#my life was changed when i heard this for the first time in suicide room…

[xsmiledogx]

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (4/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: uprotected sex, drunk sex (with consent), incest obviously, smut, fingering, the angst, suicidal thoughts, description of cruel physical violence, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story. Song used in this chapter: Every Breath You Take by The Police

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Over the next few days, Daemon tried to get out of her what had happened and who had put the rape pill into her drink. To his fury, she lied that some guy she didn't know had done it, afraid of what would happen if her stepfather declared war on Larys Strong.

She figured this man wanted just that.

Chaos that he would be able to cash in on, using what was happening to destroy them.

"I do not comprehend you. From now on, I or your mother will be dropping you off and bringing you back from your classes at the University. No meeting friends or going out until you come to your senses." He communicated to her coldly and she replied nothing, not having the strength to stand up to him.

It wouldn't do any good anyway.

Although she should have been worried and terrified, she felt a strange kind of excitement and tension because her uncle, whom she hadn't seen for eight years, had really taken her out of there.

He had really helped her.

She closed her eyes, remembering the touch of his warm, broad hand on hers and his voice, so different from his childish one, deep and low.

Her heart beat harder at that memory, a pleasant, familiar warmth rippling through her lower abdomen.

She felt she had to write him something and after hours of thought she simply wrote the usual thank you. She couldn't stop the feeling of disappointment that spread through her body when he didn't write her back, even though she checked her phone once in a while.

For some reason, she had naively believed that something would now change between them, that she would regain contact with him, that his person would return to her life making her able to finally close this difficult chapter of her past.

However, he remained silent, exactly as he had done for eight years.

She thought it would stay that way until it turned out that her grandfather was organising his sixtieth birthday party with pomp and her whole family was to attend.

"No." She heard Daemon's voice standing in the corridor, overhearing in silence their conversation which he was having with her mother in his office. "There's no way I'm shaking that whore's hand."

"Daemon. My father is dying. You can only show up for a little while and then lock yourself in a hotel room. None of us like it, but I don't want to say no to a man who may not be among the living tomorrow."

Although no one seemed to be happy about it, they were all going to travel there and with each day approaching the event, she was panicking more and more.

She was going to see him for the first time in eight years.

He had no Facebook, Instagram or any other social media accounts: she had no idea what kind of person he was now, what he looked like.

She was afraid that seeing him would make her feel disappointed, that something inside her would finally snap, that the thought that all was lost would make her fall into a state she would never get out of again.

In addition, no one but her knew about what Larys Strong had told her.

Otto Hightower had ordered the murder of your father.

How was she supposed to look that man in the eye?

How was she supposed to look her uncle in the eye knowing he worked for him?

Driving there in their big, black Mercedes she felt like she was about to throw up, her heart pounding like crazy, making her head spin.

"Are you all right? You're pale. I don't want to go there either." Said Jace, glancing at her over his shoulder from the front passenger seat.

Daemon, who had been driving while her mother, following behind them drove the other car, looked at her in the reflection of his mirror, throwing her a piercing, menacing look.

He knew she was hiding something, he could feel it, and the tension between them grew more and more.

When they arrived, they were all searched: no guns were allowed inside.

This was to give the guests some sort of sense of security.

As they walked into the great hall, she was overwhelmed on the one hand by how many people were there, but on the other she was glad to disappear into the crowd. She felt her heart stop for a moment when she spotted Aegon talking to his mother – his blonde hair was pulled back, his jacket carelessly thrown over his shirt, sunglasses on his head.

She spotted Viserys sitting next to him, she spotted Helaena, she even spotted Otto measuring her with a focused gaze, but she didn't see him anywhere.

She felt a wave of disappointment at the thought that he would not come.

As they sat in their seats, searching for their name cards, she felt she was on the verge of crying.

He won't come because of her.

He would never forgive her.

They were served starters and drink, the loud music and the conversations of the people around her made her feel like she was at a wedding, only the guests were individuals she wanted nothing to do with.

She saw how tense Daemon was, looking around the room impatiently, throwing Otto Higtower a warning glance once in a while.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that someone had entered the room and froze, recognising him instantly – he was looking at her, his healthy eye wide open, his nostrils quivering with each of his deep, anxious breaths.

She was taken aback by how tall he was, how drawn and sharply defined his jaw and nose were, his pale, long scar running from his eyebrow arch to his cheek.

He was dressed all in black, in a leather jacket and turtleneck tucked into belted trousers, his short hair, although visibly styled in a hurry, looked elegant.

She wanted to get up, to approach him, to thank him for everything he had done, but as she rose from her seat he immediately turned his head away, something akin to disgust flashed across his face, from which she felt a squeeze in her gut.

She watched, feeling like an idiot as he took his seat next to Aegon and turned tense, thinking that she needed to get out of this place as soon as possible.

She walked out into the garden and headed towards the pier, wanting to be alone – she felt like her heart was about to leap out of her chest, burning tears squeezed under her eyelids, wanting to run down her face.

He couldn't even look at her.

He just pretended not to see her.

She couldn't say why it hurt her so much, why she couldn't let him go when he wanted it so badly: she felt there were years of unsaid words between them, wrongs that had never been made up for.

There had been no apology or explanation from anyone's lips, nothing to help her get back on the right track.

She sat on the wooden platform, staring dully into the black surface of the water, thinking about how it looked in the starlight as if it were some disgusting, dark, dangerous thick mass.

She had a feeling that if she jumped into it she would be all sticky.

She shuddered as she heard someone's footsteps, convinced for some reason that it was Daemon who had come out after her, unable to bear sitting with all these people alone. As she turned over her shoulder she froze, noticing him and stood up quickly, terrified by his gaze, piercing and cold, his eye wide open.

Her heart pounded like mad, her breath heavy in her chest as she watched him pull a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket, his gaze fixed on her face.

"− what were you doing there? −" He asked finally.

She shuddered to hear that his voice was exactly like the one in her dream: cold, deep and low. She swallowed hard, overwhelmed by how close he stood to her, that he had come to her, that he smelled of some intense, masculine perfume.

"− what do you mean? −" She choked out with difficulty, unable to take her eyes off his face.

He took his time answering − he leaned with the cigarette between his full lips over the flame, its tip lit red and hissed as he took a drag.

"− what were you doing in that club −" He hummed. "− looking for a new experiences? −"

Something in the way he said it, mocking and amused, made her feel discomfort and pain in her chest. She furrowed her eyebrows, unsure of what she should answer to such a brazenly asked question, surprised by his directness.

His lips tightened in displeasure, something in his gaze changed – she had the impression that his iris had turned completely black as he puffed out smoke with his mouth, the smell of tobacco filling her lungs.

"− I don't like to ask twice −" He said coolly, making an unpleasant shiver pass along her back. She swallowed loudly feeling that her whole body tensed, ready to run away.

There was something about him that she feared, as if he wasn't fully human.

You don't even know what monsters lurk in the shadows.

"− I wanted to find out how my father died −" She said finally, wanting to see how he would react to her words.

To her surprise, he burst out laughing, however, it was a downright chilling sound that had nothing to do with genuine amusement. He tapped his finger on his cigarette, causing ash to fly to the ground.

"− and what did you find out? −"

She looked at him with big eyes feeling her heart in her throat, wondering if she should tell him, if she should confront him.

Will he kill her for what she says?

Will he hurt her family?

Despite the questions in her head, it seemed to her that her words had left her mouth without participation of her will.

"− that your grandfather killed him −"

He stared at her for a moment, surprised, his hand frozen in mid-motion to his mouth as he laughed again – this time it sounded like a low chuckle.

"− who told you that? − Larys Strong? − was he the one who dragged you there? −" He sneered making her feel a cold sweat run down her back.

How did he know?

Seeing the look on her face he grinned in a way from which she felt a shiver sweep through her − her breath caught in her throat as he took a few steps towards her, towering over her with an expression on his face from which she could read nothing, taking a drag on the remnants of his cigarette.

"− it was Larys who reported him − after the death of his father and brother, all the fortune fell to him − my grandfather just passively looked on −"

She felt as if he had stabbed her in the heart with his words − the real pain in her chest made her open her mouth wide, her eyes filled with tears of horror.

Larys had used her like a silly little girl.

He had planned everything.

"− did you know about this? −" She muttered, for some reason wanting to believe he had nothing to do with it.

The smile disappeared from his face, as if her question had frustrated him.

"− everyone knew −" He replied. "− he passed sentence on himself when he started talking with the police − his days were numbered anyway −"

His answer made her simply move ahead, bursting into a sudden, hysterical sob, as if everything she had held inside her for the past days, months, years, had poured out of her like a dark, viscous, thick wave that could not be stopped.

Everyone knew.

She sighed and squealed when she felt his wide hand clamp down aggressively on her arm like steel tongs, turning her violently back towards him, causing her pain. She tried to push him away, panting and whimpering, something about his movements, his brutality, the ache he was causing her gave her pleasure.

Some part of her felt she deserved it.

Some part of her wanted him to kill her, to strangle her with his own hands.

She sobbed when his hand tightened on her hot cheeks, wet and red from the tears that flowed down her face, forcing her to look at him − his wide-open eye seemed completely black to her, his lips parted in a heavy, drawn-out breath swollen with excitement and rage.

He was so obscenely close, watching her as if she were some pretty, interesting, expensive object, the smell of his perfume, his sweat and his cigarettes made her dizzy, everything around them seemed blurry to her.

"− don't you miss your favourite uncle anymore? − hm? −" He breathed out at last, his words on the verge of a hiss, his face so close that the tips of their noses rubbed against each other once in a while.

There was a kind of desperation and helplessness in what he was doing, in his words, in his gaze fixed lustfully on her lips, as if he wanted to bite her.

The person in front of her had killed the boy she loved and she knew it perfectly well.

"− I don't recognise you − God, I don't recognise you −" She mumbled at last, feeling the warm tears of grief run down her cheeks.

She closed her eyes, thinking that he could do whatever he wanted to her − strangle her or throw her in the water – she would let him do anything as long as she finally stopped feeling anything.

She squealed in pain as his fingers dug into her tender skin as hard as if he wanted to break her jaw − he took a loud breath through his mouth and shuddered as if something in her words had broken him.

"− good − because I don't fucking recognise myself either −" He hissed out in a trembling, dispassionate voice full of pain from which she felt hot in her heart.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips as his forehead pressed against hers, accepting at last that his brutality stemmed from a need for closeness, a need to take by force what he was sure she would never give him of her own free will.

Something in his words and in his gesture of despair made her hands, clenched until now on his jacket, rise higher, to his neck and to his face, running slowly over his jawline. He sighed and shuddered, feeling it, closing his eyes for a moment, the grip of his fingers on her cheeks easing.

She felt her nipples harden under the material of her dress, felt the space between her thighs swell and pulsate at the thought of what she wanted to do.

The moan that involuntarily escaped his throat when her fleshy, moist lips ran over his sounded sweet and innocent, the lick of his tongue that was his response made them cling to each other in a violent, loud, sticky kiss.

It had nothing to do with a gentle caress because it seemed to her that they were simply trying to devour each other − their hands clamped down on each other's bodies as if they wanted to merge into one, their slick tongues meeting again and again between their teeth, licking and teasing each other with loud clicks of their saliva, stripping this act of any sense of innocence.

They knew it was wrong and that's why they wanted it so badly, so when his fingers tightened on her plump buttocks, pressing her against the throbbing bulge in his trousers, she felt her sticky wetness run down her thigh, her hands clenched on his hair, letting him know he could take what he wanted.

"− it's your fault − it's your fault −" He panted into her mouth between deep, passionate, messy, hot kisses, his lips beneath hers swollen and wonderfully wet – he tasted of mint chewing gum and cigarettes, something forbidden, strange, terrifying.

He was a monster, and she wanted him to devour her.

There was no longer a lamp to light for her.

"− mghm −" She mumbled as she felt his hips begin to roll back and forth, rubbing deliberately against her lower abdomen, his tongue thrusting again and again deep into her throat, telling her that he could fuck her, he could destroy her, he could take everything from her, and she felt a wonderful heat in her lower abdomen at the thought.

She wanted him to do this to her.

She wanted to know what it would be like to feel him there, deep inside her.

What it was like to have someone devour you with every thrust of his hips, every loud sigh of desire that was wrong in itself, what it was like to experience fulfilment on the brink of revelation.

"− are you sure you saw her here? −" She heard Daemon's voice and froze, pulling away from him instantly.

They looked at each other with big eyes, pale and terrified, panting hard and quivering as if they didn't recognise each other.

Oh God, oh God, oh my fucking God!

"− I'm here − I'm coming −" She called out in a trembling voice and ran towards them, towards the light, seeing the silhouettes of her step-father and her brother standing just inside the entrance where two evening lamps were lit.

Back to the light, back to the light, back to the light.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Daemon furrowed his brow as he looked at her, his gaze fleeing to the side, far away to the silhouette of her uncle standing in the distance.

"Did he do something to you?" He asked coldly.

"N-no. No, I just thanked him for what he did for me. Let's go inside." She lied, stepping back into the hall, struck immediately by the loud music, Every Breath You Take was playing all around her, dancing pairs of businessmen, gangsters and drug dealers made her feel like she was about to vomit.

Oh, can't you see You belong to me? How my poor heart aches With every step you take?

"Mum, excuse me, will you show me what room I'm going to sleep in? I feel bad." She muttered with difficulty feeling like she was suffocating, her heart pounding like mad.

His tongue deep in her throat, his heavy breath smelling of cigarettes and mint, his swollen lips pressed against hers as if he had been dreaming of this moment for years.

This is your fault.

Rhaenyra stroked her shoulder, worried, and rose from her seat.

"Are you sure? There will be birthday cake and wishing soon." She said softly, but she shook her head, the words of the song echoing around her had her on the verge of crying.

Since you've gone, I've been lost without a trace I dream at night, I can only see your face I look around, but it's you I can't replace I feel so cold, and I long for your embrace I keep crying, baby, baby please

"I can't make it." She whispered.

She and her mother went to get her backpack with her things from their car, and then they walked to the hotel part of the manor − the lady at the reception gave them the right key, and her mother escorted her to her room wanting to make sure she could manage.

"Do you need anything? Shall I give you some pills for a stomach ache?" She asked, but she shook her head quickly, opening the door with her card.

"No, thank you. And I'm sorry. Have a good night."

"Don't apologise, my love. Sleep well."

As she closed the door behind her she turned on the light and saw that her room was tiny: it contained a small toilet, and beyond that a single bed, a desk with one chair and a wardrobe for clothes.

She pulled off her dress, washed her face and teeth, then changed into her pyjamas, which were really just an oversized white T-shirt and panties. The night was warm, so she turned off the light and opened the window, lying down in bed.

She tried not to think about what had happened, about how wonderfully he had kissed, about how she had never felt with any boy she had dated what she had felt with him, after years of separation.

She thought she was broken, that she was attracted to something that would help her destroy herself.

Even though her whole body screamed for her to relieve herself with her hand, to sink her own fingers into her warm folds, leaking with desire, she decided that she would not do it, that she would keep the remnants of her dignity before herself.

She fell asleep only hours later from exhaustion, dreaming of him, of him coming to her, of him taking the pillow in his hands, only to press it to her face.

She shuddered, terrified, seeing only darkness around her, hearing some noise. Only after a moment did she realise that someone was knocking on her door.

"− Rhaenys − fuck −" She heard his unclear mumble indicating that he was barely conscious and drunk. Her shoulders lifted in some subconscious defensive gesture, her lips parted in a terrified, accelerated breath.

Oh no, oh, God, no, no, no, no.

She heard a rustling and a thump, as if someone had fallen over, her hands clenched into a fist on the fabric of her duvet.

"− I want to go to sleep −" He muttered so that she barely heard him. She covered her mouth with her hand, feeling that his words, his request, what he subconsciously wanted was tearing at her heart.

He wanted to return to that moment, to fall asleep beside her as he had then.

It frightened her how well she understood him.

She stood up on trembling legs, feeling that they were as soft as cotton wool, and walked quietly to the door, pressing the handle slowly. She looked uncertainly out into the corridor, afraid of what she would see – his silhouette sat on the floor leaning against the wall, his head bowed, a nearly empty bottle of whisky in his hand.

He was not coping.

"Come." She whispered.

He shuddered and lifted his gaze to her, his stare soft and dishevelled. He muttered something under his breath, trying to get up, but fell over, collapsing to his knees, his bottle falling out of his hand, spilling its contents on the floor.

"− fuck −" He growled, wanting to reach for it and pick it up.

"− no − leave it − come inside −" She mumbled quietly, afraid someone would hear or see them.

His body was heavy and numb, making her help him up with great difficulty − he had to grab onto the frame of her door and lean against the wall to keep from falling over, and after a moment he slumped down on her bed, sighing heavily.

She closed the door behind him, swallowing loudly, and walked slowly towards him. He only flinched when she untied his shoes and pulled them off his feet, but furrowed his brow, displeased when she tried to pull his leather jacket off him.

"− you'll be too hot −" She muttered, slipping it off his shoulders but unable to pull it from behind his back, which was crushing the material. She squealed, surprised, placing her hands on his chest for balance as he drew her down with a sudden, sharp movement, causing her to fall against his body.

"− come here − God, you smell so good −" He exhaled making her moist insides pulsate greedily around nothing, a pleasant, tickling sensation filled her lower abdomen as his fingers ran through her hair in a gesture she might call affectionate.

He forced her to bend over so that her body clung to his − his thighs parted so that she could feel what was happening to him, how hard he was because of her proximity, while his lips clung to hers with a loud, messy click.

He smelled of alcohol, the taste of whisky melting on her tongue with each of his wet, hot, hungry licks − his hands slid from her neck down her back to her buttocks, slipping under her panties, his fingers digging into the soft texture of her skin.

"− tell me to leave −" He gasped out. "− tell me to stop −"

She moaned softly into his moist lips, knowing that she should do it.

But she didn't.

She felt his erection pulsate hard beneath her as she let the motions of his hands guide her body, rubbing against the bulge between his thighs, her weeping cunt all hot and swollen with desire, leaking with longing.

How could she let him do this?

How could it be so pleasurable?

She got the answer to her questions when his fingers slid deeper between her legs − she squirmed in his mouth, simultaneously terrified and delighted when the tips of his fingers found her hot, throbbing slit, slowly teasing her opening.

"− shhh − easy now −" He whispered in such a way that she felt a tickling shudder run through her lips, nipples and insides making her wetness begin to drip onto his hand, the circular motions of his fingers pressing wonderfully into her sticky folds began to be accompanied by the quiet clicks of her moisture.

She moaned into his mouth like a helpless little child − he hushed her as if he wanted to soothe and calm her, one hand placing on her head, combing his fingers through her hair, the other teasing her puffy little bud, once in a while running over her entrance, making wonderful waves of heat flow again and again through their bodies.

Their kisses became deep and lazy as they concentrated on the movements of their hips, rocking them so that they brushed against each other.

She shuddered and squirmed, shocked when she felt the tip of his middle finger sink between her fleshy walls, soaking wet with desire, sliding in and out of her with the sticky sound of her moisture, making her hips roll back and forth, coming out to meet him.

"− uncle − we can't − we can't, we can't, we can't −" She mumbled out, feeling his tongue thrust deep between her mouth with his sigh of pleasure, repeating the movements of his finger between her lips, her hands roaming over his cheeks and hair, stroking him tenderly as if she loved him.

As if she loved him.

"− we can − we will − we need to prepare you properly − shhh −" He gasped softly, making her body arch in a spasm of pleasure, a helpless, girlish moan ripped from her throat as his finger sank fully into the hot, soft structure of her throbbing cunt.

