y/n arrived at jude’s apartment building, the evening sun casting a soft, golden glow across the streets, she felt a wave of doubt wash over her. her heart pounded as she stared at the door, clutching the bags of food and medicine she had brought with her. what am i even doing here? she thought, biting her lip. this is crazy. i don’t even have his number, and now i’m just showing up at his place like some kind of stalker.

the plan had seemed solid at the time—check on jude, make sure he was okay, maybe bring him something comforting. but now, standing outside his door, her anxiety took over, making her second-guess everything. she knew how unusual it was for her to do something so impulsive, and the fear of being an intrusion gnawed at her. she began to turn away, thinking she could just drop the food off and leave, when the door suddenly opened.

“y/n?” jude’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, and full of surprise. he reached out, catching her by the arm before she could retreat. his touch was gentle, but it stopped her in her tracks, grounding her in the moment.

y/n froze, her mind racing. “oh, um, hi,” she stammered, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. “i wasn’t—I wasn’t going to just leave, i swear. i mean, i was, but not like that! i wasn’t stalking you or anything, i just wanted to make sure you were okay because you didn’t seem well, and i know this is probably really weird and—”

jude’s soft chuckle interrupted her rambling. “y/n, it’s okay. really,” he reassured her, his hand still warm on her arm. “i’m glad you came. it’s good to see you.”

his words eased the tension in her chest, and she finally let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “you are?” she asked, her voice small, still not entirely convinced.

“yeah,” he nodded, stepping aside to invite her in. “come on in. what did you bring?”

y/n hesitated for a moment before stepping into his apartment. the space was dim, the only light coming from the flickering television and the soft glow of the evening sun through the windows. she felt a pang of sympathy as she noticed the clutter, the signs of his illness evident in the abandoned tissues and half-empty water bottles scattered around.

“i, um, brought some food,” she said, lifting the bags slightly as she walked further inside. “it’s nothing special, just some things my mom used to make when my siblings and i were sick. i thought it might help, you know, with getting your strength back. i noticed you lost some muscle…”

jude raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips despite his obvious fatigue. “you noticed that, huh? what else did you bring?”

y/n blushed, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “some medicine too, in case you didn’t have any. and, um, i just wanted to make sure you had company.”

“you went through all this trouble for me?” jude asked, his tone softening with a hint of awe. he leaned against the back of his couch, clearly touched by her effort.

“it wasn’t any trouble,” y/n replied quickly, brushing off his gratitude. “i didn’t want you to be alone while you’re feeling this way. besides, i’ve taken enough herbal remedies from my mom to last a lifetime. so, if you’re worried about getting me sick, don’t be.”

he smiled at that, a genuine smile that lit up his tired face. “you really didn’t have to do this, but i’m glad you did. thank you.”

as they settled onto the couch, y/n began to unpack the food she had brought, setting out the dishes with care. the aroma of the warm, hearty meals filled the room, bringing a comforting sense of home with them. jude watched her, his gaze softening as she moved about, completely focused on making him comfortable.

“this smells amazing,” jude commented, as she handed him a bowl of soup. “what’s in it?”

“it’s a family recipe,” y/n said with a shy smile, “my mom always made this for us when we were sick. she’d say it was to bring back any weight we lost. it’s full of good stuff—lots of vegetables, some meat, and her special mix of spices.”

jude took a cautious sip, his eyes widening in surprise at the rich, comforting flavor. “this is incredible,” he said, looking at her with newfound appreciation. “i don’t think i’ve ever had anything like this.”

“really?” y/n asked, a small smile tugging at her lips. “i’m glad you like it.”

“like it? i love it,” jude replied, his tone sincere. “you’ve got some serious cooking skills, y/n.”

she laughed softly, a little embarrassed by the compliment. “well, i had a good teacher.”

as they continued to eat, the atmosphere between them grew more comfortable, the earlier awkwardness dissipating. it was nice, y/n thought, to be able to do something for him, to help in some small way. she had been so caught up in her own anxieties lately that it felt good to focus on someone else for a change, especially someone she cared about.

just as she was about to offer him some more food, jude’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen before answering. “hey, mum,” he said, his voice still raspy.

y/n shifted slightly, suddenly feeling like she was intruding. she busied herself with tidying up the table, trying to give him some privacy. but as the conversation continued, she couldn’t help but overhear jude telling his mum that she was there.

“really?” his mum’s voice was warm even through the phone. “can i speak to her?”

jude glanced at y/n, holding out the phone. “she wants to talk to you.”

y/n blinked, taken aback. “me? oh, um, okay.” she hesitated for a moment before taking the phone, pressing it to her ear. “hello, mrs. bellingham?”

“please, call me denise,” jude’s mum said with a friendly laugh. “i’m so glad to finally speak to you, y/n. jude’s mentioned you before, you know. i’ve been wanting to thank you for looking after him at work.”

“oh, it’s nothing, really,” y/n said quickly, her cheeks flushing. “i just wanted to make sure he was okay. i’m sorry for coming over unannounced; i know it’s probably not appropriate…”

“nonsense,” denise cut her off gently. “you’re hardly a stranger, dear. you’re jude’s friend, and it’s not inappropriate at all. i’m actually really happy you’re there with him. he’s lucky to have someone like you looking out for him.”

y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest at those words, easing the lingering doubt she had felt. “thank you, denise. that means a lot.”

