#something wrong with her i desperately need it to go get therapy or something

[moogghost]

accept your future path wasn't yours to be chosen.

[lizzobetumblin]

Melissa hated her feelings. 

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings. 

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name, 

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list: 

1.) Don’t cry.   

 2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking, 

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

 ‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion. 

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry. 

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow. 

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong. 

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that. 

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again. 

She carried that. 

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her. 

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’ 

She cried. 

She escalated. 

She took it personal. 

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music. 

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose. 

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too. 

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow. 

So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks. 

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified. 

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power. 

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her. 

And she finally loved them back. 

[mssalo]

safety - Part: V 

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of war and combat-related trauma, Power dynamics, Unstable mental state,, Explicit sexual content, fingering in nature, rough sex in nature, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, Dom/sub dynamics, Joel’s possessiveness, sexual tension always, Joel went and got therapy :)

10k. Smut. Ending.

Enjoy!

Part I Part II Part III Part IV 

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of the cabin, casting a soft golden hue over the room. Joel had been awake for hours, his mind running long before dawn.

It had been years since he’d slept that soundly, since his body allowed him even a moment of peace. His usual nightmares—filled with screams, gunfire, and failure—had been replaced by something softer last night.

His arm draped over your waist, keeping you close as if, even now, he feared you'd slip away. You stirred slightly, your body warm against his, and for a brief moment, he felt something he hadn’t in so long—relief. But that feeling quickly turned into guilt.

The events of the previous night replayed in his mind, each detail sharper than the last. The way he had dragged you out of the woods, convinced something was after you, how frantic and desperate he had been to lock you inside the cabin, to shield you from an imagined threat.

Joel’s eyes traced your peaceful expression, and a sense of possessiveness flared inside him.

Ever since he saw you—so trusting, so sweet, too naive for this world—something in him snapped. He couldn’t stand the idea of you out there, vulnerable. You had no idea of the real dangers lurking in the world, and that infuriated him.

But the anger had twisted into something darker, something he hadn’t fully understood until last night. His obsession with keeping you safe had grown into an all-consuming need.

You stirred beside him, your eyes slowly fluttering open, and Joel’s gaze softened. When your eyes met his, you smiled sleepily, unaware of the storm brewing behind his calm expression.

"Morning," you whispered, your voice thick with sleep, oblivious to the gravity of what had happened last night.

"Morning," Joel muttered, his voice rough. His hand tightened around your waist, fingers brushing over the soft skin of your side. You stretched slightly, yawning before nestling back into his arms, completely unaware of the tension radiating from him.

"I guess we’re safe after all, huh?" you mused softly, your innocent words hanging in the air.

Joel tensed, his jaw locking. You didn’t understand. You never would. You trusted too easily, believed in safety that didn’t exist. He wanted to snap, to shake you out of that naivety, but the softness in your eyes held him back.

"You don’t get it," he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "I’ve seen what happens when you trust the wrong people. When you let your guard down for just a second."

You frowned, turning to face him more fully. There was confusion in your gaze, concern, but also an oblivious trust that Joel had come to both cherish and resent. "Joel, last night… you were so sure something bad was going to happen. I didn’t understand. I was—" You hesitated, chewing on your lip, unsure of whether to admit the truth. "I was scared."

His grip tightened at your confession, his eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite name. "You don’t need to be scared of me," he growled, his voice raw. "I would never hurt you. But I can’t—" His breath hitched, his hand fisting the sheets. "I can’t lose you."

The desperation in his voice made your heart ache. You could see the fear behind his eyes, the fear of something deeper, something you couldn’t fully understand. But you had felt it last night. His need to protect you had been overwhelming, almost suffocating.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft, hesitant. "I trust you. I know you’d never hurt me. But last night… it wasn’t normal. You were so convinced something was out there. But there was nothing."

His body went rigid beside you, his jaw clenching as if he was trying to keep everything in. But you could see the cracks forming, the way his eyes flickered with memories he hadn’t told you about. And then, as if the dam finally broke, he spoke.

"There were these two girls," he muttered, his voice rough, strained. "Sarah and Ellie. Overseas, during the war. They were just kids… kids who trusted me."

You stayed silent, watching as his eyes clouded over with the weight of his memories.

"I was supposed to protect them. We were in a war zone, caught in the middle of a firefight. I told them to run. I thought I could get them out. But I didn’t see the sniper." His voice cracked, the guilt seeping into every word. "I didn’t see him, and… they didn’t make it."

Your heart twisted at the pain in his voice, at the way he carried the weight of their deaths as if it were his own fault. "Joel…"

"It was my call," he interrupted, his voice shaking. "I failed them, and now they’re gone because of me."

You reached out, your hand gently cupping his face, trying to pull him back from the darkness of his past. "You didn’t fail them. You were trying to save them. You can’t carry that alone."

But Joel shook his head, his eyes filled with so much anguish it made your chest ache. "I was supposed to protect them, and I didn’t. And now I’m afraid…" His voice dropped to a whisper, his grip on you tightening again. "I’m afraid I’ll fail you too."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. You didn’t know how to fix this, didn’t know how to ease the guilt that had been eating away at him for years. All you could do was be there, to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

"I’m here right now," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. "I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m here."

For a long moment, Joel didn’t respond. He just held you, his body tense, his mind still lost in the past. But then, slowly, he nodded, his breath shaky as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"I’ll try to get help," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I’ll try."

You smiled softly, brushing a thumb over his cheek. "You’ll get through this, Joel."