"− please − it's wrong − God, it's so wrong −" She whimpered, feeling tears of terror begin to run down her cheeks, her hands clenched on the material of his black turtleneck, her hips falling and rising on his finger, seeking fulfilment.

They both knew it wasn't enough.

"− shhh − I know, baby − I will take care of you − I got you −" He whispered as his free hand from her head slid down between their bodies, undoing his belt and the button of his trousers − she cried out loudly as she felt him slide them down along with his boxers, his fingers slick with her wetness pushing the material of her panties aside, directing her swollen, pulsing slit at the head of his cock.

"− please, Aemond, please −" She mewled, trying to pull away at the same time and spreading her legs wider, involuntarily allowing him to open her wide on his thick, long erection.

"− let me − I need you −" He exhaled, tilting his head back only to look again a moment later at their bodies, at what he was doing to her, at the way he was forcing himself deep into his niece's body.

The experience was wonderfully painful and pleasurable, as if something that had remained empty had at last been filled, as if she was at last whole, as if his body had always been part of hers.

Her walls offered him only apparent resistance, clenching against him in delight, his quiet, helpless moans were evidence of how good it felt.

She let him sink into her fully, sitting up on top of him, placing her hands on his chest, surrendering − she tilted her head back as his hips with deep, sure thrusts began to slam his cock into her body, his fingers clenched on her soft buttocks.

"− I − ah − mghmmm − G-God −" She mumbled out, bursting into sobs, parting her lips wide, leaning lower, letting him rub her with each stab where she needed it − her silky walls began to throb around his erection, soaking him wet, their breaths heavy and hitched, full of helplessness and vulnerability.

She felt strangely full, with each movement of his hips deep inside her body realising what they were doing and how sickeningly pleasurable it was.

"− thaaat's it − that's my girl − fuck, so good −" He exhaled, drifting off completely into the world of his fantasies, with steady, deep pushes building their way to fulfilment.

She thought in disbelief, panting heavily, that the experience of feeling him inside her was something almost spiritual, a revelation of sorts, her body rocking to the rhythm of his thrusts without involving her will.

What they were doing seemed both animalistic and natural to her, as if it was obvious that it had to end this way.

"− just a little more − please, just a little more − let me cum inside, baby −" He mumbled softly, his hands spreading her buttocks apart, allowing him to sink deeper into her fleshy core − she leaned over him and kissed him, their tongues colliding, licking each other in the most ungodly, perverted, lewd way imaginable.

"− A-Aemond − Aemond-Aemond-Aemond − ah! −" She whined into his mouth as he wove his hand into her hair and sank her face into his neck, feeling her warm moisture run down his thighs − her moans and cries of delight were muffled by his skin as her cunt squeezed and sucked him deep inside her in a stunning, overpowering orgasm that shook her body like a wonderful, hot, tickling wave.

She heard him sigh loudly and tilt his head back, clamping his fingers on her flesh, his body convulsing several times as if he had suffered some kind of attack when his hot seed filled her insides at last.

"− God − oh my fucking God −" He gasped out, panting heavily along with her, their hips moving for a moment more in a subconscious desire to prolong this feeling full of relief and warmth.

"− oh, baby −" He whispered, stroking her head and buttocks as if she were a small child.

For some reason unfathomable to her, she was not indebted to him, stroking his torso, neck and jaw, snuggled into him as she had been then, many years ago, feeling at peace, feeling safe, feeling good.

She felt his hand slide from her ass under his back, slipping his leather jacket out from under them, with which he covered their hips. His hand returned immediately to her soft buttock, as if he liked the feel of her silky skin under his hand, his soft manhood pulsing gently deep inside her.

She didn't mind.

"− sleep − don't worry − I want this baby −" He muttered and she swallowed hard, smiling involuntarily, wondering if he even understood what he was saying to her.

I want this baby.

His drunken alter ego was ready to become a father if it turned out that she became pregnant.

She sighed quietly and closed her eyes, focusing only on his scent, on his heart pounding hard beneath her breasts, on his broad hands embracing her body.

She thought, feeling a strange lightness in her heart, that she hadn't felt this wonderful in eight years.

[gatitties]

Hello again my little butterfly 🦋✨

I came to place another order if that's ok! so, the scenario is a One Piece AU, where YN has an arranged marriage with Shanks, who is one of the richest men in town, but even so, YN decides to run away on her wedding day and throw herself off a bridge, but she can't, they find her and the family manages to bring her back to the wedding, Shanks is a man very much in love with YN, the moment he sees the sadness in YN's eyes when she walks up the aisle and puts the ring on her finger Shanks, he decides to conquer her and make her the happiest wife in the world! ( PS: Shanks is in a desperate situation when he learns that his beloved literally decided to throw herself off a bridge rather than stay with him, even little sad :( )

─Shanks x wife!reader

─Summary: you didn't want to be part of that ceremony, but you're not brave enough to run away either

─Warnings: slight mention of suicide attempt, modern AU

Oh hi hi love!! 🫶🏻🦋 you really like angst 😳

You ignored the perplexed looks of people, without stopping or thinking about a second option, you gripped the thin white fabric of your wedding dress harder so as not to trip over it, your shoes had long since disappeared so you could run more comfortably. You didn't want this, you didn't want to marry an unknown guy, no one thought about your feelings? It's not something your parents have the right to play with and you weren't going to let them ruin your life for financial convenience.

The moment adrenaline started to increase when you saw how you were now being persecuted, probably due to the absence in the ceremony that was taking place in the nearby church, you felt bad for the man you had been engaged to, since it wasn't his fault either and you didn't even know him enough to determine that he was a horrible person, but this decision was too hasty and you definitely didn't agree to this.

With your heart in your throat you ran until you tripped over your own sore feet, your breathing accelerated even more when you heard shouts of your name, taking courage again you stood up with a new impetus, although when you noticed how the distance between your pursuers was shortening more and more, your brain began to draw an extreme line in your thoughts.

Would it hurt? Could you die? Well, you were going to see for yourself what it felt like to jump off a bridge just to avoid facing an unwanted fate.

You quickly climbed onto the thick railing, stabilizing yourself standing on it, the next few seconds felt like a blur, like a part of memory that was difficult to remember, the fear of possible death and the indecision that comes with taking a long time to jump into the void made one of the guys chasing you caught you before you did something crazy.

The next thing you know after that, you were back in one of the private rooms of the church, being yelled at by your mother while your father looked on disapprovingly, you didn't care, nothing mattered to you at that moment, you let them go back to put on your makeup, you let them put new shoes on you and they changed the dirty surface fabric of your dress as if you were a doll, lifeless.

The ceremony returned to its course, Shanks waited awkwardly all this time at the altar, and when he saw you appear next to him his heart shattered, you weren't even looking at him, your eyes were lost somewhere far away in this unwanted reality, you lacked any kind of expression. He knew it, he knew how you felt, and yet he felt a little selfish for wanting to be your husband, for wanting to love you unconditionally, this marriage may be arranged, but he admired every drop of courage you poured out to prevent this event, every anger and every fierce response you gave to the first meetings between both families.

"Now… husband and wife, you can kiss each other."

You were both so absorbed in your own thoughts that you barely heard the priest's last words. Shanks was the first to step forward, holding your waist slowly as if he were asking permission and asking if it was okay to do so. You didn't move an inch, your eyes were still lost even when he sealed your fate with a cold kiss devoid of love, at least, lacking on your part.

Shanks knew it wouldn't be easy, that you weren't going to trust, that he wasn't going to receive tons of affection, even looks, he knew you were in a delicate state, after all, you'd rather almost kill yourself than get married.

You didn't bother with his emotions, you didn't bother to ask about his tastes, his hobbies or how his day had been, you just spent the days dead, repeating your routine, your life remained the same in a way, a few more numbers in the account. but in exchange of what? Your freedom and decision. You were hurt, you had been damaged by your own parents, your emotional wounds would not heal overnight and you would refuse to show a modicum of affection until you recovered.

Shanks knew that he would have to sleep alone for months, that an empty house would await him, that all his praise and gifts would be quickly discarded, but it doesn't matter, maybe you didn't look for him or you didn't want him, but as your husband, he would do everything he could to at least help you cope with the situation, he really loves you, but it won't be easy to win your affection because you never wanted this.

Your heart began to heal over time, it took a long time, you decided to completely break the relationship with your family, although before they were the only ones you could turn to, Shanks showed you that he would be there, that despite not being the husband that you chose as such, made you trust him, made you feel loved again.

He wasn't a bad man, he wasn't the most wonderful person in the world either, but he proved to be enough for you to stop feeling that emptiness inside your heart, step by step he managed to break the walls that you built around your emotions, Shanks turned out to be something unexpected in your life, someone you didn't think would be so important and he was able to grant some peace, some happiness back into your life.

Maybe you are not yet ready to accept that he is your husband, but you slowly began to meet someone you could voluntarily fall in love with.

[zombiigrll]

LONELY ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x reader .ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 1061 ꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ angst to fluff, swearing, depressed/traumatized reader, reader is glenn and maggies adoptive child, intended lowercase, the walking dead 7x1 spoilers, death mentions, lack of eating, suicidal thoughts, use of y/n .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ hi! this is my first time writing and posting anything on tumblr so im sorry if its not the best </3 ive never really done oneshots before either so i dont really know what im doing LMAO hope you still enjoy!

───────────────────────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────────────────────────

it was supposed to be an easy run. get maggie to the hilltop and get her help, that's all it was supposed to be. but, of course, nothing could ever be that easy. not for you. the last thing you expected to see, however, was your father-figure getting his skull beaten in, and almost having to witness your boyfriend getting his arm chopped off. you were distressed. you couldn't function properly. you had already lost your family once before at the beginning of the outbreak, and all of those same feelings came back after losing glenn. he had been there for you since the start, saving you from dying with your family. and now he was gone and there was nothing you could do.

you had fallen into a deep depression, similar to the one you had before. you locked yourself in your room, not eating, not drinking, occasionally getting up to use the restroom, but other than that, you were bedridden. you hadn't even changed your clothes from that night. the clothes that were stained in glenns blood. hell, even his blood remained dried across your face. you felt as lonely as ever, but at the same time, you knew you weren't. because every single day you heard knocks at your door. it was carl.

"y/n, please. just open the door. i can help you." he desperately spoke from the other side of the door.

you felt like shit for making him continue to come to your door everyday just for you to stubbornly remain in your room, but it felt like nothing mattered anyways. eventually, he'd give up, right? that's what you thought. "go away." you mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. "just open the door. please." he begged again. he understood your struggles. he was aware of why you were acting this way, and he couldn't blame you. he knew how it felt to lose family members and people close to him. unfortunately enough for him, you stayed where you were, not opening the door for him yet again. but after almost a week had passed, he began getting more worried. he begged at your door for you to open it, he tried opening it himself but you had locked the door, blocking it as well so no one could enter. you didn't care. you were isolating yourself, barely sleeping. the only times you slept were when you cried so hard you fell asleep. you felt miserable. you were giving up on everything, hoping one day it'd all just end and you wouldn't have to worry anymore. you wouldn't have to worry about anyone else dying, because you'd be with them. no more funerals, no more fighting for your life... you laid awake on your bed, tears silently falling from your eyes as you stared blankly at your ceiling, those terrible thoughts swirling through your brain. but this night was different. you had opened your window, which carl took as the perfect opportunity. he was tired of not being able to help you due to your stubbornness, so he decided to crawl through your window. *thump!*

you quickly jolted up at the sound, staring at carl who was slowly sitting back up after not-so-gracefully falling into your room. he grabbed his hat and placed it back on top of his head before looking over at you. you stared at him with tears glazing over your eyes, your face scrunching up as you brought a hand to your mouth. "i..." you were speechless. your emotions got the better of you and you began sobbing. he quickly walked over to you, cupping your face with his hands as he looked down at you sympathetically. "don't cry..." he softly spoke, but his eyes quickly noticed the dried blood that was still on your face. "y/n..." "i-i'm s.. sorry." you sobbed, averting your eyes as you crossed your arms around your waist. he shook his head as he softly acknowledged your beat-up appearance, moving your arms from covering your waist as he pulled you in for a big hug. "don't be sorry."

you quickly returned the hug, squeezing him tightly as you sobbed into his chest. he broke from the hug, looking back down at you and your bloodstained clothes. "let's go get you cleaned up, yeah?"

you silently nodded. he helped you stand up and you almost fell over, but he quickly caught you. "...let's get you something to eat, too." ... the two of your were now in the bathroom. he helped you sit down on the seat of the toilet before grabbing a rag, getting it wet before walking back over to you. "this is gonna be really cold." he smiled warmly, slowly bringing the rag up to your face and wiping the blood off. you flinched slightly at the touch. as he's cleaning your face, his face turns a bit perplexed. "why... why didn't you open the door?"

you avert your eyes to the ground as you begin messing with your hands. "i just wanted to be alone, i don't know." carl looks at you with a bit of a somber gaze before continuing to clean you up. "i'm sorry for breaking in. i was worried about you. just... please, don't do that again. if you ever need help, i'm here. you know that, right?" "i know..." you looked up at him. "i didn't want you to see me like this. i..." you began tearing up again as you spoke. he quickly sets the rag down and puts both his hands on your cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe away your tears. "i know, i know. it's okay." shortly after, he pulled you in for a quick kiss, his hands remaining on your face as he pulled away. he uses one of his hands to wipe away the stray strands of hair over your face, tucking them behind your ear. "you're so pretty. you know that, right?" he smiled warmly. "i love you." you laughed with a smile, a tear rolling down your cheek. "i love you, too." "let's go get you some new clothes, okay? and some food. i'll make you whatever you want." carl asks, grabbing both your hands. you nod, standing up in sync with him as you followed him back to the room. god, you were so lucky to have him. ─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

[harrystylesfan2686]

Ferryman

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron!Reader.

Summary: (I have no idea how to summarize this.)

Warnings: slight mention of suicide and hating oneself.

A/N: This is an idea i got after watching TVD and Legacies. For those who dont know, Ferryman is a psychopomp, the ferryman of the Greek underworld, also known as Hades. He carries the souls of those who have been given funeral rites across the rivers Acheron and Styx, which separate the worlds of the living and the dead. This definition is taken from wikipedia. I changed the legand a little bit. I hope you like this. 🫶

Masterlist

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

My life changed entirely after me and my sisters were forced in the world of fae.

Being thrown in a cauldron and turned into a powerful being can be dreadful after having heard all the stories about fae. Hearing how cruel they were to humankind sure was terrifying but after knowing what they looked like and how they acted, I have different thoughts.

The man male, my sister married is one of the most powerful lords of Prythian. One that is so sweet to two of my sisters and so rude to the other.

After we were all thrown into the cauldron, we all got different powers along with our immortal bodies. As we slowly discovered our powers, we got our names too. Elain got named a Seer, discovering her ability of supernatural insight. Nesta became The Death Lady, because of her silver flames.

And I?

I became the Ferryman.

The one who connects the living world and after life. The one who carries souls to their finale destination after death. The anchor guilding the lost souls.

Every fae that dies has to touch me in order to go to the after life. Now while they have a painless journey, I on the other hand, feel everything they did while dying. When they touch me, I feel thier pain, distress, sadness and everything that filled them in their last moments.

At first I was alright with it. But it got tiring very quickly. Then I started despised it. And now? I'm petrified.

I fear it so much, I'm starting to hate myself. I dread my every living moment, just fearing that I will see a soul lurking around and will have to send them to the other side. Feeling thier pain and going through it all over again.

Everyday exactly like the one before. See a soul, touch, feel, hurt, and do it again and again with no end in sight.

Can't you just handle it and get over yourself?

Nesta had hissed at me when I tried to share my feelings to her. Indeed, she was in pain too but she isn't the only person our father's death has effected. I wasn't there that day. At least they got to see father for one last time before he died. I didn't. I was held up in a tent, following Rhysands commands, saying it's too dangerous for me out there.

Her cruel words still roam my head everytime I try to feel sorry for myself. I can't communicate my feelings to anyone anymore.

Feyre forced me to reveal myself one day and couldn't do anything else as she, too, doesn't understand what I go through everyday. She told me that she'll see what she can do and try to help me but hasn't said or done anything else so I believe nothing can be done about this except to accept it just as what it is.

I just suffer in silence and not tell anyone.

-☆-

I take a sip from the wine bottle I stole from Rhysand's finest wine stock, and rest it between my spread legs, holding the bottle from it's neck. I look down at the mountains beyond me. My legs dangling off as I sit on the balcony edge.

It's starfall tonight.

And I'm sitting on a balcony of the only room I saw empty. It only views is mountains, lining up from The House Of Wind, of all sizes and shapes.

It's a beautiful site.

Stars in the dark sky, shining down on the mountains and forests that rest between them. I can see nothing but the hills and the beautiful start sky. It's so peaceful not being around strangers and just staying here, lost in the nature, drinking wine and just being with your own thoughts.

"What are you doing here alone?" A deep voice asks behind me. I don't turn to see who it is, already knowing it is the Spymaster.

"What does it seem like?" I take another sip of the wine. The sound of boats against the floor, walking towards me. His presence looms behind me, his shadows already wrapping around me. They seem to like me. Always surrounding me whenever we are near. I raise my free hand to play with one.

"You going to fall." He grunts.

"Nothing's going to happen. It's not like I can die." I chuckle at the irony, the sound doesn't seem real.

It's true. I truly cannot die. I'm the anchor, after all. If I die, nobody is going to get their haven after life. I tried a few months ago, when I finally decided I couldn't live in this much pain my entire life. It didn't work. I'm still standing. I did end up with a lot of injuries though.

I take another sip.

"I hope you know you can talk to me whenever you want. We can sit without talking too." He sits beside me. Dangling his feet off of the edge too.

I silently offer him the wine bottle. He silently accepts. We sit there for god knows how long, just quietly passing the wine around and looking out in the sky. Drinking and enjoying one another's company in silence. I feel good, comfortable around him.

Suddenly stars start to move. Skiping through the sky, shimmering glitter. Colors of all kinds fill the sky. I breath out. My lips tug up on thier own, curling into a small smile I can not contain.

"It's truly beautiful, isn't it." My eyes on the stars when I speak to Azriel.

"It truly is." He whispers.

I force my eyes to move to him, noticing he's not looking at the sky.

He's looking at me.

His eyes on my face, switching between my eyes and lips. I feel a rush to my cheeks. For a minute we don't move at all. Just looking at each other, drinking in how we look under the sparkling colourfull stars.

We smile at the same time and look away from one another.

For the first time in a while, my face holds a genuine smile.

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

[fullmoonandstar]

I can't let you go

Gale x Reader/unnamed Tav x Astarion

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.5 k

Cw: polyamory, mentions of the orb and all it entails, angst, anger

Summary: Gale made you choose between Astarion and him, and none of you were happy with your decision. After you prevented him from detonating the orb and killing Ketheric Thorm, you find a purposeless Gale, who questions his decision and his complicated feelings for you.

AN: inspired by a dream I had after Gale made me choose between him and Astarion.

The harpers had cleared the first floor of Moonrise Towers and you had set up camp in the former dormitory. A fire was burning in the hearth and despite your win over Ketheric Thorm the atmosphere was tense and sober. You knew now what you were truly up against, but the change from having to fight a god to fighting an elder brain wasn't a relief. At least the shadows felt less dense and dangerous outside the protective bubble of the moon lanterns.