“it’s my pleasure,” denise replied warmly. “take good care of him for me, will you? and i can’t wait to meet you in person soon.”

“i will,” y/n promised before handing the phone back to jude. she caught the soft smile on his face as he finished the call, and she couldn’t help but feel a little shy under his gaze.

“what did my mum say to you?” jude asked, his tone teasing.

“just that you’re not a baby and that she’s glad i’m here,” y/n replied, a small smile playing on her lips. “she seems really nice.”

“she is,” jude agreed, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer. “and she’s right, you know. i am glad you’re here.”

y/n felt her cheeks flush again as she quickly busied herself with getting the medicine she had brought. “you should take this,” she said, handing him a small cup of liquid. “it’ll help with the fever.”

jude made a face but took the medicine, grimacing as he swallowed it down. “ugh, that stuff is terrible.”

y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on his face. “i know, but it works. here, drink some water.”

she held the glass for him as he drank, their fingers brushing slightly as she did. it was a small, intimate moment, but it made y/n’s heart skip a beat. she quickly pulled her hand back, hoping he didn’t notice the way her fingers trembled slightly.

jude set the glass down and leaned back against the couch, sighing as the medicine started to take effect. “you really didn’t have to do all this,” he murmured, his eyes starting to droop. “but thank you, y/n. it means more to me than you know.”

“it’s no problem,” she replied softly, reaching out to smooth a strand of hair away from his forehead. “you just focus on getting better.”

as jude settled into the couch, he reached for the remote and turned on the tv. “have you seen breaking bad?” he asked, his voice already thick with drowsiness.

“not really,” y/n admitted, settling beside him. “i’ve heard it’s good, though.”

“it is,” jude said, a small smile playing on his lips. “let’s start it from the beginning, then. you can keep me company.”

they watched the show in comfortable silence, the only sound in the room the low hum of the tv. as the first episode played, jude’s head gradually began to

 droop until it rested against y/n’s shoulder. she froze for a moment, unsure of what to do, but when he let out a contented sigh, she relaxed.

“you’re okay with this?” he mumbled, his voice slurred with sleep.

y/n smiled softly, her heart swelling with affection. “of course,” she whispered, gently guiding his head to her lap. “just rest.”

jude shifted slightly, getting comfortable, and as she began to run her fingers through his hair, he let out a low, satisfied hum. “that feels nice,” he murmured.

y/n’s smile widened, and she continued the soothing motion, her own heart calming as she watched him drift off. his breathing slowed, becoming steady and deep, but just as he was about to fully succumb to sleep, he stirred slightly.

“y/n?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah?” she replied, still running her fingers through his curls.

“what do you like about me?” he asked, his tone so vulnerable that it caught her off guard.

y/n’s heart skipped a beat, and she hesitated, her hand stilling in his hair. “what do you mean?”

“i can’t tell,” jude confessed, his eyes still closed, his voice laced with exhaustion. “i know i like you, but i don’t know what you see in me.”

y/n’s chest tightened at his words, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at something deep within her. she resumed stroking his hair, her touch gentle and reassuring as she gathered her thoughts.

“jude, you’re one of the most patient, understanding, and caring people i’ve ever met,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “you always take the time to listen, to make sure people are okay, even when you’re not feeling your best. and you’re not bad to look at either.”

a faint smile tugged at the corners of jude’s lips, even as he kept his eyes closed. “not bad, huh?”

“not bad at all,” y/n confirmed, her voice warm and teasing.

jude let out a small chuckle before his expression softened, and he opened his eyes to look up at her. “i like your heart, y/n,” he said quietly, his voice sincere. “you came all the way here to take care of me, and you didn’t have to. you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen, inside and out.”

y/n felt her cheeks flush at his words, her heart swelling with affection and something deeper, something she didn’t quite know how to name. she continued to stroke his hair, her touch gentle and soothing as she tried to process the emotions swirling inside her.

“you’re my best friend, y/n,” jude murmured, his eyes drooping once more as sleep finally began to claim him. “and i’ll wait for you, okay? however long it takes.”

y/n’s breath hitched at his words, and she blinked back the sudden sting of tears. “okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “thank you, jude.”

as jude finally drifted off to sleep, y/n remained where she was, her fingers still gently running through his hair. she watched him for a while, her heart full of emotions she couldn’t quite name. for the first time in a long time, she felt at peace, the weight of her past fears and doubts lifted, if only for a moment.

and as she sat there, with jude resting in her lap, she couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, she had finally found a place where she belonged.

y/n sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, as she watched jude’s chest rise and fall with each slow breath. his head, heavy and warm, rested in her lap, a stark contrast to herself sitting down. the sight made her smile softly—a huge man like jude, so strong and capable on the field, now lying vulnerable and completely at her mercy. it was almost comical, and yet, it felt right in a way she couldn’t fully explain.

the evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the room, adding to the quiet intimacy of the moment. y/n carefully brushed a few strands of hair from jude’s forehead, her fingers lingering there as she assessed his temperature. the fever had broken, but she could still feel the remnants of sweat clinging to his skin. she reached for the towel he’d been using earlier and gently patted his face, her movements tender and deliberate.

“wake up, love,” she murmured, the word slipping out before she could catch herself. she froze, her hand midair, but jude didn’t stir. she let out a small sigh of relief, assuming he was still too out of it to hear her. she continued to run her fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness beneath her touch, unaware of the contented smile that had crept onto his lips.

after a few moments, jude’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze hazy as he adjusted to the dim light. when he saw y/n, his smile widened, a warm glow filling his chest. “hey,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

“hey,” y/n replied softly, her fingers still threading through his hair. “how are you feeling?”