You looked around the room. Halsin was talking to Thaniel and Art, Lae'zel polished her weapons, Shadowheart was meditating, Astarion had sneaked off, probably to find something valuable that could go in his bag. But someone else was missing too, Gale. You had a bad feeling not seeing him anywhere that you could not explain and you jumped up looking for him. You found him in a small room, siting on the floor and staring into the fire. 

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. It hurt you seeing him like this. Gale had worn an open smile the first time you met him and had continued to charm you with his corny humour and passion for knowledge. But that had changed, and it was your fault, at least partially. He had feelings for you, and it came to a heartbreaking scene when you showed genuine interest in Astarion. The others didn't really understand what you and him had. Yes, he was an asshole often, but the more time you spent together, the more you could see the years of hardship and trauma splintering away like an old coat of paint. He seemed to slowly reclaim the person he is, and you loved seeing him bloom. When Gale caught on, he confronted you about it, made you choose between him and Astarion, and well, you could not let go of Astarion. This had been shortly before you had met Elminster and heard about the grim task Mystra had bestowed upon Gale. As hard as he tried, Gale was unable to hide his feelings completely. All of this weight heavy on him. He had been handed a suicide mission and you had prevented him from even doing that.

He noticed you standing in the door finally, but his gaze only flickered to you briefly. 

“I should've done it, it would be all over if I hadn’t failed.”

It sounds more like “you made me fail” to you, and anger bubbled up in your chest.

“What did you expect me to do?" you snapped. "Let you kill yourself? Is that what you wanted?!”

“Maybe that would have been better! What was I thinking?” He jumped to his feet, restless. 

“If you think for one moment I would let you sacrifice yourself just like that…” you left the sentence hang.

“What is it to you if live or die? It’s my life!” 

You gasp, flail your hands, not knowing what else could relieve the outrage, and you feel your face burn.

“What is it to me? WHAT IS IT ME?!” If you were Karlach, you would surely set this place on fire.

“Gods for some smart ass wizard, you're pretty dumb.”

Gale opened his mouth to release a retort, but you continued: “I killed an immortal for you and so the gods help me, I’d do it again.”

You rarely raise your voice and certainly not at him, Gale is stunned and furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because I love you, you idiot!”

The burning anger reached your eyes and your vision blurred. Gale just stared at you, frozen in place, mouth hanging open. It would have been funny to see him so utterly speechless, if you weren't so overwhelmed with other emotions. How could he be so stupid, so blind to your feelings? Yes, you had rejected him, but it had not been an easy decision. You knew Astarion had no problem with you seeing other people and even if he teased Gale, he cared more for the wizard than he let on. When Elminster stayed at your camp, he was appalled at the request and voiced his concern for Gale and you had not been able to sleep for days after. 

“I would fucking do anything so you don’t have to blow yourself up, Gale.”

When he whispered your name, all the pent-up frustration with Mystra, Elminster and Gale evaporated and left you a deflated crying mess. Your knees felt like they would give out at any moment now. You heard shoes scuff over the stone floor and arm locked tight around your upper body. You let your head sink into Gale's shoulder, and your neck tickled with his hot breath when he buried his face in the crook of your neck. The emotions drain out of you freely as you cry into Gale's robes, and he held you until the tears and sobs finally stop. His hold on you loosened, and you reluctantly pull back, but not too far. You must have looked miserable, but you gathered your little bit of strength you still had and took his hands in yours. 

“Please, Gale, trust me on this. We’ll find a way to deal with the orb. I can’t lose you, please. Stay with me.”

His eyes took in your face, studying it while the gears in his head turned, but he kept getting stuck on your lips. He pulled his hands out of your grasp and cupped your face. You leaned in when Gale did and your lips brushed softly at first then emotion. You felt flashes of dread and anxiety through your shared psychic connection. Of course, Gale didn't want to die but ever since the orb had entered his life through his own hubris he had been haunted by the disappointment of Mystra and the ever looming threat of killing everyone and everything in a days travel distance. After the meeting with Elminster, his days had been numbered and his goddess had given him a clear way out and yet he still breathed passed his due date and it was because of you. You stopped him. If it had been anyone else, he would have gone through and had just let go but he couldn't look into your blood smeared face pleading him to not do it and dismiss it. Part of Gale resented how important you were to him and how he was not first in your heart. For you this was not how the situation was. What you had confessed in anger was not less true because of it. You feelings for Gale had only grown stronger even if you tried to not to let them show. It had been hard enough on him and you didn't want to complicate things further.

The kiss ended and you rest your forehead against Gale’s

“I’m not going to leave. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” Gale whispers. His hands rested on your hips. 

It sounded like it was suppose to be humorous but you could only muster the strength for a weak smile. You took his face between your hands and he leaned into your touch.

“Listen,” you started, “I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with but I’m selfish and greedy and it’s literally the end of the world.”

He was opening his mouth to say something but you quickly continued: “Please be by my side.”

Gale stayed silent and with every passing beat your heart sank. You let go of his face, mumbled an apology about misreading the signs and extracted yourself from his arms. Without looking at him you tried to flee into the dark hallway. 

He caught your hand. 

“Wait.”

Gale takes your hand into both of his and you met his eyes. There was something in them that you could not read. He sighed in resignation and kissed the back of your hand.

“I’ll try. For you, I will try but no promises.”

You were stunned, and the words needed a moment to process in your mind. When they finally did render, you practically jumped into his arms and he could hear his ribs crack when you pulled him into a bone crushing hug. This was more than you could have hoped for. If there had been any water left in your body you would have cried again. 

“Finally.”

Gale’s head snapped in the direction of the voice, but you didn't have to look to know who it was. Astarion leaned casually in the open door to the hallway as if he had been there the whole When you were both aware of his presence, he pushed away from it and walked over. He fixed Gale with his red eyes, hands on his hips like a mother about to deliver a scolding, and Gale twitched in your arms.

“They’ve been inconsolable for weeks." he waved in your direction. Gale didn't say anything, so Astarion continued: "but it seems you have finally come to your senses. That’s what a brush with death does to you, I guess.”

What Astarion did next surprised Gale, you could feel it in the way he stiffened. Astarion closed the distance and threw his arms around both of you. After the initial shock, Gale relaxed into this unusual hug, and you smiled into his shoulder.

At that moment, at least it seemed things could be okay.

Check my Masterlist for more

[hearthotchner]

i’ll change for you

— aaron hotchner

@my-mummy-dust

tw; death, suicide, death of a child, lots of crying, aaron is a meanie, child abuse, then, the usual criminal minds stuff

notes: this took so long to write 🤧😭 but i really do like it. also, i have no idea how the criminal minds writers write this kinda stuff, i felt so horrible for what i wrote about the victim ☹️

word count: 3.2k

tension in the precinct was so thick, it could be cut with a knife; no one dared to speak, not with the stakes this high. you all just put your heads down, hoping to make sense of this mess of a case.

in the beginning, it seemed pretty simple. but, then the case began to drag on, with the unsub taking a longer dormancy period between each kill, leaving you and your team like sitting ducks.

you profiled this — he was arrogant, cocky. he knew that anything and everything that happened, was in his control; you hated to admit it but, right now, it was true.

as the minutes went on, aaron was becoming more agitated. it was obvious this case stuck with him more than others, they were children, innocent, defenceless, children; of course everyone felt that way about cases involving kids, but you knew that it was different for parents. and, as much as you wanted to, you refrained from trying comfort him, knowing he wanted to be left alone.

he had all the giveaways: the way his brows were furrowed, the scowl plastered on his face, how his whole body was tense, with his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

“i don’t get it. you said he was young, out of control, so why’s he taking a longer time between each kill? shouldn’t it be the other way around?” the deputy asked.

rossi spoke up, “yeah, it should be. these kinds of unsubs are always conflicting themselves in their profiles, it’s strange, but rare.” reaching for a few photos of the crime scenes, he continued, “look. you see all these? spilled milk, broken plate, unfinished homework.” he pointed at each picture where it was present, “he’s recreating something, that probably happened in his own childhood, and now he’s projecting it onto them, he sees himself in them, and feels he’s obligated to punish them.”

derek, fiddling with the pen in his hands, spoke next, “the trigger may have been something to do with a parent, and something as simple as seeing the first victim getting told off in a public place, like a park or mall, would prompt him to break into their home, and ‘punish’ the kid.” he shrugged.

“killing the parents is simply to ensure he doesn’t have his fantasy ruined, which is why they’re shot with a single bullet, through the skull.”

spencer takes over, “all these examples show how he is in control. however, his lack of control is displayed in the actual kill of the child. it reflects how, internally, he’s losing it.” he spoke with his hands too, raising them closer to his chest, at the world ‘internal’ “with each and every murder, it becomes more brutal, he beats them even after he knows they’re dead. it’s actually a huge escalation we see compared to the first, where he strangles the victim.”

“but why take the child this time? all the others were killed in their own homes. what makes matt different?”

“that’s what we’re trying to figure out.” rossi sighed.

all heads snapped to the front of the room, when the door was abruptly opened, revealing the officer who was slightly out of breath, “i think we got something. someone’s called the tip line, asking for you guys.”

—

“this is ssa aaron hotchner, with the behavioural analysis unit.”

the plan was to get him on the phone long enough for penelope to track him, and humanise the victim in his eyes, an ounce of empathy could save that boys life.

clattering and yelling could be heard from the other end of the line, shouts of “tell them!” repeated, over the loud sobs that escaped the child.

you couldn’t listen to this anymore, but you had to.

he was relentless, hurling insults toward him, and all you could do was sit there and listen.

looking over at your boyfriend, you saw him take in a deep breath, composing himself, before talking, “matthew’s just a kid, he doesn’t know why he’s there, or, why you’re mad at him.”

“oh yeah? he’s a spoiled brat, that’s what he is, and he fucking knows it! mom’s not here to save you is she?”

aaron tried to reason, “don’t do this. you’re doing the same thing to him, what they did to you, shouldn’t you be putting an end to this cycle? just bring matthew home, we can help you.”

sobs and begs for forgiveness grew louder over the line, “shut up!” you didn’t know who it was directed at, nor did you care. undoubtedly, it was the loud bang of a gun that filled the room, right before the phone was cut.

aaron sucked in a breath, hands beginning to shake slightly.

“penelope, tell me you got something.” morgan asked with desperation.

“yeah- i, uh, yes. it was a burner cell, pinged off of these three towers. i’ve already sent it to your phones.” her voice wavering.

“mom?” you whispered.

“what?”

“he said mom. garcia, could you check if matthew’s mother had any other children, around 20 to 25 years ago?” you hoped to god you were getting somewhere with this, if you weren’t, you doubted you’d catch this guy.

“o-okay.” there was a pause, as she typed, “yes. a son. eric watts. born in 1990, when elizabeth was only 16. he was put into the foster system, the day he was born.” she paused again. “his foster parents, brian and martha crawford, weren’t so kind, during his time with them: constant visits to the hospital, with broken bones, concussions — blamed it on fights, but, it wasn’t backed up. although, his school reported seeing bruising around his neck when he was younger once, but nobody ever did anything.”

“can you check if there’s a property, that has any significance to him? maybe, his old foster home? he’d need somewhere secluded.”

“um, yes! there’s a small ranch house in brian crawford’s name, just a few miles off the west tower, sending the co-ordinates now.”

wasting no time, the team quickly threw their vests on and piled into the two SUV’s — police units following closely behind.

climbing into the passenger side, you said, “this is probably his endgame. there’s no other reason why he’d change his plans, by taking matt to a secondary location, and have the courage to call — those insults were personal.”

“yeah. he’s jealous. upset. why did my mom give me away, but her new kid gets to live a happy and loving life, one i should’ve had. i don’t think it’s gonna be easy taking him alive.” rossi replied from the drivers seat, turning on the sirens.

—

when you turned the cars in, the lights and sirens switched off, so he wouldn’t know you’d be coming.

slamming the car door shut, you rushed to the front of the house, heart practically jumping out of your chest.

morgan kicked the door down, immediately turning to the left, while you went straight ahead, and JJ taking the right.

a series of hopeless ‘clear!’s was heard through your earpiece.

faint yells that were barely present before, got louder and louder, as you inched toward a white door. “i got him. in the basement.” you announced into the mic on your collar.

wrapping your hand around the cold metal, you swung the door open, gun aimed straight ahead, and quickly ran down the stairs, that creaked under you.

“eric watts! FBI! let the boy go.” aaron was stood right next to you, gun also aimed at the man.

“don’t! get away! i’ll kill him!” he was panicking, scrambling to drag matthew up by the collar of his shirt, holding the loaded revolver to the side of his head.

“eric. you don’t want to do this.” you spoke carefully, your aim not faltering. “we know what happened. your mom.. she was only a kid when she had you, she didn’t know any better, than to do what she did.”

“she let me suffer!” he cried out. “she lived her life happily, knowing i was out there, and she did nothing!” his hand began to tighten around the boy’s neck. “all those years! all those years, and she didn’t come! she got to play house with her perfect little family!” he spat, “while i was forced into that living hell she put me in!”

“killing these children isn’t going to fix it eric. they did nothing wrong, just like you didn’t. you need to stop this, so nobody else gets hurt.” it was working, you could see how his hold began to loosen. “let him go.”

a wave of visible emotion flew through him, as he looked down. horror, shock, disbelief, and, realisation, written all over his face. it looked like he had just woken up from a nightmare.

then, his whole body began to tremble, eyes brimming with tears, when he lifted the gun, to his own head.

a loud bang followed immediately after.

—

matthew was in bad shape.

aaron had carried his limp body to the EMT’s — praying he wasn’t too late. he needed to make sure he was okay, that he’d make it home back to his mom.

sometimes, his vision would change, at a glance, he saw his own son in his arms: all battered and bruised. it was an image that would haunt him for days.

“is- is he gonna be okay?” he croaked out.

“we don’t know, agent, he’s in critical condition.” they replied, shooting him a look of sympathy.

after telling them that elizabeth watts would be on her way to the hospital, aaron asked if he could ride in the ambulance with him. he needed assurance. closure.

—

“i’m sorry, sir. but we lost him shortly after he arrived.”

he felt like breaking down, falling to his knees, when he heard those words leave the nurse. but, all he managed to do was nod, with a solemn look on his face.

aaron didn’t have it in him to go to matthew’s room, to say goodbye — if he did, he may never rest easy again.

on his way to the car, he pulled out a little photo of jack he had in his wallet. seeing his son, always brought him comfort, made all his troubles go away, just for a moment. a small smile creeped up onto the fathers face, when he realised he’d be home to that ray of sunshine, in a couple hours.

—

aaron barely slept that night.

when he wasn’t seeing matt in the corners of his vision, he’d be visited by him in his dreams. the boy would cry, tiny hands gripping onto his shirt, demanding for an answer as to why aaron couldn’t save him; all he could do was let “i’m sorry” fall from his lips over and over again. why wasn’t he fast enough?

—

when morning came, you decided you had given aaron enough time. he was struggling. you couldn’t stand to leave him alone any longer, it wasn’t good for him.

in the short time people interacted with him, he’d get progressively more irritated — he was a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off.

you noticed, along with everyone else, how he’d stare off into the distance, face turned white, his usual blank expression laced with fear and guilt.

“aaron.” you spoke, breaking him out of his trance, “i know you’d prefer to be left alone right now, but i really don’t think you should be. are you okay?” he stared at you. “i think you should take some time off, you’re tired, and you’re stressed. maybe we could make dinner together? to get your mind off of it?” bringing your hand to rest on his, “and we can talk.”

“did you really just ask me that?” he whispered, gaze unmoving, “four kids, seven parents, and an unsub dead. multiple family members for me to answer to, for me to tell that i couldn’t save any of their children. and all you can think about is making dinner?” his brows furrowed in anger and confusion.

“what?” you asked, “aaron, you know i didn’t mean it like that.”

“then what did you mean it like? tell me.”

“i just wanted to help you-”

“well you can’t! stop trying to act like more than what you are, (y/n)! these people are dead, they can’t come back, and you want me to brush that off?!” voice becoming harsher with every word he spoke.

your vision began to blur at the edges, and your throat began to close up, “more than what i am?” you asked. “and what am i to you, aaron?”

“nothing.” he replied coldly.

having nothing left to say, you turned, not wanting him to see the tears that rolled down your cheeks, and walked away.

he didn’t do anything to stop you.

you knew this would happen, knew you’d be the one who’d be at the receiving end of his anger — what you didn’t know, was that he’d reveal the truth of what your relationship really meant to him.

it dawned on you then, that maybe his promises of love were empty. instead, they were used as a mere tool to keep you around, to fill the absence of a partner in his life.

—

it had been three days, since you got back from the case — you and aaron hadn’t spoke. he was withdrawn, barely coming out of his office unless it was necessary, but you saw how red his eyes were, from crying or tiredness, you didn’t know.

you were torn. one part of you longed to go over to him, do anything just to get that look of despair off his face; another part of you wanted to avoid him like the plague. he hurt you, used you — yet you didn’t understand why you were still so drawn to him.

—

there was rowdiness in the bullpen, everyone deep in a debate about how one should cut their sandwiches, until a voice broke through, “(y/n). may i speak with you?”

of course now he wanted to speak, you internally rolled your eyes, genuinely appalled at how he’s handling this, as you walked up the stairs to his office.

“what did you want to talk about, sir?”

the title stung more than he’d like to admit, “don’t. don’t call me that.”

“then what do you want me call you?”

his words were quiet, almost pleading, “my name.”

“i don’t think that’s appropriate, hotch.”

“(y/n), please-”

“listen, if this isn’t about work, then we have nothing to talk about.” you headed toward the door, leaving him alone again.

this time, you missed the way his hand reached out for yours.

you made a beeline for the bathroom, ignoring the teams concerned looks, as you wiped the tears beginning to fall down your cheeks.

you didn’t know why you were crying, it was only the sight of him that seemed to bring all those emotions rushing back, you couldn’t help it, as the dam finally broke.

a moment after, you felt yourself being pulled into an embrace, the person rubbing their hand up and down your back, until you calmed down.

“what happened?” it was emily.

“nothing,” you sniffed, “it’s fine.”

“did hotch say something? you weren’t in his office long.”

“no, can you just get my stuff please? i’ll finish the rest of my work at home.” you sighed, wiping your eyes.

she nodded, giving you a soft look, “yeah, sure, i’ll drive you.”

she told you to wait by the elevator, whilst she gathered your things, and told hotch where she’d be going.

—

“thanks, emily, you didn’t have to do this.” you set your bags down.

“it’s alright, just get some sleep, okay?”

you wanted nothing more. so, when she left, you collapsed on the couch, turning something on the tv as background noise, as you fell asleep.

—

it wasn’t soon after, when you were woken by firm knocking on the front door. rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you sluggishly made your way over, the sound becoming louder, and desperate. you didn’t even bother checking through the peephole, which was why you were visibly shocked, when met with the sight of aaron there.

“please hear me out.” he begged, speaking before you did, “i won’t bother you again, if you do. please, just listen.”

you moved aside, letting him in.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, (y/n).” his voice completely different, compared to the last time you spoke with him — something that was so harsh, was now soft.

he was so unlike himself: hair disheveled, with raw emotion painted on his face — he wasn’t ssa hotchner, bau unit chief, anymore, he was aaron, and he was afraid. “i wish i knew why i said that, i really do, because it was far from the truth. i shouldn’t have said it, i know that, and i should’ve gone to you straight away when i did,” his long fingers twitched, itching to hold you, “and explained to you that it wasn’t your fault, you were just trying to help.”

with every word, you struggled to hold yourself together, because the look on his face broke your heart. the urge to be close to him became unbearable — so, you gave in. wrapping your arms around his body, and resting your head on his chest, the rapid beating of his heart, and scent of his cologne soothing you.

“i didn’t want you to be alone.” you whispered, voice breaking.

you were a sensitive soul, and aaron knew that, which was why he had never raised his voice at you, prior to that day.

“please don’t cry, it’s all i’ve been making you do these days.” he spoke, wiping the tears that you didn’t even know were falling.

“it hurt hearing you say that. i thought- i thought you’d been lying to me, this whole time.”

“i wasn’t. i’m sorry i made you think that.”

looking up, he tried to hold back his own tears. “i’m scared, (y/n)..” he breathed, “ever since that day, he’s been there, always asking me why i couldn’t save him, what am i supposed to say to that?”

you lead him to the couch, sat him down, and let him hold you, as he continued, “and i can’t tell the difference, between him and jack.”

then, he told you how he saw jack as the one in his arms that day. and how, one night, he was putting his son to bed, and the vision of matt flashed for a moment.

knowing it calmed him, you ran your fingers through his soft hair, as he cried.

“you need help, aaron. this job, it’s taking a toll on you. if you carry on like this, you’re going to lose yourself — you already are.” you wove your fingers with his, “but, you can’t be helped if you don’t want it, you know that, don’t you?” he nodded. “jack’s spring break is coming up.” you mentioned, “you should take those days off, it’ll be good for both of you. and, i’ll start looking for some therapists too, alright?”

he kissed your cheek, “okay.”

“if that doesn’t work, then we’ll find something else, and we’ll keep doing it again until we find something.”

it was silent after that. eventually, the two of you moved so that you were laying on his chest; you thought aaron had fallen asleep if he hadn’t mumbled, “you’re too good to me, i don’t deserve you, angel. i’d be so lost without you.”

“don’t say that. you’d find your way around, you always do — i’m just giving you a little shove.” you smiled.

[howdoesagrapewrites]

This is my first time requesting lmaoo

A fanfic where reader is trying to break up with pavitr and gayatri because its starting to get toxic but ends up getting kidnapped by both of them or where reader escaped and is trying to ask for help to the police but gayatri’s dad gives her back to them

(I love your yandere pavitr and gayatri ‼️‼️)

𝘽𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙬𝙚𝙗𝙨

Cw: kidnapping, emotional abuse, reader x lovesick!Pavitr Prabhakar x lovesick!Gayatri Singh, police corruption, suicidal thoughts, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting

The last weeks, or had a month passed already? Perhaps many months, but anyway, lately, things felt like a fever dream, one day you came back to your shared apartment to an argument, and next thing you know, you're being chased through the city and being forbidden from leaving your home.

Gayatri had missed work ever since that day, refusing to leave your side, you heard her over the phone saying she was taking care of a mentally unbalanced loved one, you were so mad, but god knows you don't have the strength to have any more "arguments" with any of them, you learned it doesn't do anything, at the end they'll always get the final word, you wonder if they actually believe you're the one that's "mentally unbalanced" and not them, you feel humiliated thinking about it, that they suffer as if you were the one that needed help, as if they were the victims.

No matter how much time went on, hating them, resenting them was never easy. You look into their faces, love filled expressions, and you remember all the times you felt like the luckiest person alive knowing they adored you even more than you could imagine. You remember the movie nights, the dates, the anniversaries, the cheesy nicknames and goofy antics you were up to, sneaking into Gayatri's room when you were in highschool, holding Pavitr's shoulders tightly as he swinged through the city with you in his arms, it always felt like a fairy tale, but now even more so, and not in a good way, not in the nice way.

You couldn't say one of them was "the worse one", they both had their ups and downs, they both made you suffer in their own way, Pavitr simply wouldn't let you go if you did something "bad" (like yelling at them, insulting them, insisting that you broke up with them, so you're not their partner anymore, breaking stuff, refusing to eat, the list goes on) he'd cling to you so hard he was suffocating you, all his body weight pressed into you, keeping you against the floor or the matress, and no matter how much you screamed, cried, kicked or insulted him, he won't let you go, sometimes he cried with you and tried to apologize, telling you he doesn't deserve you, but he simply can't leave you, other times he'd shush you and kiss your face and neck, even if you injured him or tried to bite him, and he'd whisper sweet nothings and "it's okay", "I know you don't mean that", "just calm down, everything is okay, no one will hurt you" but they will. And it worked many times, you'd try to forget reality and imagine you were back at your loving boyfriend's embrace, it was just a bad dream, and the would never hurt you the way they were doing just before. Sadly, you always woke up. Regularly you fantasized about dying like this, in their arms, with Gayatri singing lullabies and pecking your lips softly, and Pavitr cuddling you as the little spoon, you wouldn't have to cry ever again, just disappear into their warmth.

But you still had some self-preservation instinct left in you, and as much as you loved them, you had goals, and a life ahead of you, you still had the chance to escape from this living hell, from this cushion filled prison cell.

It took them months to trust you near the door, even if they already changed all the locks and had multiple other latches and protections so you wouldn't escape, it took you months to play nice and docile so they wouldn't suspect your real intentions, and you hated how comfortable you felt being their yes guy, natural it felt to say "I love you" and let yourself be pampered and rewarded for your good behavior, how much you enjoyed the feeling of Gayatri's velvet tongue in yours, while she lazily stroker your lower back, how playful bites and deep kisses in the morning made you submit completely to Pavitr, how much you loved cooking for them while they cuddled in the couch and told to hurry so you could join them. It was all part of your plan, right? And you couldn't possibly want to stay, right? .

"where are you going?" Pav asked in a sleepy voice

"to the bathroom, I'll be back, love" he didn't question further and rolled in the bed to go back to sleep

You walked in your tippy toes, carefully making your way to the bathroom, you close the door and lock it. You look at yourself in the mirror and realize how different your face looks from some time ago, where there was dark circles and break outs from the stress, now there's a considerably healthier complexion, smooth and soft lips instead of chapped and bitten, and no signs of puffy eyes due to excessive crying, you looked like you did before, but no matter if your skin agreed with your way of life, you wouldn't, you won't let these two monsters take your life away.

You stand over the toilet, and go out of the window, it's a third floor, you might not make it. You wanted to leave some sort of cushioning, but Pavitr would've seen it, so you close your eyes and let go, hoping to land in a way that won't leave you agonizing in the street. Before you touch the ground, you grab the edge of the window of the downstairs apartment, your nails hurt and you close your fists with all your strength so you don't fall, you look at the ground and notice now there's not much distance, you jump. It's painful, but you can go on.

You have money in the jacket you put on under your pajamas, enough to buy a ticket far away from Mumbattan.

You walk the streets to go to the train station, you look at the restaurants you used to go, the bus stop where you had to hide from the rain with Gayatri in middle school, you caught a cold and went in bed for a week, the stores you used to go with your friends back when you had them, the park, where Pavitr adopted a duck and you went to visit them so they wouldn't forget about him (in his words), the flower shop where the old lady would always tell on your partners and inform you they had something planned. All of the memories replaying in your mind, becoming one with the starry night, and fusing with eachother like a messed up watercolor paint, where did things went wrong? Did you ever made such a mistake that would trigger this? If it were your fault, you'd do anything to remedy this, anything to get your love, your life back, and even after all they put you through, it's still so hard to say goodbye. You keep remembering as you say farewell to Mumbattan entirely, to your parents, your friends, everyone you know. You look at the rooftops where you star gazed, the police station where Gayatri's dad let you go after you were caught shoplifting in a declaration of rebellion as a 14 year old. You stare, your mistake, you stare, and see captain Singh making eye contact with you, you want to run, but he lifts his hands in the air to show you he doesn't want to hurt you, you try to run but your legs don't respond, he reaches to you, and takes your hands in his.

"Are you okay?" Tears form in your eyes

"I'm- I'm not, I need to run, and I beg of you to act like a police officer helping a civilian who's running from abuse, please" you stutter and know you can't do anything, if you don't say anything, he'd surely take you back to his daughter and son-in-law, but there's the tiny chance he might listen to you

"I'll get you to safety, you can speak to me or with someone at the station when you're ready, I understand what you're going though, I believe you" he believes you, he believes you. You always knew Gayatri's dad to have a soft spot for you, to take care of everyone, to try and save the most helpless creatures, he was a good cop.

He gets you to the station and says he'll get someone to scort you to a shelter, you just sit looking at the floor, shaking and with your cheeks sticky from unwashed tears.

"They were walking disoriented in the streets, I brought them here before they could do anything dangerous" you heard him tell someone, you hear the other voice and you flinch. "Thank you dad, I'm so sorry, we were so worried" it's Gayatri. It's Gayatri. That's who he called, that's the person that will scold you to "safety".

You refuse to look at her when she approaches you.

You scream "I won't go back! It wasn't an impulse! I planned this, I-I have money, I planned this, I swear I'm lucid" you try and grab the cash from your pocket, but it's gone.

"It's okay, you can leave when you calm down, you'll be safe in your home until then" you can't even remember who said that, Gayatri, her dad, Pavitr, a police officer, they all say the same shit, they all think you're crazy.

The way home is a blur, like everything else, it feels like you blinked and now you're in your "home" again.

"You're a fucking monster" you say to Gayatri, poker face, you're not even sure if you have tears left to cry

But she certainly has, she cries, you don't know if it's sadness or frustration, or anger. "I may be a monster, but I'm not a fucking a liar, you think I'm cruel? We're cruel? You're worse. Whatever you have to say to us you can repeat it to the mirror, because we would never do this to you. We would never pretend to love you to leave you behind later, and the worse part of this bullshit you're pulling is that you know we'll forgive you. We never hurt you unless we have to, but you, you seem to enjoy it! To enjoy watching us bleed for you, is that what we need to do for you to stay?!" She stops to breathe "... I don't care what you think of us, but if we're monsters, then you are too, and you need to accept it."

Pavitr creeps behind you, and puts a hand on your chest, feeling your hitched breathing, he coos. "We're all one and the same, Y/N, we're meant to be together, I don't think you lied, I think you know that you love us, even if you're confused right now."

Confused? Confused. Maybe they're right, since you can't even settle what you're confused about.

[redahlia-writes]

be still my foolish heart. | joel miller

Abstract: He still felt unsure, unsteady, both wanting to keep her at arm’s length and welcoming her back in his life like before, drown in the comfort he’d found in her presence year after year since they were kids. She’d tried to reassure him, and he knew she was right–you could not live in the world they did and not change. But he remembered her in pigtails on the first day of school, he remembered her prom dress being awfully 80s, and he remembered the first time he’d seen her with Sarah–gentle voiced and wide eyed, holding her as if she might shatter should she breathe a little too hard.

Words: 9.7k

Content: f!reader (called “sugar” as a nickname, described as shorter than joel); childhood friends to lovers, mentions of child’s death, grief, mentions of attempted suicide, PTDS, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, this was supposed to be about joel and sugar but there’s a lot of joel/ellie too. a lot, idiots in love, slow(ish) burn, ellie being a loving little shit, canon divergence (they get to jackson and don’t leave but i never explain why), some very minor spoilers for tlou2, purple prose, unedited

A/N: loosely inspired by almost (sweet music) by hozier; the song they listen to is night and day and can be found in ella fitzgerald sings the cole porter song book (1956). 

also on AO3 - masterlist

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

Ellie had never seen a deer in headlights, only saw pictures of the creatures and heard the expression every now and then from older people.

She imagined the way Joel looked in that moment was what they meant.

Frozen still, eyes wide and lips parted, even holding his breath if the lack of condensation by his face was any indicator, Joel stood next to his brother with his back straight, the only indication he hadn’t suddenly turned into a piece of rock the light twitch in his right hand.

There’s someone you should see, Tommy had told him, half a day after they’d gotten to Jackson–they’d had time to eat and leave the few stuff they still had in the house, and right before she could hit the shower Tommy had walked in. Not keen on the idea of being left alone, Ellie had followed the Millers quietly. Joel had even teased her about it.

“Who’s the quiet one now?” she’d huffed at Joel’s sudden immobility. Tommy had looked at her with that half grin that she imagined Joel must’ve had, too, at some point, and then lifted his arm to wave a hand in the direction of a small group by the school. A woman pulled her head up, a green woolen hat low on her brow, and then waved back, a smile visible even from there. “Anyone you know?” she asked, looking back at Joel.

He still did not bat an eye.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she exclaimed, extricating herself from the rest of the group with a quick apology. “Joel Miller,” she called, the name rolling with a certain familiarity out of her mouth as she approached them, brushing some snow from her coat.

“Sugar?” the word came out strangled–his mouth was dry, the ground unstable beneath him. Suddenly, he wasn’t 56 anymore but 16 years old, and around him a shitty classroom that could do with some fixing, or an all too familiar living room, a cluttered bedroom with dark walls–and the smile he was offered had not changed a bit.

“Sugar?” Ellie echoed, a little baffled. Her eyes darted towards the girl, a glint of curiosity.

“Only one who still called me that after we left high-school,” the woman chuckled, stepping forward with her arms open. “Come on, c’mere–it’s been too long.”

Joel hesitated–when was the last time he’d hugged someone? Maybe Tess, though he could not remember when, but that had always been more a clinging-to-each-other type of thing. A hug, that was different, and he felt stuck on the spot all over again.

Before he could overthink it too much, Ellie pushed him forward, making him grunt in protest as he almost fell into the woman’s embrace–he wrapped his arms around her, the movement somewhat foreign, and slowly leaned into it. Despite the cold and snow, she was warm underneath all the layers of clothing she donned, and smelled of freshly cut grass. It reminded him of another time, and if he closed his eyes he could almost see it. He exhaled.

“You stink, Miller–how long have you been out there?” she laughed softly, one hand cupping the back of his head, same way she used to when they were younger. He remembered dancing.

“A while,” he admitted, unable to argue with that, easing into the embrace furthermore. “Sorry,” he added, and she patted his shoulder gently, another delicate chuckle that rang crystalline to his ears.

“I’ve had it worse, it’s alright,” she murmured, chin hooked over his shoulder–he could feel her straining to stand on her tiptoes, slightly unbalanced, and lowered himself against her, face buried in the curve of her neck wrapped by a soft scarf that matched the hat. She sighed softly at the movement, her fingertips scratching across his scalp. “God, it’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” voice slightly muffled and blind to the world, Joel was able to admit that. Maybe it was nostalgia, making him forget everything else for a few moments as he lingered in the peacefulness of that familiar touch, or maybe it was exhaustion, blurring the edges between who he used to be and who he was now.

“I’m so sorry, Joel,” she whispered then, and it felt like ice through his veins. He pulled back slightly, the urge to run away making his limbs tremble–but she kept him caged in, the arm around his shoulders stronger than he remembered (was he tired? Was he too out of it?), and the hand that had brushed his hair falling to his cheek, brushing away some of the grime he’d grown used to by then.

But it was her gaze that kept him rooted, though, that softness he didn’t think could still exist in the world they lived in, and emotions he had almost forgotten, ignoring them each time they presented themselves–it’d be too risky to feel them, too easy to surrender to it again: sorrow, grief. It cut his breath all over again.

“Tommy told me,” she kept her voice low, her touch gentle, rubbing her thumb across his uneven beard. The bustling in the air was foreign after so many months of quiet, and he wasn’t sure which one made his body ache–the current life, or the past death.

“Of course he did,” he scoffed, and her expression shifted, a reprimand in her gaze that used to make him laugh when they were younger, and furthermore when she grew into that same expression, year after year of standing together.

“Joel,” she chided, still soft-voiced, still attempting to comfort him through that small motion on his face. He remembered that touch and kind, encouraging words with a baby in his arms; he remembered his name called out through laughter–hers, his daughter’s; he remembered winters and summers and years before that. He closed his eyes, a furrow in his brow.

“No, of course he did,” he exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Sorry, it’s just–she really liked you, you know?” his eyes remained closed, trying to push back the pressure building behind his eyelids, trying to swallow the knot in his throat.

“I know,” he felt her nod, press herself closer just as her name was called from behind them. When he looked up at her again, her eyes were shimmering, that vulnerability he hadn’t had the courage to show again after the ringing in his right ear had stopped. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, bringing her other hand to his face, too, holding him like that. He nodded, afraid that if he spoke right away he would crumble.

All it had taken was a gentler touch, and he was ready to fall apart.

“You oughta go–looks like you’re needed,” he cleared his throat, the damn knot clinging to his larynx seemingly impossible to push away. She looked over her shoulder, the group she was with before waving her over, and sighed before turning back towards him.

They still hadn’t let go of each other, and neither seemed willing to make the first move.

“I’m expecting you all for dinner,” she spoke a little louder then, turning her head as if to look past Joel’s shoulder but without moving her gaze from him. “Alright, Tommy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the younger Miller called, his eyes returning to the pair after having wandered elsewhere for the duration of their reunion–the most privacy that could be given in that context. Ellie hadn’t been as subtle, her head tilted and a curious look in her eyes at the sudden burst of emotion that seemed to roll off Joel’s back. It was astounding. 

In the end, she was the first to depart, a kiss to Joel’s cheek that seemed to melt away what little tension was left in him. He stumbled back as she walked towards the group, one last look over her shoulder that ended up being directed towards Ellie, a quick smile and small wave she returned, somewhat unsure.

“I felt the same way,” Tommy rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder, as if to shake him from the haze that seemed to have permeated him thoroughly.

“She been here long?” he was frowning again, forcing his gaze away from the back of her head to look at Tommy. The younger Miller nodded a couple of times.

“Even before I got here,” he said, slowly beginning to lead him away, Joel seemingly rooted to the spot once more. “You know Sugar, she’s always been a step ahead of us,” he added, and in his murmur there was a fond smile.

“Sugar?” Ellie repeated, her eyebrows arched with her returned bafflement.

“Just a stupid nickname,” Joel muttered, shaking himself off in a way that seemed more a recoil–he turned and cleared his throat. “Old nickname. Don’t even know who came up with it in school. It stuck.”

“For you it stuck,” Tommy was smiling, clearly amused. They seemed so different, Ellie thought. Had they always been like that? She wondered if she could ask her. “Pure irony, really,” Tommy continued, addressing her. “She always fought people–a real spitfire.”

“You only say that because you got slapped,” Ellie’s eyebrows arched furthermore at Joel’s scoff, a tint of amusement in his words.

“And you,” the younger Miller retorted, making Ellie’s lips part.

“Oh, I like her,” she exclaimed, turning to look at her–she was back at work, the scarf now covering the lower part of her face, though she could still hear her laughter ring clear.

A week later, they stood in her living room.

Though they’d met again around town after that first day, it had taken both Joel and Ellie a moment to settle in. The house felt odd for them both–Ellie having never had one, Joel not remembering his old one. It helped that she lived just around the corner, and in the morning he’d see her walk by to head towards the center.

Slowly, he found a routine, found a way to make himself useful, and leaned into it. Ellie was wilder, refusing to go to school and spending most of her time in her bedroom, Walkman constantly on as she went through pages and pages of old diaries, old books. 

“Wanna come to this thing with me?” was the only thing he asked her that night–they threaded carefully around each other, murmured confessions before he sent her to bed at night (the only thing he was firm with, leaving her her space otherwise). It wasn’t time that did it, Ellie’s head resting on his shoulder as she fiddled with the new record he’d found for her. When I got bit in the mall I wasn’t on my own, Riley’s name bitter on her tongue.

“What thing?” Joel’s hair was slicked back, a new shirt Tommy had gotten for him along with his jacket. He actually looked put together, which was the reason why Ellie sat up quickly. “Are you going to Sugar’s?”