“better,” he said, his eyes closing again as he leaned into her touch. “much better.”

she couldn’t help but notice how his large frame almost dwarfed her, yet here he was, completely at ease in her care. jude shifted slightly, his cheek brushing against her thigh, and that’s when he noticed how damp it was. he groaned softly, lifting his head just enough to look at her apologetically. “i’m sorry, i think i sweat all over you.”

y/n shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “it’s fine, really. i’m just glad the medicine is working.”

jude hesitated before raising his head fully from her lap, reluctant to break the connection but knowing he needed to. “you’ve been here the whole time?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“yeah,” y/n said, rising from the couch to get more medicine for him. “you’ve been asleep for a good two and a half hours. i just… wanted to make sure you were okay.”

he watched her with a mix of gratitude and something deeper, something he wasn’t quite ready to name. “you didn’t have to stay,” he said, though the idea of her leaving felt strangely wrong.

“i wanted to,” she replied, her voice firm yet gentle as she handed him the medicine. “besides, someone had to make sure you took this.”

jude took the medicine from her, their fingers brushing in the exchange. it was a small, fleeting touch, but it sent a shiver down his spine. he quickly downed the medicine with a grimace, then took the glass of water she offered, drinking it all without taking his eyes off her.

“so, you got pretty far in the show, huh?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation to something lighter. jude looked at her in surprise, his eyes brightening a little. “watching it without me?” he teased lightly, though there was genuine happiness in his tone. “i’m just glad you like it enough to continue .”

“i did,” she admitted, moving to get him more medicine. “though i think i’ll need you to explain a few things to me. some parts were a bit confusing.”

he chuckled softly, the sound warming her from the inside out. “i’ll gladly give you a rundown anytime,” he replied, his eyes following her as she returned with the medicine.

“i’m surprised you actually got me into it.” y/n said with a nod, sitting back down beside him. 

jude chuckled, feeling a bit more like himself. “told you it’s good. i’m just glad you didn’t leave while i was out cold.”

y/n smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “i almost did,” she admitted, her voice softening. “i didn’t want to intrude or make you uncomfortable.”

“intrude?” jude echoed, his brows knitting together in confusion. “y/n, you’re the last person who could ever make me uncomfortable. honestly… i was really happy to see you when i woke up.”

y/n blushed, ducking her head to hide it. “i just didn’t know if you’d want me here. i mean, i showed up without even having your number. it’s a bit… embarrassing.”

jude’s expression softened, and he reached out to tilt her chin up, making her meet his eyes. “i’m glad you came,” he said, his voice sincere. “and now, you don’t have to worry about that.” he handed her his phone, his smile turning playful. “go on, put your number in.”

y/n took his phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she entered her number. she handed it back to him, and he saved it with a contented nod. “there, now you can’t say you don’t have my number,” he teased.

she laughed softly, but her mind was still racing with thoughts. “you know, i had to go through your file to get your address,” she confessed, a bit sheepish. “the lengths i went to…”

jude chuckled, shaking his head. “and here i was thinking you had some secret method for tracking me down,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

y/n rolled her eyes playfully. “it’s not like that. i just—i was really worried about you.”

“i know,” jude said, his teasing tone fading into something more serious. “and i really appreciate it, y/n. more than you know.”

the room fell into a comfortable silence, the air between them thick with unspoken emotions. jude leaned back against the couch, his hand reaching out to hers. he gently squeezed her fingers, a silent thank you for everything she had done for him.

“i should probably go,” y/n said after a while, though the words felt heavy on her tongue.

jude’s hand tightened around hers. “do you have to?” he asked, the vulnerability in his voice catching her off guard.

“my brother and sister-in-law are nearby,” she explained, though she wasn’t in a hurry to leave, “they can pick me up.”

jude shook his head, a stubborn set to his jaw. “no, i’ll take you home. you came all this way to take care of me, it’s the least i can do.”

y/n frowned, worry etching across her features as she gently squeezed his hand. “jude, you’re still sick. you need to rest more, not drive around the city. please, let my brother get me. i’ll feel better knowing you’re here, taking care of yourself.”

he opened his mouth to argue but was met with the determined look in her eyes. with a sigh, he relented, though his hand didn’t let go of hers. “fine, but you have to promise me you’ll call when you get home. i want to know you’re safe.”

y/n’s expression softened at the concern in his voice. “i will,” she promised, offering him a reassuring smile. “i’ll text you as soon as i’m home.”

jude’s face fell slightly, though he tried to mask it. “oh… okay.”

“hey,” she reached out, brushing her thumb gently across the back of his hand, “it’s not goodbye forever. you’re stuck with me, remember?”

his lips quirked up at that, a small smile breaking through his disappointment. “yeah, i remember.”

y/n stood up slowly, reluctant to break the connection. “i’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

jude closed his eyes at the feel of her lips on his skin, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the fever. when he opened his eyes again, y/n was already at the door, her hand resting on the handle.

“y/n,” he called out, making her pause and turn back to him. he smiled softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “thank you… and, you know, i think i’m completely gone for you.”

y/n’s heart skipped a beat at his confession, and she felt her cheeks heat up. but instead of responding, she just smiled back at him, her eyes shining with a mixture of emotions.