“Stop calling her that,” he muttered, though it was the only way he ever referred her as–old habits, he thought. “Yeah–Tommy and Maria are gonna be there too, we’re all adults so if–”

“Let’s go,” she hopped up.

And so they were in her living room, scarcely decorated but recognisable as hers nonetheless, and Ellie walked around the place with a curious gaze, hands fidgeting at her sides.

“How did you convince her to come here?” Maria asked quietly, as the three of them waited for the lady of the house–she had categorically refused any help in the kitchen, ordering them to wait by the set table. Old habits, Joel thought again.

“I didn’t,” he shrugged, watching the kid linger at a picture set in a cracked frame, the dance of her fingers ceasing for just a moment. “I think she likes her–probably has to do with the slapping stories.”

“Definitely has to do with the slapping stories,” Tommy chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Ellie asked, without turning to look at them. “Actually–him I can understand,” Joel scowled at Ellie’s remark while she pointed at him, spinning around to face the three of them. “But why did she hit you?” Maria chuckled at that, while Tommy almost choked on his drink and his face burned a brighter shade of red.

“Ah, well, I–” he cleared his throat–it was another time, he thought. So many years before. “I–kind of made a move on her. And then told her I was gonna join the army,” he rubbed his jaw, some sort of nervous twitch as he glanced in a grinning Maria’s direction. “Still not sure which one pissed her off more.”

“The army,” she said, coming into the living room while holding a fuming pot she was quick to place on the table. Joel’s posture changed, a slight shift towards her by the head of the table and his head twisting so that his gaze would be on her, the ghost of a smile across his lips. “If one of you was going to be a self-sacrificing idiot and leave, I expected that to be Joel.”

“You shipped yourself off to college,” Tommy protested as they sat down–Joel remained next to her on left, Ellie next to him (she didn’t like being on his deaf side, but she preferred it to sitting away), Tommy and Maria on the other side.

“Definitely not the same thing,” she wrinkled her nose in a half-grimace, plating up the food–whatever it was, Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d smelled something so good, her stomach already grumbling. Tommy scoffed lightly, passing on the plates.

“Wait, you made a move? If anything I thought–” before Ellie could finish the sentence, Joel pinched her leg, making her yelp and turn to him wide-eyed. “What the hell was that for?”

“Manners,” he muttered–at the corner of his eye, the woman tried to fight off a smile, setting the last plate in front of him. “Eat your food.”

She looked at the older Miller and the kid throughout the dinner and the chats, the scowls and grins, his reprimands and her sharp tongue. It was a familiar scene, late dinners stolen in a living room she once knew like it was her own.

The younger brother leaving early on was familiar, too, Maria tiring easily from the pregnancy and Tommy refusing to leave her side for longer than necessary–her heart ached at the thought of Tommy Miller having grown up, until it functioned as a reminder that growing up in their world now meant surviving. It was easier to think of it like that.

“Just means you’re gonna have to come back for dessert,” she said as Maria hugged her, winking in Tommy’s direction, too.

“We should get going, too,” Joel cleared his throat once it was just the three of them, heading for the rack where his and Ellie’s jacket hung. She had the fleeting thought that he was trying to avoid being alone with her–though they weren’t really alone–as he had for the whole week. A quick greeting and then away, never lingering too much around her. She figured it was because he was still settling in–hoped that was the reason, in spite of the years gone by.

“But I want dessert!” the girl protested, still sat at the table (by herself).

“Ellie,” he sighed heavily, not turning to look at her as picked up her coat.

“Joel,” she retorted in the same tone, unmoving. The woman looked between the two of them with an eyebrow arched, fighting the smile off of her lips the moment Joel sighed again, head falling forward. It wasn’t needed, but Ellie took it a step further, softening her voice for a, “Please?”

Joel Miller had always had a hard time saying no to his daughter. Guess things hadn’t changed that much.

“If we’re bothering–” he started, his gaze flicking from Ellie to her.

“Oh, quit that, Miller,” she scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. “Ellie, grab your plate, come,” Joel remained frozen for a moment as the girl beamed, standing with the plate in her hands and quickly following her towards the kitchen. A beat, and then he went after them, bringing with him the rest of the dirty dishes they’d left behind.

“What is that?” Ellie had stopped abruptly at the entrance of the kitchen, eyes wide, forcing Joel to walk around her at the last moment, stumbling towards the woman who was placing a tray onto the counter. He lingered a moment, his gaze following the twisted pattern made of golden dough, and once more he felt transported back ages in time.

“My mama’s apple pie,” she said gently, a smile grazing her face–there was a bitterness to it, too, with the realization that that was probably the first time Ellie saw one outside of pictures. “We produce the flour ourselves, and have the dogs check it for possible contamination, so it’s safe,” Joel could almost see the hope in her eyes in trying to reassure the kid, grabbing the knife and offering it to her by the handle. “Wanna have a go?”

Ellie’s eyes shimmered with excitement as she took the sharp knife, getting closer to her–she leaned with one arm on the counter, while with the other hand she showed her where to start, mimicking the movement of cutting down towards the crust. As he placed the dirty dishes in the sink, Joel inhaled deeply, the perfume coming out of the still warm filling in fumes.

“Jesus,” he muttered with a soft groan, turning around quickly. Ellie stilled, her gaze flickering from where she held the knife up to him, then back to the grinning woman who was looking at him, too. “Sorry.”

“You know, your–” she stopped herself, clearing her throat before straightening her back. “Joel would always know when we made this at my place. I don’t know how but he did–never failed to show up when my mama got one in the oven.”

“Sixth sense,” Joel chuckled, getting closer as well, his mouth already watering. “Smells just like then,” he mumbled, shifting on the spot when she bumped her hip against him, her smile widening. “You know, Sarah wanted to call you to bring it over, before–” he cut himself off.

Ellie shuffled on the spot, the knife in her hand a sudden weight she didn’t like–Joel had mentioned just in passing Sarah to her, admitting first and foremost to her existence, half-joking over their differences. But whenever he did his eyes would go unfocused, gaze dropping to the broken watch.

She watched as the woman pressed herself slightly closer, hand brushing the back of Joel’s, right up to the cracked watch before she even looked up, the movement seemingly enough to draw Joel’s attention towards her; she watched as the man cleared his throat, right hand twitching before he exhaled, pulling back as if in afterthought, reaching for the cupboard; she watched Sugar’s head drop slightly, and then straighten again with a forced smile in her direction. Ellie returned it tentatively.

“Alright, kiddo–it’s best when it’s warm,” she encouraged, taking the knife from her as Joel returned with clean plates. She deposited the slice on one, pushing it in Ellie’s direction. “Too bad we haven’t got any ice cream, tastes even better with that.”

“Can’t miss what I never tried, right?” Ellie shrugged, that crooked smile still on. “Thanks,” she added then, stepping away, back towards the living room. She’d started to learn when others needed space.

“Joel,” his name whispered was like a bucket of ice water thrown in his face, a shuddering breath leaving him when he turned to look at her. Her head was slightly tilted, a soft gaze that tethered on mournful. Joel didn’t want pity. He wanted so much, but not pity.

“Can’t,” he said through gritted teeth. Her hand reached for him again, slower, fingers brushing his knuckles as they whitened with the clench of his fists above the counter. “Sugar, I can’t,” he repeated, looking down. She pressed her palm over the back of his hand, a firm knead to unfurl his fingers from where they pushed into his own palm, blunt nails still leaving their mark. He shook his head.

“It’s just me,” she kept her voice low, soft.

Tommy had told her a lot–the whole of it, really. Sarah’s death. Joel’s attempt. The shift in him–the shift in them both, but mostly Joel. The anger. The bad, awful things they’d done. The anger, the only thing Joel seemed to have felt for the past 20 years.

It nearly broke her heart.

“I know,” his eyes flickered towards the door leading to the living room, Ellie’s head peeking from behind the backrest of the armchair. “You haven’t changed one bit, but I–”

“That’s not true,” she shook her head, scooting closer. “I have. Everybody has. We had to,” curling her fingers around his hand, she slowly picked it up, bringing it closer to her. There were calluses on her fingers he didn’t remember from the years before, lines across her face he thought were a trick of the light. “You think you lost your humanity when Sarah died, but that’s not true,” she tilted her head towards the living room, gaze flickering to Ellie, the scrape of the fork against the plate the only sound coming from her. “She’s proof of that. You must see that.”

“She was a job,” his hand felt cold in hers, fingers twitching slightly. Each time, she squeezed it softly, bringing it closer to her stomach. He could feel her warmth even like that.

“She was,” she nodded in agreement, shifting so she could meet his gaze. “And now?”

“It’s complicated,” he returned, and a bittersweet smile grazed her lips.

“You always saw things as more complicated than they actually were,” she let go of him, and Joel clenched his hand suspended mid-air in her direction, while she turned towards the counter, taking the knife up again to cut two more slices of pie and plate them. “Perhaps you’re not exactly your old self, but you’re still almost you, no matter what you tell yourself, Joel,” she pushed one of the plates in his direction, glancing at him once more. “Eat up.”

Joel had a hard time breathing. It happened less frequently–it had been weeks since his last episode, he’d almost forgotten about it–but it still did, every now and then. He hated it.

He wasn’t sure what triggered it: he wasn’t doing anything specific, was just thinking about how to fix the creaky step that led up and down his patio, when all of a sudden he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and his chest ached, right in the middle, like a weight trying to pin him down against the ground–but the ground didn’t feel stable, and he had to lean against the wall for support while everything spun around him.

Worst of all was the ringing in his ears. He’d gotten used to the muffled sounds in his right ear, and the sudden high pitched noise made him dizzy, made his vision waiver, made him unable to exhale. The next breath scratched at his throat, like a badly chewed bite refusing to go down, no matter how many times he tried to swallow.

“Dad?” he gasped, the town suddenly in front of him again. The edges were still blurred, but right in front of him stood Ellie–a few steps behind, Sugar had her head tilted, a curious gaze in her eyes.

“What?” his voice rang still distant, somehow, and he shook his head, trying to clear the clouds away.

“I said are you alright?” Ellie frowned, getting a step closer. “Joel, are you going deaf in both ears?” she asked, and that melted away the tension in Joel’s shoulders with a sigh.

“Very funny,” he muttered, pushing himself off from the school wall. “I just got distracted, is all. You ready?” he cleared his throat, glancing briefly in the woman’s direction.

“You know you don’t have to come get me every day, right?” Ellie mumbled, moving at his side. “It’s not like I can run away,” Joel gave her a look–eyebrows arched, head slightly tilted, that same expression he used when Tommy said something dumb. Ellie could almost hear it.

You ran away from FEDRA and sneaked into a sealed mall. I wouldn’t put it past you.

Maybe he had a point.

“Bye, Ms. Sugar!” a girl called from behind them, dark hair pulled away from her freckled face. “Ellie, you coming?” she waited, expectantly. Ellie turned towards Joel, whose face had shifted into a simil-scowl.

“So that’s what you meant, huh?” he crossed his arms, to which Ellie responded with a lopsided grin, looking at him expectantly, the mute question clear in her eyes. Can I? “Wait, Ms. Sugar?” he turned to look at the woman who still stood there, and she snorted.

“Ask Ellie about it,” she retorted, clearly amused by the guilty look creeping across the girl’s face. “She’ll be right there, Dina!” she called out then, a little louder.

“I didn’t mean to, okay?” Ellie protested, with a small kick to the melting snow in front of her. “You call her that all the time–it just came out of my mouth,” she argued then, pointing at Joel.

“Are you blaming me for calling your teacher with a nickname?” he returned, baffled.

“Yes,” Ellie nodded. Behind Ellie, he saw her stifle a giggle, quick to lower her head and cover her mouth with a hand. The girl looked up at him still, eyes softening in a pleading motion. “Can I go?”

“Sure,” he sighed–the word was barely out of his mouth before Ellie was already darting away, running towards her smiling friend. “I’m sorry,” he said then, turning to her.

“It’s alright, Joel,” clearly amused, she shook her head and took a step closer to him, hands dropped at her sides. “Besides, I think only Dina heard her. Maybe Cat, too, but it’s no big deal,” she shrugged, standing right in front of him now. Joel tightened his grip around Ellie’s bag strap, lowering his gaze to her.

“She good?” he asked, a little quieter. “This Dina, she–”

“Yes, she’s a good kid,” she said with a smile and a small nod, tilting her head slightly. “You can rest easy, Mr. Miller,” at that, Joel snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Mr. Miller,” he mocked, to which her smile widened. “Haven’t been called that since I had to meet with Sarah’s teachers,” as soon as the words were out of his mouth, his expression fell slightly, gaze unfocused. He thought he was about to stop breathing again, when she placed her hand on his upper arm, pressing gently against the jacket sleeve.

“Joel,” with a whisper of his name, he snapped his eyes back up towards her–a worried crease crossed her forehead, knitting her brows closer. “What is it?”

She knew what it was. She’d seen it, in people younger and older than him; she’d felt it on her own skin, clawing at her throat in a desperate attempt to clear her airways. Hers had never been as immobile as Joel’s. She kicked and screamed and cried until she was spent and aching all over.

“Just–” he clicked his tongue and thought of lying.

He still felt unsure, unsteady, both wanting to keep her at arm’s length and welcoming her back in his life like before, drown in the comfort he’d found in her presence year after year since they were kids. She’d tried to reassure him, and he knew she was right–you could not live in the world they did and not change. But he remembered her in pigtails on the first day of school, he remembered her prom dress being awfully 80s, and he remembered the first time he’d seen her with Sarah–gentle voiced and wide eyed, holding her as if she might shatter should she breathe a little too hard.

“It’s like starting all over again with her–not sure if I’m doing right or wrong whenever I make a decision,” he admitted then, voice low–she got closer, gaze softening. He wanted to lean into her all of a sudden, but clenched his fists instead, the strap of Ellie’s bag digging in his palm. “I can’t disappoint her, can’t–I can’t fail her, too.”

“You didn’t fail anyone, Joel,” he almost disagreed, but the look she gave him didn’t leave room for any argument. He snapped his mouth shut. “It’s odd, adjusting to this place–I didn’t sleep properly for a year, flinched at every noise. When Maria asked me if I wanted to teach I thought she’d lost her mind,” she scoffed, shaking her head lightly. “And then I had my first full night of sleep. The kids and parents started waving at me in the streets. I ate food that hadn't expired 10 years ago. It’s–give yourself some time to adjust, Miller. Both of you.”

Joel exhaled, tipping his head slightly back and looking up towards the sky–it was sunny, mercifully, the cold starting to become bearable. He felt her shuffle forward rather than see her, eyelids fluttering when she rested her hand over his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Ellie’s doing good,” she reassured then, smiling when he looked back at her. “She’s–a little wild, maybe, but she feels safe here. With you. She’ll be alright,” head tilted slightly to the side, the scarf wrapped around her neck slipped–he almost reached up to fix it for her. “So will you.”

“You always knew what to say, didn’t you?” he sighed, turning his head a little–he felt her hand move from his shoulder to his upper arm, warmth spreading wherever her touch lingered. He leaned into it.

“Not really, most of the time I winged it,” she shrugged, and his smile returned, although tentative, while shaking his head. “How’d you think I made it through college?”

“Brains, Sugar,” without thinking too much about it, he reached up and pinched her chin, gently tilting her head back a little. “You’ve always had more brains than us combined. I think we both should’ve listened to you more.”

“Took you long enough to admit that,” she grinned, following the curve of his arm down to where his hand still brushed her face. She brushed her fingertips along the back of his hand, lingering at his knuckles. “It hurt to say it out loud, didn’t it?” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“No, actually. I’m quite alright,” her eyebrows arched, wrapping her fingers around his hand for balance before reaching for his forehead with her other one. Joel laughed then, taking one small step back to balance them both, eyes crinkling at the touch. “What are you doing?”

“Checking if you have a fever,” she replied, nonchalantly, shifting her hand over his temple, over his cheek. “God forbid this affects you physically,” she added in a mock whisper, unable to hide the amusement in her words. Still laughing, Joel let go of Ellie’s bag to reach up and grab her other hand.

“Alright, alright,” he pulled his head slightly back, holding their joined hands between them–she’d tipped forward, unbalanced, and he held her upright, looking back down towards her grinning face. “You’ve made your point. Thank you.”

“Good,” she chuckled. They remained like that a moment longer, simply looking at each other, before she cleared her throat and glanced quickly over her shoulder. “I should go. Gotta fix up the classroom or else Hell might just break loose tomorrow.”

“Right,” he let go of her, his palms tingling still. “Well, I–thank you, Sugar. I mean it.”

“I know you do,” expression softened again, she stepped back–they had barely realized how close they were. Joel missed it right away. “I’ll see ya, Miller.”

“Sure,” he murmured in return, one of the hands he’d kept lifted doing a half-wave as she turned around. He kept it up, gaze lingering on her back until she’d vanished back into the building.

“Damn,” he whipped around with his eyes wide, gaze immediately falling to Ellie at his side.

“What are you doing here?” he muttered, a quick look over his shoulder and then past Ellie’s head. “Language,” he added right away, making her snort.

“Didn’t know you could laugh,” she retorted, her eyebrows arched.

“That's bullshit, you’ve heard me before,” he frowned, and Ellie’s grin widened.

“Language,” she mocked him, making Joel scowl. “Sure I did, but it wasn’t like this.”

“Like what?” still frowning, he watched her shrug and point vaguely at him.

“This,” she repeated, then shrugged and grabbed her bag from the ground in front of him. “Anyways, I came back to get this. Bye.”

“Ellie!” he protested, though she was already skipping away. “Like what?”

Winter passed, and the first glimpses of Spring came to Jackson in the shape of flowers and fruit, an unfrozen ground giving them the first rewards. Ellie would spend more days outside with her friends, but every now and then she’d hang back with him, sitting on the porch while he tried to teach her how to play guitar.

“Now try the next one,” he nodded, after a while she’d been repeating the same three notes, a small melody she’d been practicing.

“I can’t do the next one,” she protested, keeping at it. Joel began to argue, but a movement at the corner of his eye made him turn around–with his good ear towards Ellie, he didn’t hear the woman’s steps until she was in his peripheral vision. He followed her with his gaze, head turning as she went–her hands were occupied by a large box, and when she noticed them she just smiled, but didn’t stop. “No, Ellie, don’t say that. You’re doing great. You can do it.”

“What?” he cleared his throat, snapping his head back around towards the kid. She was scowling, arms crossed over the guitar as he stared at him. “You are doing good. Go to the next one,” at that she rolled her eyes, lips parting with a scoff. “What?” he repeated.

“Will you quit being a stubborn ass?” Ellie groaned, lowering the guitar and leaning back into the seat. Joel’s eyebrows arched high, disbelief painted across his face.

“Watch your mouth, kid,” she scoffed again, tapping across the wood.

“Yeah, yeah,” she practically brushed him off. “But will you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joel mimicked her, leaning back against the backrest and crossing his arms, his head twisting ever so slightly towards where he was looking before, towards her. A groan escaped her.

“Oh, please, you know perfectly well,” Joel frowned now, watching as Ellie pointed her finger in the woman’s direction–she was too far to see them, or hear them, but still Joel tapped against her extended hand. “You like her,” the girl said, bringing her hand back towards her chest. It was Joel’s turn to scoff.

“Yeah, I like her–we’ve been friends since we were kids,” he shrugged, then folded his arms across his chest once more. Ellie rolled her eyes again.

“No, I mean you like like her. Like you’re in love with her,” Joel snorted, shaking his head.