“i’ll see you soon, jude,” she said softly, before slipping out the door and into the cool evening air.

as the door clicked shut behind her, jude let out a long breath, his heart pounding in his chest. he knew without a doubt that he was completely and utterly gone for her.

as y/n stepped out of jude’s apartment building, she spotted her brother’s car parked a short distance away. the street was quiet, with only the soft hum of the city in the background. her thoughts were still tangled up in the warmth of jude’s apartment, the feeling of his hand lingering in hers, and the way he’d looked at her like he didn’t want her to leave. as she walked toward the car, she couldn’t shake the heaviness in her chest.

the moment she opened the back door, carmen’s warm smile greeted her. “hey, y/n! how was your night?” she asked, scooting over to make room for her.

y/n slid into the backseat, pulling the door shut behind her. “it was… nice,” she replied softly, trying to keep the fluttering in her stomach from showing on her face as she buckled in.

alejandro glanced at her in the rearview mirror as he started the car. “this is some neighborhood,” he commented, the hint of curiosity in his voice impossible to miss. “what kind of friend do you have living in a place like this?”

y/n hesitated, feeling her cheeks warm under his gaze. “just… a friend,” she said, her voice quiet. she wasn’t sure how much to say, but the thought of hiding jude felt strange, like she was denying something that had already grown important to her.

carmen, ever the playful one, turned around in her seat, eyebrow raised. “a friend? come on, y/n. we’re family—you can’t just drop a hint like that and not spill the details.”

y/n fiddled with the strap of her bag, her heart beating faster. “his name is jude… jude bellingham,” she confessed, the words feeling almost surreal as they left her lips.

alejandro’s reaction was instant. he slammed on the brakes, the car lurching forward and causing them all to jerk in their seats. “wait, what? jude bellingham, the football star?” he exclaimed, turning to look at her, eyes wide with disbelief. “y/n, what is someone like him doing hanging out with you?”

the question hit her like a slap. y/n’s heart sank, and she felt a wave of hurt wash over her. “what do you mean, someone like me?” she asked, her voice trembling with the effort to stay calm, but her eyes betrayed her.

alejandro softened, though his confusion was clear. “you’re… you’re just different, y/n. you’re sweet, shy, and always looking for something serious. a guy like jude… he’s got the whole world at his feet. women practically throw themselves at him, and he’s… well, he’s…”

“he’s what?” y/n cut in, a sharp edge in her voice. “out of my league? or is it that you think i’m not good enough?”

alejandro winced at her words, knowing he’d touched a nerve. “that’s not what i meant, y/n. it’s just… you were with javier for so long, and now you’re spending time with someone like jude? it’s… it’s different. he’s not the type to settle down, and i don’t want you getting hurt.”

y/n’s chest tightened, the old wounds from her relationship with javier threatening to resurface. she wasn’t blind to the reality that jude could have anyone he wanted, and that insecurity gnawed at her more than she’d like to admit. but hearing it from her brother, someone who was supposed to protect her, made it sting even more.

before she could respond, carmen jumped in, her voice firm and protective. “alejandro, that’s enough,” she said, glaring at him. “y/n is an amazing woman, and she deserves happiness just like anyone else. jude is lucky to have her as a friend, and you should be proud that your sister is attracting the attention of someone so wonderful, not trying to tear her down.”

alejandro opened his mouth to argue, but carmen wasn’t finished. “and another thing—y/n isn’t some naive little girl. she knows what she wants, and she’s smart enough to make her own decisions. if jude is spending time with her, it’s because he sees what we all see: that she’s kind, caring, and beautiful inside and out.”

y/n felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, grateful for carmen’s fierce defense. “thanks, carmen,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

carmen reached back and squeezed y/n’s hand reassuringly. “don’t let anyone make you doubt yourself, y/n. you’re worth more than that, and you deserve to be happy, with whoever makes you feel good.”

alejandro sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as the tension in the car hung heavy. “lo siento, y/n,” he murmured, glancing at her through the mirror again. “i just… i worry about you. that’s all.”

“i know,” y/n replied, her voice softer now. “but you don’t have to. i’m fine, really. jude… he’s a good guy.”

alejandro nodded slowly, though his expression was still troubled. “okay. just… be careful, okay?”

the rest of the ride was quieter, the tension lingering but softened by carmen’s presence. when they finally pulled up to her apartment, carmen turned to y/n with a gentle smile. “you call us if you need anything, okay? and don’t let alejandro’s nonsense get to you.”

y/n managed a small smile. “i will. thanks, carmen.”

as she stepped out of the car, she felt a strange mix of emotions swirling inside her—gratitude for her sister-in-law’s support, lingering hurt from her brother’s words, and a deep, unsettling uncertainty about where things stood with jude. she made her way into her apartment, the familiar surroundings doing little to calm her racing thoughts.

meanwhile, back at jude’s place, he was lying in bed, his phone resting on his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. the minutes ticked by, and with each one, his anticipation grew. he had been waiting for a text from y/n, something to let him know she got home safely, but his phone remained silent. he thought back to the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d taken care of him without hesitation. a smile tugged at his lips as he remembered the sound of her calling him “love,” even if she hadn’t meant for him to hear it.

finally, jude picked up his phone and typed out a quick message: 

jude: you get home okay? thanks again for everything tonight. sleep well. <3

he placed the phone back on his chest, still smiling as he thought about her. he didn’t know where things were headed with y/n, but tonight had made one thing clear—she was special to him, more than he’d realized. as he closed his eyes, he felt a sense of calm wash over him, the warmth of her presence still lingering in his mind. whatever tomorrow brought, he knew he didn’t want to lose what they had.

y/n sat at her desk in the physio room, her fingers idly tracing the edge of a medical file as she tried to focus on the work in front of her. the familiar hum of the facility buzzed around her, but her mind was elsewhere—lost in the whirlwind of emotions she’d been wrestling with since last night. every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of jude’s hand in hers, hear the softness in his voice as he asked her to stay. the memory of him lying there, vulnerable and sweet, sent a shiver down her spine, one that was equal parts excitement and fear.

she couldn’t deny it anymore. whatever she felt for jude, it was real, tangible, and growing stronger by the day. but with that realization came the familiar sting of doubt. she’d been down this road before—letting herself fall, only to be hurt in ways she never expected. javier had left scars that were still too fresh, too deep to ignore. she remembered how he’d made her feel small, unworthy, like she was never enough. and though jude was nothing like him, the fear of history repeating itself lingered at the back of her mind, casting a shadow over the joy she felt when she was with him.

as y/n was lost in her thoughts, the door to the physio room creaked open. she looked up, expecting to see another player needing treatment, but her heart skipped a beat when she saw jude standing in the doorway, his familiar grin lighting up his face.

"there's my favorite girl," jude said, his voice warm and teasing as he stepped inside, his eyes locking onto hers.

y/n’s cheeks warmed instantly, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "your favorite girl? what happened to your favorite physio?" she asked, arching a playful eyebrow at him.

jude’s grin widened as he walked over, leaning casually against the treatment table. "well, i figured it was about time you got a promotion," he said, his tone light but his eyes holding a certain intensity. "besides, you’re definitely more than just my favorite physio, y/n."

her heart fluttered at his words, and she had to look away for a moment, focusing on the paperwork in front of her to steady herself. "i’m flattered, bellingham," she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady, even as her pulse raced.

“you should be,” he replied, his voice low and teasing. “you’ve managed to climb to the top of the list in record time.”

y/n laughed softly, shaking her head. “i didn’t realize i was being ranked,” she said, meeting his gaze again.

“oh, you are,” jude said, his smile softening. “but trust me, it’s a good thing.”

just as y/n was about to respond, jude’s expression shifted, a more serious look crossing his face, though there was still a hint of playfulness in his eyes. “but, speaking of things you didn’t realize… why didn’t you text me when you got home last night?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “i was worried, you know.”

y/n blinked, caught off guard by the question. “oh… i’m sorry, jude. i didn’t mean to worry you,” she said quickly, feeling a pang of guilt. “i guess i was just tired and it slipped my mind.”

jude’s expression softened further, though there was still a glint of mischief in his eyes. “well, i had to do a welfare check to make sure you were safe,” he said, his tone light but sincere. “i almost sent out a search party.”

y/n’s eyes widened slightly, and she could tell he was exaggerating, but the concern in his voice made her heart ache in the best way. “a search party?” she repeated, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“yep,” jude nodded, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as if sharing a secret. “i was this close to calling in reinforcements.”

y/n laughed, her tension melting away under his warm gaze. “you’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head, though she couldn’t help the warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him caring enough to worry.

“maybe,” he admitted, his smile softening as he looked at her. “but i care about you, y/n. a lot.”

her breath caught at his words, and she found herself unable to look away from him, the sincerity in his eyes making her heart swell. she could see it now, the way he looked at her, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her—it wasn’t just a joke or a casual flirtation. he truly cared about her, and that realization both thrilled and terrified her.

“i’m sorry i worried you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’ll make sure to text you next time.”

“good,” jude said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. “i’d hate to have to go through all that again.”

they shared a quiet moment, the air between them charged with unspoken words and emotions. y/n felt her heart racing, her mind spinning with everything she wanted to say but couldn’t find the courage to. but jude didn’t push; he simply smiled at her, his eyes warm and reassuring, making her feel like everything was going to be okay.

“you know,” he said after a moment, his tone lightening again, “you really do owe me for all that stress.”

y/n raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the way her heart was still fluttering. “oh, do i?”

“mm-hmm,” jude nodded, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “but don’t worry, i’ll collect my payment in installments. maybe starting with another one of those movie nights.”

y/n laughed, the tension in her chest easing as she met his playful gaze. “deal,” she said, feeling a little more at ease. “but only if you promise not to worry too much if i forget to text you again.”

“only if you promise to keep me in the loop,” jude countered, his grin widening.

“i promise,” she said softly, her smile matching his.

“good,” jude said, his voice warm as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing softly against her cheek in a tender, lingering kiss. the touch was light, almost like a whisper, but it sent a wave of warmth through y/n’s entire body.

when he pulled back, there was a playful smirk on his face. “i owed you one of those,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

y/n’s cheeks flushed crimson, and she instinctively brought a hand up to the spot where his lips had been. “jude…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. she felt flustered, caught off guard by the unexpected kiss, but also undeniably giddy.

he chuckled softly, clearly pleased with her reaction. “what? you didn’t see that one coming?” 

“no, i… definitely didn’t,” she admitted, her heart racing. “you’re full of surprises, bellingham.”