“What would you know about that?” despite the levity in Ellie’s tone, her face darkened for a moment–it had been a while since he’d seen that look in her eyes, and a pang of guilt shot through him right away. He shifted in his seat.

“I have eyes,” Ellie muttered, placing the guitar down to curl up in the chair, legs up to her chest and arms crossed. “Pretty sure the whole of Jackson knows. It’s obvious.”

“Ellie, we’ve known each other ages,” Joel sighed, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “If I had a problem I’d go to her, and if she had a problem she’d come to me. We’ve been there for each other during–” he cleared his throat, lowering his gaze, “most of the worst times of our lives.”

“And you’ve never–” she trailed off.

“No,” he shook his head with a light smile.

“Not even once?” again he shook his head. “Seriously?”

“Tommy had a crush on her,” he shrugged, and she straightened her back.

“So you thought about it, then,” she exclaimed. Joel dropped his head slightly with a sigh.

“I was a teenager once, you know,” she arched her brows. “She was nice, and she was my friend, and she was real pretty–but there are things that are more important than a crush.”

Ellie was quiet for a moment, leaning back down, her fingers tapping up and down her shins as she lowered her gaze, eyebrows pinched together.

“Did–did Sarah like her?” it had started to be easier, talking about her. While Joel still felt the hurt of her absence, the anger and disbelief of his grief had turned into quiet acceptance. Ellie would rarely ask questions about her, but he found it helped.

“She loved her,” he nodded, easing back into the chair. “There weren’t a lot of women in Sarah’s life, but she was there, especially when she needed it the most. And she did love Sarah back–so much,” a fond smile caught on his mouth.

“Yeah, I figured,” Ellie mumbled, tilting her head a little. “It’s her, isn’t it? In the picture with the cracked frame at her place.”

Joel had tried to not linger too much on that picture–Sarah was young in it, 3 or 4 maybe, a full head of curls sticking out on every side. He remembered fighting each day to try and fix it, and her laughing at his feeble attempts. She taught him first–simple hairstyles he could do in the mornings before dropping her off to school and that would survive the day ahead–and then Sarah herself for when she did not want to leave it as it was.

She’d been there for him and Sarah all the time, and he wasn't sure he’d thanked her nearly enough for it. When her mom left, when she started teething, walking, talking, on her first day of school, and every year after that, leaving campus to be at each game, each recital. Clothes, music, movies, all of it–she was always there.

“Yes,” he nodded, slowly. Ellie hummed.

“You should fix that for her,” she said then, standing almost abruptly. “Might be nice. It might also give you an excuse,” she added with a shrug.

“I don’t need an excuse, Ellie,” he sighed, picking the guitar from her. The girl shrugged again, then headed inside. “You’re going somewhere?”

“Cat’s!” she called from inside. Joel strummed a few slow notes, waiting for her to come back out–she did so rushing, jacket half-thrown on. “I still think I’m right. Bye!”

She glanced up from her handiwork when a step echoed a little louder over the gravel, her face immediately splitting in a wide smile and Joel’s half-still stance in the low streetlight.

“Knitting on the porch? That’s new,” he grinned, resuming walking towards her.

“If my mother could see me now, right?” she retorted with a chuckle he matched with a smile of his own, leaving the half-finished sweater aside to stand up. “Hi,” she said then, moving forward to the steps he was climbing.

“Hi,” he returned, stopping one step down so they were at the same level. He brought his hands forward from behind his back, the previously cracked frame and picture within, his gaze lingering on Sarah’s smile a moment longer. “Fixed it for ya.”

“Oh,” she looked over her shoulder, towards the slightly ajar door as if to look at the spot it had been resting. “You didn’t–thank you,” she said, carefully picking it from him.

“Sure,” he shrugged lightly, burying his now empty hands in his pockets. “Thought I’d just stop by,” he added, shuffling slightly. Her smile widened.

“You know you don’t need an excuse to just stop by, right?” she turned around, gesturing at him to follow as she headed inside, lingering at the entrance to place the picture right back where it belonged.

“I know,” he mumbled, lingering at the threshold. One of his guitars was in the living room, resting against the armchair Ellie had curled up in and ended up falling asleep on during the first time they’d gone over. The last time, he’d forgotten the instrument, after Tommy had insisted vehemently he should’ve brought it with him.

“I meant to bring that over,” she said, catching him looking at it. “I saw you teaching Ellie,” she added, pinching one string as she passed by it before heading to the kitchen.

“Yeah, tryin’ to,” Joel followed, fingertips tingling stuffed in his pockets. “She’s good.”

“Better than I was?” she returned with two glasses filled with amber liquid and a grin on her face. “Sweet tea–I got some of the first lemons.”

“Baking, making sweet tea, knitting,” he picked the cool glass from her with a grateful look–the simple act of holding it gave him back another piece of home he thought was gone forever. It had happened quite a few times since they’d found each other again. “You’re turning into your mother, Sugar.”

The woman snorted, rolling her eyes as she stepped away, and Joel was quick to hide his smirk behind the rim of the glass.

“I’ll pretend that was a compliment, Miller,” she squinted in his direction, mock-menacingly.

“C’mon, you know I loved your mother,” he argued before taking a sip–he hummed softly, eyes shutting on instinct. If he focused, he could hear the fire crackling and water bubbling over the stove as her mother made it, could taste the sugar and lemon or peaches she’d slip them in the meantime. He sighed. “I’ll tell you what–your talents clearly reside in this, not that,” he added, pointing towards the guitar. She laughed again.

“Well, I’d rather listen to the music than play it,” she declared, her chin tilted upwards, a grin mimicking his own. Then her eyes widened, a shimmer in them as she jolted on the spot, quickly resting the glass down on the table. “I’ve gotta show you something!”

A small frown knitted his brow as he licked the sweetness from his mouth and followed her with his gaze, hurried steps towards the bedroom that echoed in the quiet of the home. She was gone a few minutes, returning after a moment of rattling, a wide smile spread across her face. Joel’s eyes fell to the object in her hands–a portable CD player, not so different from the one she’d gifted Sarah in the 90s but they always ended up stealing once she was asleep.

“Audio is not the best, to be fair, but after so many years without music–” she stopped in front of him, offering one of the earphones to him while she put the other one in.

Still frowning lightly, Joel shuffled closer, the short cord forcing him forward. The drum arrived first, the sound slightly scratched, and with her smile widening she looked up at him. Like the beat beat beat of the tom-tom, he chuckled as she freed his hands, rocking from one side to the other following the rhythm.

“Where’d you get this?” he stumbled forward when she took one of his hands, tugging him closer–the other fell to her side to second her swinging–he couldn’t help returning her infectious smile as she shrugged lightly, her free hand reaching on his shoulder.

“Luck–I found it before getting here along with a couple of CDs,” she looked up at him, head slightly tilted. “This one reminded me of you,” she added, voice softer–for a moment, her smile faltered.

She’d never thought she’d see him again, keeping the record out of pure nostalgia for someone she hadn’t seen in years. Someone she always feared was gone. They’d listened to Ella Fitzgerald constantly during their teenage years, Joel sneaking some of his parents’ records to her house, or locking themselves into listening booths for hours until they were kicked out. Dancing as they were in that moment.

“Only you beneath the moon and under the sun,” she hummed, their movements slowing with the song. “Whether near to me or fat, it’s no matter darling where you are–”

“I think of you night and day, day and night, why is it so?” he joined in, voice low, head bending slightly towards her–her smile returned, a shimmer in her eyes.

“Your voice’s changed,” she murmured, taking half a step closer. “S’warmer. I like it.”

“Thought you always liked my voice,” he smiled, tucking his chin to look down at her. She nodded with a low chuckle, locking their already joined hands together by intertwining their fingers.

“’Course I did,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes mockingly. She gave a squeeze to his hand then, lowering her head slightly. “I missed it–this,” she inhaled sharply then, a shallow sound that temporarily overwhelmed the music. “You,” she added, almost in a whisper that would’ve been lost to him had he not been looking at her mouth.

Joel’s heart stuttered, a soft sigh at her admission as his eyes fluttered shut, just a moment. Tongue-tied, he shifted closer, as close as he could get, the hand on her waist moving to the small of her back, wrapping his arm around her. He didn’t know how to tell her, how to let his mouth form the words that clouded his head–that had been since he’d seen her again. He couldn’t say it, not for lack of trying.

“Sugar,” he whispered, and she nodded, leaning forward and cutting him off.

The song went on, and she rested her head on his chest–the hand on his shoulder was soft, arm almost draped across it as she toyed absentmindedly with the collar of his shirt, brushing the nape of his neck every now and then. Their joined ones fell to his chest, arms bent, the warmth of her exhales brushing across their knuckles. He bent his head slightly, cheek barely brushing the top of her head, and he tightened his arm around her waist to keep her close–each song closer, until the music stopped.

They stayed like that a moment longer, even in silence, his heart beating the only sound she could hear, silence on his end with his good ear plugged by the earphone. She rubbed her thumb against the side of his hand, small movements that made his eyelids droop. He caught a glimpse of the top of her head like that, the curve of her nose, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks and the small pout on her relaxed mouth, all half-hidden against him. She looked–

“Ah, fuck’s sake,” he muttered to himself, and she blinked rapidly before looking up, wide-eyed. She tilted her head, gently pulling his earphone off.

“What is it?” she cleared her throat, taking a small step back. The hold on his hand began loosening, so he forced himself to ease his arm around her waist, too, shaking his head.

“Nothin’, just–something Ellie said, it’s not important,” he let go of her when her brows knit, a hint of perplexity in her gaze. “I should go, actually. Check she’s actually gone to sleep.”

“Of course,” she returned quickly, stepping even further back, hands falling to her sides and rubbing down slowly, palms dragging along the seams of her jeans. “Thank you. For the frame–and passing by.”

His right hand twitched slightly at his side, and he took a small step back, nodding at her words. He stopped then, moving forward once more–he pushed past the knot in his throat and the tingling in his limbs and his heart dropping, and reached for her face. She leaned into his touch, his hands cupping over her cheeks as he shifted closer once more, brushing a delicate kiss to her forehead, her lips curled into the beginning of a smile. He held her gently, the touch of his lips lingering a moment longer over her skin before he moved away.

“See ya, Sugar.”

Summer was relentless. With days spent seeking shadows and some reprieve from the heat, the nights were unbearable in their stillness. Joel couldn’t sleep–after 20 years in Boston, he wasn’t used to the Southern heat anymore.

And he would be lying to himself if he thought that was the only reason why.

 He kept replaying the conversation with Tommy in his head, over and over. He was haunted by it, sitting on the porch in the quiet of Jackson’s night.

“Ellie’s right, it is getting painful to watch.”

“The hell are you talking with Ellie about?”

“You and Sugar. It’s worse than when we were young, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“Means this time I can’t pretend to ask her out so that you finally get your head out of your ass and admit you like her. You gotta wake up, Joel.”

He was awake. Truth was, Joel had felt like he had been living in a nightmare for the past 20 years–and now he was awake and didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know how to be himself anymore. Or how to be a person.

Perhaps that was why he was knocking on her door while everyone else was asleep. Perhaps he was just too much in his head about it. Perhaps–

“Joel?” his eyes fell down across her, flimsy night clothes clinging to her for a split second before he forced his gaze up, breath stuttering slightly. “It’s the middle of the night, what happened?”

“Sorry–shit,” he looked away, past his shoulder, back at her–was his heart beating faster? Were his hands shaking? He felt like it. “You’re right. Sorry, I’ll just–it can wait,” he stepped back, shaking his head.

“It clearly can’t, since you knocked at my door like a maniac,” she said it with a little grin, and some tension left his shoulders at the sight of it, of her stepping back and opening the door further for him. “C’mon, get inside.”

Joel walked past her and his steps faltered, tilting his head in her direction with a sharp inhale before moving along, fists opening and closing down his sides. He’d gotten better at that–not letting it all overwhelm him. Understand when the world might begin tipping under his feet and stabilize himself. He was trying–for Ellie, for his brother, for her, he was really trying.

“What happened?” she asked softly. They stood in the living room as they had before, as they had when they’d danced, except they were each on one end of the couch, a gaping emptiness between the two of them. “Should I start to get worried? You look like–”

“I like you,” he blurted out, recoiling at the shift in his own voice–so much louder than her careful tone. She blinked rapidly, head slightly tilted.

“I should hope so,” she scoffed, the reassuring smile she had before turning into a downright amused one. But Joel was shaking his head already, hands still restless. “Joel–”

“No, I mean–I like like you,” she blinked again, lips parting slightly and making her smile begin to dwindle. “Like I think I might be in love with you,” he closed his eyes, inhaling sharply–of course Ellie’s voice would echo in his head right then. Making an absolute fool out of him. “And I think I’ve always been and just didn’t know, or maybe I did know and I just didn’t want to fuck up this too, because I always fucked up everything, every relationship I ever had but ours, and the thought of losing you was terrifying–is terrifying,” he gasped a little between words, each one falling out of his mouth and out of his control. “Or maybe I wasn’t, you know? Maybe–maybe I just–”

“Joey,” she called him softly–so soft he almost didn’t hear her, and reacted first to her hand resting over his chest. His eyes flew open, gaze unfocused for a moment running across her face before they locked with hers, familiar and gentle. She pressed her palm against his chest, and he knew for sure his heart was stuttering underneath her touch. “Take a breath.”

He gasped again, shoulders dropping forward as if wrapping himself around her hand with a long exhale. Blindly, he reached for her, fingers wrapping around her wrist.

“Another,” she instructed, taking his other hand gingerly, and he did. Inhale, exhale, stumbling forward. “It’s just me, Joey.”

“You’re the only one who’s ever called me that, y’know?” he whispered, breathlessly. She gave him a little smile, tapping two fingers on his chest. Slowly, his heartbeat matched her rhythm, and he squeezed her wrist once, gently.

“Wanna try that again?” she murmured, tilting her head a little to the side.

“You can kick me out,” he retorted in a mumble, and she sighed. She shifted the hand she was holding, thumb pressing into his wrist, right above his pulse, right above the strap of his watch, while the rest of her fingers spread across the back of his hand.

“And why would I do that?” Joel met her gaze again–awaiting, reassuring, familiar gaze.

“You’ve known me all our lives, Sugar,” she nodded at his heavy sigh. “You’ve seen me fuck everything up, multiple times–Christ, you’ve seen me fuck things up with Sarah’s mother, too,” again she nodded, and he lowered his voice, breath stuttering. “Yet you were always there for me.”

“Of course I was,” with the last nod, she smiled–it was bittersweet, made his heart ache.

“I loved you for that. More than I knew could be possible,” he bowed his head, the tip of his nose brushing hers tentatively. “And I love–I love–I love you still.”

Her exhale was long, fingers curling over his chest and twisting in the fabric of his shirt–he stumbled forward ever so slightly, the hand he had around her wrist falling against her side balancing himself as she brought her lips close to his. Close, without touching, his breath stuttering when her exhale hit his skin.

“You’ve been the best half of my life, Joel,” there was a scratch in her voice that wasn’t there before, words trembling ever so slightly. “You–I’ve always known I loved you. I knew I loved you, I just–I don’t think I ever realized how much until I lost you. Or found you again.”

“Sugar–” she shook her head, humming.

“Not done,” she chided, and he snapped his mouth shut, almost chuckling. “You were my best friend. I’d like to think you still are, even after these awful fucking years because I–I’ve always needed you, Joel,” the hand on his chest shifted upwards slightly, resting at his collarbones. “And I still do. I need you in my life–I need you.”

“You do have me, sweetheart,” he said, hurriedly, pulling back ever so slightly. Her eyes were shimmering, and he wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her close–her hand slid to the side of his neck, lips quivering slightly. He was looking at her lips. “However you want me, you have me.”

“I do love you, even now,” her thumb traced figures eight over his neck with one hand, small circles on his wrist with the other. Soothing. Gentle. Calming. “Whoever it is you think you’ve become now–I love you. I need you to understand that.”

Joel’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened. Closed again, a thin line cutting through his face. She was looking at him as if she could see right through him, pick up the pieces of his hesitation during the months just gone by, and the years before that. Reading him as she’d always done, and speaking directly to his foolish heart, reassuring him–you’ll get through the year, you’ll get through the grief, you’ll be alright, Sarah’ll be alright, we’ll be alright, I love you, I love you, I love you.

“I know,” he hummed, tightening his hold around her. Her body softened into his with a long exhale, the hand rising to his jaw, scratching along his patchy beard. “I’m trying, sweetheart.”

“I know you are,” she cupped his cheek, and in spite of the heat he didn’t mind the warmth radiating from her palm. His eyes fluttered shut. “C’mere.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, his head falling forward against the curve of her neck. He leaned fully into the circle of her arms, reaching out with his other free hand too to keep her close, her back slightly arched towards him, locked together like pieces of a puzzle. Freshly cut grass welcoming him home, he dug his fingertips into her sides and brushed his mouth to her neck–a half kiss, hesitant and tentative. If he got a full taste, he knew he’d want nothing else for as long as he lived.

That was a lie. He already didn’t, couldn’t fathom it.

Slowly, she tipped her head to the side, granting him more space–he could feel her heartbeat quickening under his parted lips, a hiccup in her breath as she dragged her hands up the nape of his neck, fingertips slowly brushing through the locks at the back of his head, guiding him forward and up. He let her guide him, gave her full control as the tip of his nose traced a path up her jaw, cheek, his lips following.

“Are you teasin’, Sugar?” he whispered, rubbing their noses together, and felt her smile rather than saw it. She shook her head, pressing herself impossibly closer as she scratched his scalp gently. “Then I’m gonna need you to tell me what to do next.”

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him already, so close she was slightly cross-eyed, long lashes kissing the arch of her brows. His own heart beat a little quicker, a little louder, anticipation building in his limbs as he could feel himself burn from within.

“Kiss me,” just a whisper.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His heart would never be whole again, that much he knew–a part of it had stayed behind, pierced by a bullet, a 20 years old wound. But he could live again, day by day. He could find his way back to life, with his Ellie on one side and–

Joel caught her lips with his own, and it felt like homecoming. Sweet as sugar, he kissed her slow, without rush, as if trying to make up for each year spent apart, and for each year spent together in the wrong way. He held her as if she might shatter and like he would never let her go both, drank greedily each sigh, each whisper, never once parting until his lungs burned, and then kissing her gasps away, too.

[miaountainmama]

silent

characters: tecchou, gn!reader contains: suicide mention but things turn out alright for both of you

wc: 1261

a/n: inspired by radiohead's exit music (for a film) and that one time during lockdown when i got really depressed and realized i understood why people kill themselves. was going through it

If there was one thing you did and did well, it was sing.

Tecchou was used to it by now— coming home at night to hear you blasting your favorites and singing along, whether it was to oldies like Frank Sinatra or some random ass TikTok sound you couldn’t get out of your head.

But the house had been worryingly silent as of recently, and Tecchou was starting to take notice.

He could sense the change in you, ever since you told him the meds weren’t quite working yet. You were singing less and less, and when you did sing along to something, it was something worryingly depressing, something with lyrics that scared the living shit out of him. He tried to ignore it, he really did. He told himself you were just venting your frustrations, that it was just words someone else had written down. Still, he could hear the melody replaying over and over again in his head, your haunting voice sending chills down his spine. If this is what your voice held in store for him, he didn’t want to hear it.

He didn’t want to hear you talk about killing yourself ever again, even in song.

There was a chill in the air tonight, and, while Tecchou normally welcomed the colder air, this time it bit to the bone. It was an unnatural kind of cold, the same kind of cold that reached into the night and froze anything, the same kind that ushered the living indiscriminately down the Styx. His footsteps quickened against the freezing concrete sidewalk— he would be glad to escape the bleak conditions. He turned the corner and welcomed the sight of the familiar house up the way, already eager to see you again.