“just wait,” he said, giving her hand a final squeeze before releasing it. “there’s plenty more where that came from.”

she could only stare at him, her mind spinning with a mix of emotions—nervousness, excitement, and something else she couldn’t quite name. as he turned to leave, she found herself wishing he’d stay just a little longer.

there was a moment of silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was the kind of silence that felt full of unspoken words and shared feelings, the kind that made y/n’s heart flutter in her chest. she found herself wanting to reach out, to close the distance between them, but the fear of what that might mean held her back. instead, she focused on the way jude was looking at her, the tenderness in his eyes making her feel like she was the only thing that mattered to him.

“you’re really something else, you know that?” jude said suddenly, his voice low and sincere. “i don’t think i’ve ever met anyone like you.”

y/n’s breath caught in her throat at his words, and she felt her heart swell with emotion. “jude…” she began, but the words failed her. what could she say? that she was falling for him, that he made her feel things she hadn’t felt in years, that she was terrified of what that might mean?

he seemed to sense her hesitation, and he reached out, gently taking her hand in his. the touch was warm, comforting, and it sent a jolt of electricity through her. “it’s okay, y/n,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “you don’t have to say anything. i just wanted you to know.”

she looked down at their joined hands, feeling the weight of his words settle over her like a soft blanket. she wanted to believe him, to let herself fall completely into whatever this was, but the voice in the back of her mind—the one that whispered javier’s cruel words—kept holding her back.

before she could get too lost in her thoughts, jude stood up, still holding her hand. “i should get going,” he said, his tone light even though his eyes lingered on her face, like he was memorizing every detail. “but i’ll see you tomorrow?”

“see you tomorrow, y/n,” he called over his shoulder, giving her one last smile before he walked out of the room, leaving her standing there, her cheek still tingling from the kiss.

as the door clicked shut behind him, y/n let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. she touched her cheek again, feeling the warmth still lingering there, and couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

she was in deep now, and she knew it. but as scary as it was, she couldn’t deny that there was something about jude—something that made her want to take the leap, to see where this could go. maybe it was crazy, maybe it was risky, but as she stood there, heart racing and cheeks flushed, y/n couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.

next

© PDRIESTA 2024

taglist — @sinners-98-world @stephiii29 @kcharlyy @landosgirlxoxo @judesthighveins @ilovelifes-world @cinderellawithashoe @imnyt @miniemonie2001 @lunamelona @treble-snot

[oharabunny]

imagine being miguel's live-in doll

Description: You're kind of a loser and horrible at taking care of yourself so much so that he takes it upon himself to be your one and only caretaker.

Word Count: 2271

Warning: yandere!Miguel, OOC!Miguel, coercion, fem!afab!Reader, pitiful!Reader, Author projecting their problems, not beta read

So let’s say your universe collapsed and you were the only one that Miguel managed to save.

Since you have no universe to return to, he allows you to stay in HQ and provides you with a modded dimensional watch to keep you from disintegrating.

You have your own room and access to the amenities in HQ like the cafeteria and the training center. 

Honestly you hit the jackpot because before your universe collapsed you were a loser who barely scraped by for your shitty apartment. You never graduated college, and you job hopped between minimum wage jobs.

The catch was that you are not allowed to leave the premises. Apparently the outside world is too dangerous and overwhelming for someone of your time. For a while, you didn’t seem to have an issue.

First couple months passed, and you loved having no responsibilities and being able to laze around, but you quickly found that to be very boring PLUS you had survivor’s guilt and wanted to be useful for Miguel, who saved you.

So you ask him for a job to do and he seems a little impressed. You are just an ordinary human so he gives you the job as his assistant that doesn't handle sensitive and complicated information. 

He may have regretted a little for assigning you a job because now he sees you as a clumsy oaf. It’s not like you couldn’t do your job properly, but you always somehow trip, fall, scrape, and bump into everything. Not a single day were you not mildly injured.

What sealed the deal one day was when an anomaly broke out in HQ and you were caught in the crossfire.

Basically, you are never going to have freedom ever again.

You are rushed to med bay and diagnostics concluded that your injuries are not life threatening, but for some reason he never left your side. Was it pity? It couldn’t be, because pity wouldn’t make him stay while you healed.

He basically wouldn’t let you discharge until every single cut on you was healed and sealed. 

When you are discharged, he tells you that you’re no longer sufficient for the job and will be promptly relocated to a safehouse aka his apartment. 

You almost fought him on the spot because you enjoyed your job and being able to socialize with the other Spider people. (Which you didn’t know had him seething)

Also, you would be a horrible roommate.

He didn’t give you much choice because it was either his apartment or be homeless.

You couldn’t risk being homeless in a futuristic society with nothing but the clothes on your back. 

He personally escorts you to his apartment and to no one’s surprise it was luxurious and spacious. However, it was plain and boring like his taste.

You have free range in his apartment since there was nothing particularly important stashed there. All of it would be at HQ anyway. He practically lives there.

While he did give you a salary when you had your job, but not enough to sustain yourself forever since he fired you. So, he lets you use his credit card to order groceries and whatever you want within reason. And yes he will be monitoring every purchase.

And of course, he also tells you you’re not allowed to leave the apartment. For any reason. Unless you have his explicit permission.

And if you ever do try to leave, the door has a very loud alarm when opened and he is immediately alerted. Even if you manage to get three steps out of the apartment building, he’ll haul your ass back. 

Or if you actually do make it into the streets, he has your location pinged in real time from your dimensional watch that he also made completely locked to your wrist (to your dismay cuz it’s so ugly and clashes with your outfits).

Man, you just wanted to go for a walk.

But he’ll just tell you to sit on the balcony that is completely sealed all around only allowing light in so don’t even bother trying to jump.

Anyways.

Since he won’t be coming by often, you can basically redecorate and redesign it to suit your preferences. If anything, he encourages it.

It was fun for a while, but having no structure in life caused you to spiral. As a certified loser with executive dysfunction, you ordered take out and instant food everyday, left trash to build up over time without taking it out, slept and woke up at random hours of the day, and showered once a week.

He definitely knows you are spiraling. He hid many many cameras all over his apartment before taking you here.

He comes by unannounced one day while you are sprawled on the couch, sleeping, with the TV running.

Yeah he cleans everything and takes out all your trash. He wakes you up. You’re startled. And he just tells you that you need to shower.

Man how embarrassing is that. You stank like butt.

You apologized profusely, but he doesn’t seem to care. He wasn’t mad but he definitely pitied you.

You go to the bathroom right away to take a shower and he follows you.

You’re like wtf get out.

He then exposes the fact he knows you’re a clumsy idiot who definitely slipped and hit your head multiple times before.

Still, you think he doesn’t need to watch you shower right? RIGHT???

Wrong, he is going to personally wash you head to toe.

Yeah you are definitely fighting his ass off because you two are not that close and also you’re not handicapped! But he keeps treating you like one.

You kept struggling and kicking him like a baby which did annoy the shit out of him so he bit you so his venom can paralyze you.

He strips you bare and tests the water temperature before setting you down on the shower bench. He is very thorough with you. He scrubbed every spot and yes even your private parts which made you think he was trying to cop a feel.

Oh boy when he starts to wash your hair, you literally melted. Why is this man giving you a full scalp massage???? 

He even dries you off, lotions your body, and gives you a full skincare routine. WHY DOES HE KNOW YOUR SKINCARE ROUTINE??? 

Yeah and he also dries your hair off and comb it too. He would style it if he wasn’t too tired that day.

Bruh, he even cuts and buffs your nails and toenails. Applying creams and massages them.

The paralysis seems to wear off around your head and neck area so you’re able to eat and drink. He cooks your favorite dish but he has you drink water as your beverage because you kept having soda so he thinks you should be barred from beverages that weren't water.

And since your body is still paralyzed, he hand feeds you. And for some reason when it comes to helping you drink some water, he spits it into your mouth like a mama bird. And if you weren’t going to open your mouth, he would kiss you.

Now you’re wondering why he’s even here. Why was he doing all of this?

The only answer he tells you is that you’re pathetic and you need someone to take care of you. He took a week off just for you.

You argued with him that he doesn’t need to do all that but he insisted and said you can work through it together.

You think he was going to help you manage your executive dysfunction but nah he was going to do all the housework himself for the whole week and hang out with you. 

Well he does try to give you a schedule for when you wake up, what to eat (he literally made you precooked food all labeled and everything), when to work out (he bought you workout gear), and what else you can do in between until when you have to sleep.

He says he’ll come by more often to check up on you so you don’t spiral again. (Which still includes him doing all the housework and washing you)

He went from coming by once a week to every other day, but he usually visits at night. You wondered how he wasn’t drowning in work right now like he usually does.

And every time he visits, he’s taking care of everything you forget to do like when you left dirty dishes in the sink to clean for later. 

He makes you take showers with him and it always involves him washing you first before he washes himself. He’ll let you help wash his back though.

He even started making you sleep in the same bed as him and it was hell because he would snore and cough like a dying engine. He keeps you trapped in his arms and legs, and you being a smol bean makes it impossible for you to escape. 

He’ll literally start dressing you up, brushing and styling your hair, and doing your makeup every morning even if you want to do it yourself. But it’s interesting to see what he finds attractive on you.

At one point he decides that it was time y’all should get married and have a baby since he literally takes care of you like a baby anyway.

You’re reluctant because you still wanted to figure out what you wanted in life, but because he’s not someone who wastes time in getting what he wants, he’ll just tell you that you can figure it out after you give him your hand in marriage and babies. 

You can’t figure out if you hate him or you like him because he does a lot of things without your consent and doesn’t allow you to make your own choices in almost anything, but you also appreciate the sheer amount of effort he makes JUST to take care of you on top of being Spiderman. Plus he’s hot as hell.

In terms of marriage, he doesn’t care for weddings and wants to keep it lowkey. It may sadden you if you love weddings, but it’s not like you have any friends and loved ones anyway. He just wants to have a domestic life with you right away and is not a huge shower. 

He’ll make it up to you with the best honeymoon you can ask for. <3

And honestly, especially now that you two are married, he’s going to be a lot more physically affectionate with you and expects you to be the same. Especially whenever he comes home after work, he’s dying for you to pepper kisses and hug him.

The idea of giving birth scares the shit out of you especially when you hear stories of men finding their wives disgusting or how they aren’t there for you in the process or god forbid the husband stitch.

He doesn’t do any of that. He literally worships your body and tbh he’ll be even more proactive in making your life easier that you don’t even lift a finger.

He’ll be on paternity leave so that means he’s gonna stay in the apartment 24/7.

Also, he seems the type to have multiple kids. So, uh, prepare yourself.

And honestly, his controlling and overprotective tendencies are dialed up to the nines after you give birth.