He got about halfway up the driveway before he realized the lights weren’t on.

This wasn’t entirely uncommon. A lot of times you fell asleep early, or you just felt like chilling in the dark when you were alone. Today? It felt like a premonition. As excited as he was to get home, he now suddenly felt very, very hesitant to open the door.

He lingered for a little while longer on the doorstep, heart beating out of his chest for reasons he couldn’t quite discern. Perhaps he was overreacting. It was just the lights… this was normal, right?

Right.

He inserted the key into the lock and twisted, almost wincing as the creak of the door cut into the quiet air.

“…My love?” he called into the stillness, faltering as he stepped through the threshold and heard no response. You were always home at this hour, so why?

Tecchou moved further into the house, flipping the lights on and setting his hat down on the kitchen counter. He called out again, the festering dread in his stomach churning. No response. Maybe you were in the bedroom…?

As he approached the room, the first signs of life hit his ears— the sound of music! The dread began to fade, though he frowned in distaste as he realized what song was playing. It was the end of that accursed song you were always listening to about suicide. He sighed minutely, reaching out to enter the room so he could kiss you better and tell you to change the music.

The door swung inward, catching on an empty bottle of pills that spun and rolled away upon impact. The song, finally ended, began to replay, having been set on loop.

It took a second for Tecchou to realize exactly what that could mean. The moment it hit him, he immediately tore his widened eyes from the pill bottle, panic clawing through his veins, and strode in two strong steps towards the side of the bed, where your figure lay covered in blankets, tearing them aside and revealing where you lay curled in a ball, eyes closed.

Your eyes sprung open as the warmth was torn from you, cursing under your breath as you turned away from the wall to face Tecchou.

“What the hell—“ you began, ready to hiss at your boyfriend for interrupting your brooding, before you took in the expression on his face. 

For the first time ever since you had met him, Tecchou looked terrified.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, and you blinked at him stupidly for a moment, wondering what on earth had him so worked up. Then, he was on you, hands cupping your face, turning your wrists up towards him, checking every inch of you despite your sputtered protests, and you connected the dots. The empty pill bottle you had knocked over earlier and were too lazy to pick up. The depressing music. Your lack of response and limp body.

God, your boyfriend had thought you tried to kill yourself.

“Tecchou,” you managed, suddenly feeling extraordinarily guilty, and the feeling only increased as he looked up at you with worried amber eyes. “I’m fine. I just ran out of meds today. I need to pick new ones up tomorrow.”

He stared at you for a moment, you staring back, before he let out a shaky breath, scooping you up into his arms. You didn’t fight it, clinging tightly to him back, and you muttered out apologies, trying to soothe his anxieties.

“I… thought you had…” Tecchou spoke, and you shook your head from where it was buried in the crook of his neck. You vaguely took in the fact that his hands were slightly shaking around you.

“‘m sorry, Tecchou… I was just… really going through it today,” you managed meekly, one hand going up to thread through his hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He didn’t answer for a long while, just holding you, and you listened to his breath finally stabilize. You toyed with the ends of his locks as you waited for his hands to stop shaking, pressing a kiss to his jaw to reassure him further. Somewhere down the line the depressing song you had been listening to looped for the umpteenth time and you hastily turned it off, electing to sit with him in silence and not worry him further.

Eventually, he pulled back from you, an unusually serious glimmer in his eyes as he looked into yours. 

“Promise me,” he said suddenly, and you shifted a little as the words sunk in, looking away. Promises were hard to keep in times like these.

“Promise me you’ll keep trying,” he modified his words, and you slowly nodded through your hesitation. This… this was something you could do.

“Okay,” you breathed, hands moving back to sit in your lap, where you fidgeted with them quietly. “I promise.” You reached up then, holding your hand out to him, and extended your pinky towards him. He looked down at it quizzically before glancing back up at you, and the most minute of smiles graced your features.

“I pinky swear,” you said solemnly, and he stared for a second before smiling slightly back, interlocking his finger with yours.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he warned, and you pulled him close again, resting in his arms with a newfound sense of satisfaction. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head in response, and you smiled a real, genuine smile, the first in what felt like days.

“Of course,” you replied, and nestled closer to him. He wrapped an arm around your waist, and you laid your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat by your ear. You would do it. You would overcome this.

If not for you, then for him.

[wexhappyxfew]

12 on Subtle Love for Judy and Rosie? Simply cannot get enough of them ❤️

JAMIE HEYYYY!!!! thank you so much first of all for dropping this in the askbox :) very very appreciated on my end + it's for judy and rosie, my two sweetbeans who deserve nothing but the best, so truly, thank you!! i was inspired by the intimacy of sharing in the quiet moments and in this case, this piece hit me a bit harder than others. we come to judy in a time where she's wrangling some of the loses that the group experiences, over and over. and she's trying to find some anchor to hang onto in this ferocious sea that continually knocks her down, over and over......and rosie happens to be that anchor :)

looking out for me

(a/n): for the judy x rosie girlies :') in the midst of finals season, but needed a break from biophysics for the brain and landed on a judy x rosie piece that i'd been playing around with for a few weeks and finally found a place to put it in! prompt is: "You can call (talk to me) me. Day or night. I'm there for you." (changed call to 'talk to me'). please enjoy these two and the intimacy of sharing! <3

The briefing room was probably the place she felt it most.

The loss. The amount of lives that had stepped through the doors and heard that final mission, not knowing it would their final mission in life.

With the lights not on and the sun barely risen outside, it was almost peaceful. When they weren't being told that recipe for a suicide mission.

It was weird knowing Annie Bradshaw wouldn't be walking through those doors today for the mission; along with Margie or Bessie or Kennedy.

Knowing that their lives were scattered somewhere in continental Europe if they hadn't all died.

If.

Judy had gotten her tears out - it was funny, being so accustomed to death day in and day out, she got used to the names being told around the base. She just didn't expect it to be their names.

Reaching up to brush at a stray tear, Judy schooled her features a bit better than she had previously that morning when she'd woken up and Viv had watched her breakdown all alone and build herself slowly back up. None of them really wanted to have to talk about it - the four of them that were missing - especially Francis. Francis seemed to feel it deep within her enough that she was numb. Numb to it all. Judy hurt for her. One day she'd find herself better able to understand these emotions, these feelings, all those unwanted thoughts in her brain. For now, she could only sit and let them grow. She heard the door open from somewhere behind her and slowly turned her head over her shoulder.

Rosie Rosenthal stepped into the briefing room, his gaze lingering around the place, only before settling on her there in the chair. Judy watched him from across the room, the pound of her heart causing all the blood to rush to her head and her eyes, and it took all her might to stay right there in the chair instead of launching across the room to beg him to hold her and put her back together.

To get rid of this ache, this ever-present constant in her life.

Every person going down in a flying coffin, MIA or dead.

But even he couldn't do that if she couldn't even do it for herself. No one could do, especially if you couldn't do it yourself.

Judy hadn't taken the time to realize he had crossed the room, in his slow approach and settled there on the seat beside her. She watched him for a quiet moment and licked her lips.

"Not hungry?" he asked her quietly, leaning forward against his knees and looking up at her with those big, worried eyes, "I noticed you weren't at breakfast." Judy watched him, before a stubborn tear rolled down her cheek, quickly wiping it away, her hands slick with sweat, her heart pounding in her ears, loud enough for any other sense to be drowned out. She stared at him and swallowed the cry in her throat and shook her head.

"Not really." Judy managed out quickly, before looking towards the window, trying to control her breathing rate and her pounding heart, "Just needed a place to be alone….for a bit." Her vision became slightly blurred by her tears and she felt her body aching to cry, to let it all out, to get rid of this feeling and become comfortably numb. But she couldn't do that. She had to keep it in.

She could tell Rosie was taking it in, her poor mumbles of words, mulling them over and thinking all at once. His face looked more strained than usual and he seemed so still, like some sort of statue. She blinked away her tears - over and over.

"You going to be okay for the mission today?" she heard Rosie ask quietly, and there was something in his voice that made her want to cry just a little bit more.

Ever since Rosie had asked for her to be the turret ball gunner for Rosie's Riveters, she had been trying her hardest, putting out with all she could, to do her best in his eyes. There was a certain level of gaining his trust inside the plane that she had already gained outside the plane. A trust that she could operate a gun and strike down what enemy planes she could.

And he knew she was hard on herself, everyone had known that.

And with Silver Bullets being out of commission and their previous crew splintered in various groups, into Operations and HQ and all over Europe, she was still trying to convince herself she could get back to that headspace she'd been in under Annie and Captain Faulkner.

Now with her third commanding pilot, the fear she'd lose him was overwhelming.

"I will." Judy said quietly, looking over at him, his own eyes meeting her red-rimmed ones and she nodded, "I promise you." Rosie watched her; she usually never saw this much of his concerned side of him. He was usually pretty good at hiding it, at least in front of the other men and especially in front of her.

But sometimes, she'd hop out of that ball turret, sweat marks streaked across her face, burn marks on her cheeks, her hands beat-red and shaking and she'd see something flash through Rosie Rosenthal's gaze that made her want to take his worry away in any way she possibly could.

That maybe she could do something that wouldn't worry him, that would reassure him and take that fear away. Because even if he didn't show it, his eyes and that far-off look were ever-present and she saw it, even when staring at each other from across the interrogation table.

Because he'd stare at her as she spoke - citing what she saw, how many chutes, the works - and she'd watch his jaw clench and those eyes turn dark, and he'd speak solemnly almost, and an undisturbed, coldly, calm demeanor and would be by her side when they were dismissed. And he'd ask her how she was and if she needed a sit down. And he'd always have that look. One she replayed over and over in her head.

Like it was the last time he'd be seeing her get out of that ball turret.

"Well," Rosie said quietly, reaching into his inner coat pocket, revealing a neatly folded, lumpy brown bag, "then I can't have my ball gunner going up on an empty stomach so. Eat." He held out the brown paper bag and she stared at him, unsure of the offering, before taking it into her grasp and adjusting herself to sit up a bit. She looked hesitantly at the bag before looking up at him.

Watching with those persistent eyes, she slowly opened up the bag and inside was two pieces of bread, along with a sausage rolled in napkins and an orange. Her stomach, admittedly, growled at the sight and smell of food and she heard Rosie chuckle from beside her.

"Go on," Rosie said softly, his voice thrumming against her ears in a pleasant way that she'd never complain about, "here." He pulled his canteen forward and handed it to her. "Water, too." Judy watched him, in slight amazement and then met his gaze.

"Thanks, Rosie," she said quietly, "you didn't have to-"

"Don't worry about it," he said casually, and then settled into the chair and looked to her, "food's more important than anything and…I don't mind sitting here with you to make sure you enjoy it." She smiled a bit wider at his words, before digging into the bag and pulling the orange from the contents of the bag and settling it in her palm. Staring at the orange, she began to feel her eyes fill with tears and Rosie seemed to notice, leaning forward and placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry," Judy managed out, reaching up to wipe at her eyes, a rather ugly sniffle leaving her nose as she nodded to the orange, "it's just….do you want half? I shared these with Bes all the time, so." Rosie held her gaze for a moment, before squeezing her shoulder warmly and nodding.

"Of course." he said, and Judy cracked out a smile towards him and sniffled again, "Big fan of oranges, ya know?" Judy let out a small laugh and she watched him grin, before she slowly began to peel the fruit, with Rosie's attentive gaze on her own downcast eyes and her slightly shaky fingertips.

"Oranges' your favorite?" Rosie asked her quietly, and Judy looked up, nodding.

“Back home, my brothers and sisters and I would always eat these. Ma made sure if we had anything, we had oranges," Judy said, a small chuckle leaving her lips, "Bes knew I loved them, so we'd usually share. All the time. And since…since she's not here, I wanted to share. With you." Rosie grinned at her, his eyes soft and lingering as he nodded. She smiled again before peeling away the rest of the bright orange outer surface. She looked up at him.

"Plus, it's rare when we get oranges in anyway, so….it's pretty special," she said, pulling the orange in half and then handing the first half to him, "for you." Rosie took the orange and smiled at her with a breathy, "Thanks." Taking a bite of the orange, that familiar and nostalgic taste flooded her mouth and she couldn't help but breathe a little easier just at that.

"Thank you, Rosie," Judy said, swallowing the orange and nodding to the bag, "it means a lot." Rosie gave her a worried smile, where it didn't quite reach his eyes and showed that maybe she had worried him more than she would ever know, but he nodded and looked to her fully.

"I know after the news, it hit you pretty hard." Rosie said, and she felt her throat tighten just at his words, the thought of what had happened, "And Judy….you know, you know you can talk to me. Day or night." Judy nodded and let a shaky smile cross her features.

"I'm there for you," he said softer this time, "you won't lose me that easy." That got a grin on Judy's face as she took another bite of the orange and met his gaze again, his baby blues watching her like it was the greatest sight to behold on base - when there were surely other things like the blue skies, or the setting sun, or the sight of one of those fortresses landing against the tarmac.

They didn't say much for the next few minutes, as they each enjoyed their halves of the orange, but Judy couldn't help but let her eyes linger on him for a moment after each bit of orange in her mouth. Watching how gently he had taken the orange from her, and how tender he still appeared now. How calm she felt sitting there next to him.

"You okay, Judy?" Blinking, she noticed that the orange was empty from her hands, and she was staring off into nothing important, and Rosie's hand was present on her shoulder. Judy met his gaze and then nodded, before covering her hand with her own.

"Yes," she said quickly, nodding again, "just, thank you Rosie. For everything. For looking out for me." Rosie smiled at her, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly, the tops of his cheeks dusting pink.

And he didn't have to say much - he just said, "Next time you get your hands on some oranges, come and find me."

Maybe oranges will be our new 'I got your back and you got mine'.

[v1nsmoke]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞 // 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

chapter 3

tw: mentions of su1c1de

summary: The Boys are looking for vengeance, a supe from the past is looking for payback on Payback - and the Ghost in the midst of it all!

1941. After her friend volunteers for the field tested Compound V, she's put on the front lines along with him. Missions continue, even after the war is over. A life controlled by Vought International. That's until 1984. She doesn't keep count of the years since her first, last, and only friend disappeared from the face of Earth without a trace. She tried to stay away from her past, but when the leader of a ragtag group visits her, she feels inclined to take up on the offer. One last mission.

Uninvited guest are a pain in the ass, aren't they? Especially when they are British agents working against supes!

fandom: the boys

a/n: plays during season 3

wc: 1.4k

OUT ON AO3 (UNFINISHED)

← previous chapter next chapter →

The sound of cars. The sound of people. These were the sounds filtering into her apartment through the window, The Smiths playing from her neighbor’s record player. It was never, ever dead silent here. Something was always making a sound, no matter how faint it was, but it was there.

She didn’t care much for it when she first moved in here, given that she was on the move almost all the time. She missed her travels, it was a whole new experience compared to this. Stuck here, the smell of oceans and forests replaced by the smell of gasoline, water pipes and cheap pizza from the shop on the ground floor of the apartment.

This time, though, there was a new noise. She heard it as she sat on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table in front of her. Her door was one of those creaky ones, the ones that wake up everybody in a two mile radius in the middle of the night. 

Her eyes glanced up from the book she was reading. Heavy footsteps that were trying to be suppressed on her wooden flooring. She sat there motionless, not even bothering to take off her feet from that cheap table. Whatever, or more like whoever it was, couldn’t do any harm. Still, breaking into her house was an asshole move. Especially since it was very amateur work, or who knows, maybe the person was just okay with her slitting their throat open. Or maybe they were just suicidal.

Just as she expected it, somebody entered her apartment, and he didn’t even try to hide it. The man entered her living room, the room where she sat. He did it so peacefully, almost like he was in his own house, in complete disregard that she was sitting right there. She might work like a ghost, but she was never invisible. 

“Nice little apartment, dear,” he breaks the silence with his heavy British accent. His untied boots just carried in all the mud and dirt from the streets, his black coat was worn out.

“Glad you like it, stranger,” she replies, turning her attention back to the book in her hands. The gamblers. Some western that nobody likely ever heard of. 

After getting a good look at the interior, even dusting off some old pictures with his fingertips, the British man looks at her. It was almost as if she didn’t care that he just broke in, acting like this was a daily occurrence. In her hand, he notices the book. He was convinced that there were maybe ten copies of this at most, cause wasn’t aware of this book’s existence up until now. It was a western for sure.

“You wrote some shit like this, didn’t you? What was the title, Outlaws, or-”

“Out of Laws. Now, what do you want? I reckon you aren’t here to discuss my works,” she cuts in. This was the first time he could feel the hint of agitation around her, the first time she seemed to care that he was inside.

“Straight to the point, I like that. You know, you at least don’t look as run down as your little friends,” he smirks. 

Her attention is now focused on the British man. Her friends? Did she even have those? She did, long ago, but this changed since then. Though, she had an idea who this man was referring to.

“How do you know how they’re doing? Did you break into their houses, too?” She asks sarcastically. She knew who this man was, and knowing him, there was actually a chance that he did in fact break into their homes. 

“We paid your friends a little visit,” he exhales, placing his hands into the pockets of his black coat. She was convinced that it was only held together by a single thread.

“Just because I worked with them doesn’t mean they’re my friends. But I assume someone with such  a wide range of past companions as you knows what it’s like,” she states, closing the book and placing it down on the table. “Don’t worry, I know enough about you.”

With a quick move, she throws her feet off the table and gets to her feet almost immediately. Now they were both standing, a staring contest almost ensuing between them. She crossed her arms, waiting for whatever William Butcher came all the way for.

“I had a little yap session with that kid, Gunpowder. Of course, he’s not a kid anymore, but that’s how you remember him, I suppose.”

“And your point is?” She interrupts him. All this foreplay and for what? he would not visit her if it wasn’t something serious. Something had to be up, or he was just here to kill her. Did that scare her? Not at all. 

“Lookie there, you’re extremely chill, I thought you knew who I was!” He exclaims with a grin, his head tilted.

“After a while, you just accept that there isn’t anything that can kill you if you’re me. Now, why did you come here? I suppose you didn’t just jump in to talk about whatever the fuck you talked about with Gunpowder.”

“You, sweetheart, are coming to Russia with us. Gunpowder, and frankly, the news told me that you were the closest person to Soldier Boy. You’re not going to disagree on this, are you?”

For a few moments, she just doesn’t speak. What he said was true, in her eyes at least. She knew Soldier Boy back when he wasn’t even Soldier Boy. Who she knew was Benjamin Monroe.

“And?” That was all she could muster up in that moment. “If you want to know what happened to him, go ask Countess. Whatever went down that day, I wasn’t involved. Ask Grace fucking Mallory. I know you work with her, or at least used to. I still keep in contact with her. That’s how I know about you. Guess trying to help her out in 1984 did have its perk,” she sighs, dropping her arms. 

Brushing past Butcher, she made her way to the kitchen. Few moments later, she was drowning down a whole cup of water. 

“I already went through this with Countess, and even with Grace. Where do you think I got your address from? It’s pretty fucking hard to track somebody who lives up their name this well.”

She really was a ghost at this point. A ghost of the past that is just here to haunt the new generation of assholes. Sometimes she felt like she didn’t even belong here. Sometimes, she was convinced that she should have died somewhere years ago. Killed in war, killed in Nicaragua, killed as a result of old age, but none of these came true. It was almost as if she was immortal. She could have committed suicide years ago, but she didn’t. When she did reach the brink of death, there was Vought. And Vought was not letting their money go.

“But you still know Soldier Boy better than anyone,” Billy continues after the woman’s silence, “and we need that. We are going on a little trip to Europe, where we are going to find whatever killed him, and-”

“Knocked him out,” she interferes, correcting Butcher.

“What?”

“They didn’t kill him. Nothing can. So knocked out it is..”

Butcher closes his eyes for a few moments. This was his version of the eye-rolling move. With his eyes still closed in annoyance, he speaks.

“Yes, knocked out, but we are going to find whatever did that. I know you’ve been investigating his disappearance, and I know you didn’t succeed. Neither did the CIA. This might be your only chance at finding your loverboy, I suggest you take it.”

“Why would you bring me along?” This was her most important question. If Butcher is so keen on finding out what was used against Soldier Boy, then he’s free to do it alone, with his group. It’s not exactly her business. Like he said, she herself tried to find him, but whoever took him was precise and cautious. 

“Because you’re the only fucker on this planet that might know his weaknesses, so you will tell us which of those things we might find have put the world’s most powerful supe into a coma. Or if you really think nothing can end him, then there is a slight chance that we’ll find Mister America himself. Now, what do you say, Ghostie?”

© v1nsmokes 2024. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.

[frogthane]

Presentable Liberty

Okie, so forewarning, this post shall be discussing certain topics that may not be suitable for all, such as suicide, so please do bear that in mind before proceeding.

So, I just recently watched Markiplier's video depicting his gameplay of "Presentable Liberty" (yes, I'm aware I'm a tad bit late to the show). Anywho, the game was created by "Wertpol", birth name Robert Brock, who unfortunately decided to end his life in June 2018. This game in particular speaks to what I could only presume to be his experience with mental health.

A brief summary for those of you who haven't a clue what this game is: the game starts off with the protagonist in a prison cell, who's only means of communication with the outside world are letters sent by 4 characters. Through these letters, we learn of a world plagued by infection outside and we told we are one of the few 2% left uninfected.

Now, for the analysis (if you still haven't a clue of what the hell is going on, I do highly recommend Markiplier's playthrough). The story may seem wild, unpredictable and just plainly doesn't make any sense, however, I started relating to the events through my own experiences. First and foremost, we have the cell. We haven't a clue what exists outside this small room, our only source of information coming from occasional letters delivered through the slat under our prison cell doorway. And so begins the numerous symbolisms. What do we think of when we think of prison? Sure, of course we think criminals, violence, guards, life sentences, but what of isolation? And in the case of this game, that isolation exists within one's mind. The protagonist shuts themselves away from society, only receiving information from letters which I interpreted to be social media and text messages, hence why progressively we become more and more enthusiastic about receiving them. It represents the small hits of dopamine that hits our minds anytime we see a message from a friend, or a notification from a platform. We have isolated ourselves from the world for unknown reasons, creating a prison cell within our minds.

But what of the virus? Depression. It is slowly affecting the population, killing them off slowly but surely, either an individual's organs slowly shutting down, or from them committing the act themselves. That is the infection spreading about. Depressing, hence why Mr Smiley is tasked with keeping us happy. We mustn't fall into despair like the rest of the population. We mustn't be infected.

Mr Smiley is certainly a unique character. He seems rather odd at first, and their only goal is to keep us happy, the reason behind it later on being revealed to be because his two daughters are being held hostage. And it works. We gain a penpal. We become happier, for whatever brief amount of time. Sort of like the effects therapy and drugs have on our psyche. However, they might not always work. Eventually, the benefits might start to dwindle, and we shall once more find ourselves at square one with our depression, and so, Mr Smiley departs.

Charlotte is a random stranger from a bakery who begins to write to us from lack of companionship. Her mood drastically changes in the letters, until eventually she speaks of no longer being able to go on. Charlotte offers us a different perspective of how suicide affects us all. Despite being a virtual stranger to us, we grow fond of her, and her death strikes a chord in our hearts. She demonstrates the lasting effect one can have on another individual, such as the beautiful music we heard from her phonograph one lonely evening. It may seem small, but it lasts, and her departure leaves a gaping hole in our chests.

Now, our friend, Salvadore. He is far from our world, deep in nature, exploring his own adventure and doing as he wishes with his life. He sends us gifts and letters, retelling his experience and expresses his miss for us. We don't respond. He eventually realizes something is wrong. He notices the symptoms. He frantically makes his way home, to where he discovers it is not how he left it. The signs become obviously clear. He makes his way to us, telling us not to give up, that he shall arrive. Until he reaches an obstacle. The prison. Our mind's blockade. And when he attempts shutting off the power, he is electrocuted.

Throughout the game, characters vaguely mention us being high up. High up? In a prison? Unless once more, there is symbolism. A rooftop, perhaps. We are at the edge, about to make a decision that we can't take back. And Salvadore, our friend, died trying to help us, maybe showing that however good our friends' intentions are, if we are so caught up within our inner turmoil, we may drag them down with us. But throughout all this, there has been one obvious villain, one obvious antagonist who wishes for Mr Salvadore to quit speaking with us, who wishes for us to remain in our cell forever.

Mr Money. He sets up Mr Smiley to provide us happiness, though in all the letters, it is evidently fake, ingenuine. Mr Money is the one handing out the antidote, worsening the infection, the situation as a whole. He is the one who keeps us imprisoned in isolation, who so desperately wishes for us to cut off all communication with the outside.

He is human's worst enemy. Our minds.

[doudouneverte]

What we didn't say

a/n: sorry I just needed to be sad...

*not my GIFs*

Pairing: (past)Natasha Romanoff x Female!reader; (mention) Yelena Belova x platonic!Reader

Summary: Natasha looses you and give up

Type: Angst (no happy ending)

Warning: implied cheating, ❗tw suicide ❗

word count: 566

----------

Dear Diary;

I know it's been a while since we talked together, but I think it's time. Recently, nothing seemed alright. You remember Yelena's best friend, Y/n? She and I used to date until last year. I know there are a lot of things we need to talk about, but not now.

So back to Y/n, she's...she changed a lot since the last time I told you about her. She became prettier, even if she already was; she still has this contagious laugh.

I know I'm the one who messed up, but it still hurts to see her with this new girl; her name is something like Wanda. If I could, I'd travel back and change everything, but I can't do that. Why is life not as easy as the book she reads?

Yesterday, she didn't acknowledge me (again). I tried to fix everything, but Yelena said that maybe we weren't supposed to stay with each other forever. I can't stop thinking about when everything was perfect, when she was mine, and when I woke up with a message from her asking me if I had a good night.

Now? I don't know. I think it's been three, or maybe four, well according to my phone, it's been one week since I left my bedroom. She seems to be everywhere. I still have one of her hoodies that she didn't want to take back, but now it no longer even has a little hint of her perfume.

In this room so familiar, where we had our best moment, our first time, our first argument, our first make-up, and our last sex, now it feels cold and strange without her. Mom told me about something we call the heartbroken disease...I don't know if it's real. I don't know if she experienced it even a little. I don't know; maybe I'm the one who is suffering from that now. I don't know; maybe it would justify why I feel numb and empty and why I can only think about her even after all this time.

Maybe it could explain why I couldn't say this. I feel like if I don't say it now, I will never have the chance again...I know you don't want to hear that, and you'd probably never trust that, but...I love you.

I love you, you who help me understand what true love is. You, who supported me for five years. You, who had to suffer from what I did. Yeah, I know it sounds ironic after I cheated on you, but I need you to know that I love YOU.

---

Natasha dropped the pen, carefully stood up, and walked to her wardrobe. She took a shoe box, opened it, and picked a picture of you two. She looked at it for a moment until some tears started to appear in the corner of her eyes. The woman carefully dropped the picture beside her and picked up a second object from the box.

On the other side of the door, her sister, Yelena, was walking to the kitchen before she heard a loud BANG. The young woman froze; she was not very familiar with that, but she knew this noise. She immediately ran to the origin of the sound before she stopped in front of her sister's bedroom. Even without opening the door, she knew. She just pulled out her phone and called 911.

[ninchen1909]

The Teacher and the Mob Boss -Chapter 7-

Word count: ~1.700

Warnings: mention of suicide and murder

My whole body is tense as I wait for James to start telling me his story. Again and again my gaze glides to our intertwined fingers, the warmth emanating from his hands makes me feel calmer and I have to fight strongly against the urge to rest my head on his shoulder. His tangy, unique scent lulls me to sleep and I close my eyes for a brief moment, hoping that this will help me focus on the important things again. Once again James exerts a light pressure on my fingers, before he begins to tell in an emotionless almost monotone voice.

"My family and the Pierce family came here together from Romania about 20 years ago.  My father grew up together with Alexander Pierce and they were actually friends from childhood. At some point, the two of them decided that we would move here together because we had no future perspectives in Romania. No money, no job, nothing. But even here it was a lot harder than they had imagined, we all still struggled to make a living here and slowly but surely we start to lose hope again. That was until my father and Alexander met Joseph at a bar one evening. They got to talking and when he heard about our fathers' money problems, he offered them a job. I remember my father coming home that night, beaming with joy and telling us, that everything would be better now, that we all would have a great life here. And at first it really seemed like it.

In the beginning they worked for him as bouncers or drivers, then at some point they were dealing drugs and guns for him on the street. And during that time things looked really good for our family and for the Pierce's, the money worries were gone, we moved into a house of our own and for a short time it really made it seem like our lives were perfect."

A happy smile spreads across James' face and for a brief moment, he seems truly content with himself and the world, however, this changes abruptly as he begins to continue.

"And then came the evening that brought my father to his doom. You know my father was never violent or anything, I mean he was always strict and wanted my sister and I to do something with our lives, but he would never have thought of hitting or harming us. But that moment must have destroyed a lot in him. I remember when he came home with blood splattered all over his body I heard my mom screaming my sister and I instantly run there, to see what's going on but they sent us  to our rooms right away.

We never talked about that day at first, our parents initially acted as if nothing had ever happened, my father only told me a few years later what happened that night. He drove Joseph to a meeting as he had done so many times before and stayed in the car as usual, only to drive him home again later. It was  summer at that time, which is why my father left the car window open to get some air. Suddenly he heard loud, aggressive voices and then a single gunshot. Therefore, my father quickly grabbed the gun from the glove compartment of the car and, against his better judgment, ran to where the shooting was. He saw  Joseph lying on the ground bleeding and moaning in pain, his blood was already gathering around his body an he started to get limp. my father  saw that the other man was aiming his gun to shoot  again..."

Shortly James breaks off in his narration, with an audible sound, he swallows the lump in his throat down.

"...and to prevent that, my father shot the man, just like that.  He told me how he watched the life disappear from the man's body. And that at that moment he felt nothing but freedom and power.  After that, he took Joseph to a safehouse where they patched him up. From that day on, Joseph blindly trusted my father, he became his closest confidant and his most sought-after advisor. And then when Joseph died, my father took his place and became the boss. Pierce became more and more jealous of my father during that time, so when he became the head, he turned his back on him and started his own organization. And since then, we've been at war with the Pierce family, sometimes more and sometimes less."

Determined, he searches mine with his eyes, unshed tears clearly visible in his sky-blue orbits.

"This position destroyed him. He was hardly ever at home anymore and when he was, he was in a shitty mood, he literally ignored my sister and he became aggressive towards my mother, hardly a day went by when he didn't fuck her up physically or mentally. And when I wanted to do something about it, it only became harder for her because he wanted to "dull" me, as he called it. He didn't perceive me as a son anymore, but as an object of use, he formed me to his successor, whenever I granted myself against it, he threatened to kill my mother and sister. So I played along, resolving never to mix my private life, everything that is important to me, with this life. My mom, sister and Steve helped me not lose myself, so I'm still the same as I was then. At least mostly"

At the mention of his family and best friend, a smile creeps onto his face. Carefully, I begin to stroke the back of his hand with my thumbs.

"Is that also why you started the women's shelter? To help women like your mother?"

Silently, he nods as he follows the movement of my thumb with his eyes.

"Yes. No woman or child deserves to have to live in such circumstances, I wanted to give them the opportunity to escape such a life."

"What happened to your father?"

A contemptuous snort escapes him as he lets his gaze slide to the living room ceiling.

"The asshole apparently couldn't take it anymore and shot himself. My whole life he's been preaching to me that I need to be strong and what does he do? He puts a bullet through his head and leaves his 22 year old son behind to lead a mob and take care of his family. And on the side, I'm supposed to be fighting this pointless war."

A stifling silence falls over us, which I break with a soft voice.

"Thank you for telling me all this and for being honest."

He lovingly strokes a strand of my hair back behind my ear and then lets his hand rest on my cheek. His eyes look at me Sincerely and full of warmth.

"I would tell you anything to keep you in my life. I told you last time in the schoolyard, I want you to know everything about me, even the things I'd rather hide for."

At his words, a smile creeps onto my face, without thinking much about it, I bridge the distance between our bodies and rest my head on his shoulder. Shortly after, I also feel the weight of his chin on my head.

"But and now please don't get me wrong, I'm absolutely against violence, but why don't you just eliminate the family?"

For a short moment I am shocked by myself that these words have now really left my mouth, however, I do not have long time to think about it, because James is quick to answer.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple, if I just go after Pierce now, it would start the entire war, which would then not only affect us and Pierce but all the mob families around."

Stunned, I pull my head off his shoulder and look at him with wide eyes. The sight elicits a genuine laugh from him.

"Mob families? I didn't even know there was a a single mob familiy here until a few days ago and now we're suddenly talking plural? How many are there then?"

"You really haven't noticed in all these years that this city is run by mobs?"

"There are still days when I get lost on my way to work and you really think that's when I notice that the mob is here?"

A loud, throaty laugh escapes him, to which I can't help but join in

"It takes you about 10 minutes to get to school, how the hell do you get lost?"

" Easy , just by taking a wrong turn."

Unimpressed, I shrug my shoulders and cross my arms in front of my chest

"You're really special, you know that?"

"Sure I'm completely unique. But now please answer my question, how many mob families are there?"

"So as the two biggest we are Barnes and Pierce, then there's Banner, Romanoff and Maximoff they're all on our side, Hydra is on Pierce's side and then there's Stark."

Abruptly I tear my eyes open and jump off the couch.

"Stark? As in Tony Stark the principal? You can't be serious."

"Calm down princess. Tony isn't involved in the whole thing but he knows all about it, his wife Pepper took over the mob from Tony's father and has been running it in ever since, Tony has never wanted anything to do with it."

"How can a principal be involved with the mob?"

Stunned, I shake my head as the corners of Jaime's mouth twist into an arrogant smile.

"How can an innocent-seeming teacher be involved with the mob?"

He tilts his head slightly, but that arrogant smile doesn't disappear from his face for a second.

"By a totally annoying mobster deciding that she is now the main focus of his life."

James pulls me close before resting his forehead against mine.

"And that's exactly what you are"

[tadpolesonalgae]

“maybe it’ll turn out to be a wonderful meal they all bond over 🥳”

now tabby, you know damn well…

anyways, thinking about the next chapter, and there’s something i’d like to chime in on. when i was 14, i attempted suicide, and for me, being around family make me super uncomfortable, to the point where when i was around them and they were asking me questions i’d just go non-verbal. like full on armadillo into myself, under a table, refusing to say or do anything. i feel like reader and i are SUPER alike (or at least i used to be super like her) so i think it’d be interesting to see what here reaction will be when she’s surrounded by everyone at a family dinner, essentially forced to socialize. i’d also like to say that in the immediate few weeks after i was let out of the hospital, i was sort of hot and cold with how i was feeling. like one day i’d wake up feeling like death itself was sitting on my chest, but then the next, i’d be awake at 6am, hop out of bed, and immediately start doing things to better myself. and on some of those days, i’d do and say reckless things (i’m like 95% sure i was basically just manic). one time, relatively soon after the incident, i was being lectured by my dad about schoolwork and i snapped and called him an asshole straight to his face; something i NEVER would have done before, and everyone in the family was just in shock because everyone, including myself, had never expected me to act in such a way. immediately after i said it though, i reverted back to my usual self and ran away and hid under a table locked in my room and didn’t speak to anything for a while after that. i guess the point i’m trying to make here is; suicide attempts can do weird things to people’s emotions, everything has essentially come bubbling to the surface, so i’d sort of like to see reader acting in a few unexpected ways. i don’t want a 180 degree spin on her character, i just want some of those unexpected snaps to come out. like i could totally see mor saying something vaguely bitchy-ish and reader saying “oh fuck you” on instinct or something, completely blindsiding everyone at the table, even herself, and essentially breaking down and reverting back to her timid manner immediately after like “oh my gosh i’m so sorry i don’t know where that came from”

anyways, yah, i love the story, you’re doing such a great job expressing everyone’s emotions, like the whole situation is just super nuanced and you’re doing a great job at showing it, i truly just love your writing <3

-🌁

‘now tabby, you know damn well…’

🫣😭😭😭

I have no idea why anyone would be concerned about what could unfold over a family dinner with Mor and reader sat so close to one another

‘to the point where when i was around them and they were asking me questions i’d just go non-verbal.’

Okay, first of all, I am so sorry you ever had to experience a low like that and you have all my respect and any warmth I can offer for managing to make it through to where you are now, I can’t begin to imagine how difficult it was to get past that and live, but I’m happy you’ve made it to now and will continue onwards 🧡💛

Second of all though, I wanted to mention that I haven’t heard anyone else experience the silence like that? I think fourteen is also hands down the worst age to be for a lot of people for some reason, and while mine was from anxiety and not depression, similar moments happened? Just kind of shutting down in social situations specifically around family and being unable to respond? I do wonder if it’s some kind of coping mechanism, or a form a dissociation to distance oneself from the present to feel safer?

‘i’d also like to say that in the immediate few weeks after i was let out of the hospital, i was sort of hot and cold with how i was feeling.’

Even in day-to-day life, I have to admit I find it strange how swiftly emotions can change? Or even just waking up in a bad mood that you can’t shake no matter how many hot meals you have, or how clean your room is, or how many showers you take? And it just kind of clings to you, waiting for something bad to happen? It’s so unhelpful and difficult to cope with so I’m sorry you had to go through those likely turbulent emotions :/

‘(i’m like 95% sure i was basically just manic)’

So was it similar to rapidly swinging between depressive and manic episodes? I mean, to an extent I could see why after having been through such intense emotions that it would take a while to begin feeling semi-like yourself again?

‘i guess the point i’m trying to make here is; suicide attempts can do weird things to people’s emotions, everything has essentially come bubbling to the surface, so i’d sort of like to see reader acting in a few unexpected ways.’

I agree with emotions becoming pretty volatile and unpredictable after a suicide attempt from a logical standpoint, however I would like to say(?) theorise(?) I feel like those ‘snappy’ moments weirdly tend to come out around people you’re close with, so I couldn’t see it happening with Mor? That being said, I do have some ideas in mind for some stuff that relates to these slightly out-of-the-blue behaviours

‘anyways, yah, i love the story, you’re doing such a great job expressing everyone’s emotions, like the whole situation is just super nuanced and you’re doing a great job at showing it, i truly just love your writing <3’

I really appreciate your reassurance, but I do hope it isn’t bringing up any bad memories for you :/

Obviously there are heavy spots in the story, and inevitably I think because emotions can manifest in different ways in different people, there might be some parts that resonate with you, while others that seem strange or out of character, but I hope that for the most part the story is fairly fluid and maybe (I’m hoping) for some people it may turn out to something to find some semblance of comfort in? Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself though 🧡💛