He will watch your every move like a hawk. He’ll hand feed you in every meal. Most of the time he just carries you instead of letting you walk to where you want to go. He blows your nose if it’s stuffy. Massage you when you’re sore. Always being the one to remember when you need to take your medications. Like, literally everything.

And at first when your kids are still babies, he’s extremely protective of them in the same way he is with you. Like taking care of all their bathing and feeding. But as they grow older he definitely loosens his protective hold a little and teaches them skills that helps them learn to be independent.

He even takes them to school, but he usually insists that you stay home until you fight him that you have the right to see your kids at school too.

He still literally does everything in the house and doesn’t let you lift a finger because he partially doesn’t trust you not to hurt yourself.

Which makes your own children think you’re sickly and weak. Because sometimes Miguel would have the kids help you when he’s unable to like delivering your breakfast to your room or doing your dishes.

Ironically, your own children have more freedom and independence than you do.

If he ever does let you go outside, he would be gripping your hand the entire time he doesn’t care if you’re sweating. Or if he has to let go, then his hand has to be somewhere on your body. If not, he will just leash you like a toddler. 

Now, I haven’t mentioned how you guys bond, and to briefly sum it up: he is interested in getting to know you such as your personality quirks, hobbies, favorite food, favorite color, etc etc. He does take into consideration what you like especially in terms of aesthetics (you have better taste than him). But if you do anything that could lead you into independence or potential to hurt yourself, he immediately shuts it down. 

Honestly, you don’t really get why he does it and how he’s not tired of you, but he enjoys that you’re his doll to take care of. And you can sure as hell bet he's taking care of you until your deathbed. (Imagine him still taking care of all of your needs when he's too old and wrinkly too and ngl that's romantic ❤

A/N: Okay I got a little tired of trying to compress my ideas while trying to describe how exactly crazy this yandere caretaker Miguel would be (even though he would 100% not act like this at all especially if you’re incredibly dysfunctional and unable to take care of yourself with ADHD like me). I rewrote like 4 times to not overwhelm you guys in detail. Even though at the same time, there were areas of detail I didn’t know how to get into. I also at some point lost all my writing and started over again. (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) Sorry if this wasn’t really well written it’s like 6 am right now. I kind of wanna rewrite it when my brain is more organized but I just wanna shoot my idea out there first.

Idk I might delete this later.

I wanted to like credit my inspos to @jessamine-rose for their fic and the manga “My Childhood Friend is Overprotective” by Kumanami Sae (you should check it out it’s so cuteeee)

[northgazaupdates]

Journalist Hossam Shabat responds to a problematic article about journalists in the west being unable to reach Gaza. Hossam writes,

The biggest problem is not Western journalists being unable to enter, but the fact that Western media doesn't respect and value Palestinian journalists. My colleagues and I risk our lives every day to report on this genocide. No one knows Gaza like we do, and no one understands the complexity of the situation like we do. If you care about what's happening in Gaza, you should amplify Palestinian voices. We don't need Western journalists to tell our stories; we are capable of telling and reporting on our own stories.

Context under the cut:

From the very beginning, Western journalists have neglected the people of Gaza. They focused on how resistance actions have impacted settlers, and mentioned Gaza in only the most reductive of terms. But now, as the scale of atrocities by the IOF finally becomes too great for them to ignore, these same journalists are crafting a new narrative: ‘We didn’t ignore Gaza because we don’t care, or because it was politically convenient to do so. We just couldn’t get there to report on it.’

This is a lie concocted under the weight of ever-fickle Western guilt. They deflect their accountability for creating IOF propaganda by claiming they were kept from reaching the area. However, even more than a lie, it is an insult to Gazan journalists—those still living and those murdered by the occupation.

Gazan journalists often have contacts outside of Gaza who could help them evacuate, but they chose to stay. They chose to stay and document the genocide against their people, and did so at immense personal cost. Montaser Al-Sawaf was injured and lost 50+ family members in a bombing attack, before he was bombed again by the occupation and left to slowly die in the street. Mahmoud Ziad Aliwa and Mohammed Saber Arab are still missing after being kidnapped by the IOF while reporting from Al-Shifa Hospital during the latest siege. Eshak Daour lost his brother just a few days ago.

But as they tried to share their footage and words with the world, they were ignored, in north Gaza especially. The world had no interest in the words of Gazans, but especially if they were Arabic-speaking. Rather than undertake the relatively simple task of finding a translation for Gazan sources, or contacting Gazan journalists directly in English (of which many of them speak at least a little), they were flat-out ignored. Only English-speaking journalists with massive social media followings received any acknowledgment, and even then it was extremely minimal.

The journalists of Gaza have always been there, they have always been speaking out and asking others to simply share their words. The implication that only western journalism counts as “real” journalism is insulting, degrading, imperialistic, unprofessional, dishonest, and cruel.

This blog was created due to uplift the words of north Gazans, which were not and often still are not reaching the rest of the world. We will continue sharing from people in north Gaza, but we ask that you, reader, do so as well. Do what western journalists have refused, and uplift the voices of people fighting for their survival in all of the Gaza Strip.

Many journalists post partly in English, but for those that don’t, Arabic speakers will often leave English translations in comment sections. You can also ask for someone to do a translation in the comment section, and often someone will reply. If they don’t, you can copy and paste Arabic text, or take screenshots and upload them into Google Translate. These are not perfect tools, but they give you some idea of what is being said. It’s better than simply not listening.