He didn’t respond, but the way his arms tightened around you told you everything you needed to know. He was still scared, still haunted by the ghosts of his past. But for now, you were there. And that was enough.

As the morning light grew brighter, the cabin was filled with a quiet kind of peace. You lay there in his arms, holding on to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, Joel could find his way through the darkness.

And for now, that was all you could ask for.

· · ────

As you and Joel made your way back to the campsite, the tension between you simmered just beneath the surface. His heavy footsteps matched your lighter ones as you trudged through the brush, but his presence seemed to envelop you.

There was something about the way he moved, always one step behind or beside you, that made you feel both safe and on edge.

Joel’s eyes kept darting from the treeline to you, his instincts always on high alert.

His protective nature wasn’t something new, but after last night—after everything—the intensity of it felt different.

You glanced over at him as you both reached the campsite, your heart sinking a little at the sight of the mess. Your tent was half-collapsed, your clothes and supplies scattered haphazardly.

Joel gave a grunt and immediately set to work, tying down the straps and packing up the gear. His movements were quick, efficient, but you could feel his eyes flicking toward you every few moments.

“I can help,” you said, reaching for the tent poles.

Joel’s hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist and pulling it away from the sharp edges. His gaze locked with yours, dark and commanding.

“Let me handle the sharp tools, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice rough, gravelly.

The words sent a rush of heat straight through you, your cheeks flushing at the nickname. Babygirl. The way he said it—like you were something fragile, something that needed to be handled carefully—made you feel a strange mixture of annoyance and… excitement.

“Joel, I can handle a tent pole,” you argued softly, though the protest felt weak even to your own ears.

He didn’t back down, his grip on your wrist tightening just a bit. His lips curled into a half-smirk, his gaze flicking down your body before landing back on your face.

“I know you can handle a pole but `m not lettin’ you get hurt,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. “You’re too goddamn precious for that.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension rise between you. There was something in the way he looked at you, like he was barely holding himself back.

His eyes lingered on you a little too long, dark and possessive, and you couldn’t help but feel like prey under his gaze.

With a quiet huff, you stepped back, letting Joel handle the rest of the packing. As you turned to grab your bag, your eyes fell on the spare clothes you had packed.

The heat of the day, mixed with the leftover tension from last night, made your skin feel sticky and uncomfortable. You glanced over at Joel, who was busy securing the last of your things onto his truck.

“I’m just gonna change real quick,” you called over your shoulder, grabbing your fresh clothes from your bag and slipping behind a nearby tree.

Joel didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes followed you as you moved, his jaw tightening when he saw you disappear behind the tree.

His body tensed, a wave of heat coursing through him as he pictured you undressing. The thought of you, soft and bare just out of sight, made his breath hitch.

He glanced down at himself, biting back a groan as he felt his cock stiffen in his jeans.

The image of you changing, pulling those jeans over your hips, slipping out of that old shirt—it made something dark coil inside him.

He was used to control, to keeping his emotions in check, but you were making it hard. Too damn hard.

Behind the tree, you quickly stripped off your dirty shirt, slipping into something clean and fresh. As you tugged your jeans up over your hips, you couldn’t help but feel Joel’s presence, even though he wasn’t directly in front of you.

His gaze, that possessive heat—it lingered, and you could feel it.

You barely had time to register the slip before Joel’s hands were on you, firm and unyielding, catching you before you hit the ground.

The rough bark of the tree dug into your back as he pressed you against it, his strong body flush with yours. You felt his breath hot against the side of your neck, his chest rising and falling, the grip he had on your waist almost too tight.

“Careful there, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as his hand lingered on your hip. “Don’t need you hurtin’ yourself on account of some pants.”

You blinked up at him, startled by how fast he had closed the distance. His hand stayed on your waist, firm and warm, and you could feel the heat of his body pressing close to yours.

His eyes were darker than before, filled with something that made your pulse quicken. His gaze dropped to the bare skin of your waist, his thumb brushing over the exposed flesh as he let out a low hum.

“You’re gonna make it real hard for me to concentrate if you keep slippin’ outta those clothes, little girl,” Joel drawled, his lips curling into a smirk.

His hand drifted lower, teasing at the waistband of your jeans. “Not sure how much more I can take.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat as you met his gaze. “I didn’t think you minded last night,” you said, your voice a little shaky as you adjusted your shirt.

Joel’s eyes flicked back to you, dark and hungry. “Didn’t mind at all,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

His hands didn’t move immediately; they lingered, fingers splayed, and it sent a pulse of desire straight to your core.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough and gravelly, low like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy all morning.”

You blinked, trying to steady yourself, but the way he had you pinned made it impossible.

The hard look in his eyes as he stared down at you, the way his fingers dug into your skin like he couldn’t bring himself to let go… it was overwhelming. He didn’t move away, didn’t give you any space to breathe, to think.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was thick, dripping with frustration, but there was no mistaking the hunger behind it.

“Every damn time I look at you… can’t get you from last night outta my head. Got me hard just from watchin’ you.”

Your breath hitched at the rawness in his words, the heat in his eyes as they raked over your body.

Before you could even respond, his hand slipped lower, fingers trailing along the waistband of your jeans. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but there was no hiding the raw desire in the way he moved.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled under his breath, his fingers sliding over the button of your jeans, popping it open with a swift, practiced motion.

“I can’t wait any longer. You’ve been torturing me all morning, walkin’ around like that.”

You gasped as his hand slipped beneath the denim, his fingers finding your already slick heat. Joel’s eyes darkened when he felt how wet you were, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough as his fingers dipped between your folds.

“So fuckin’ wet already… you been thinkin’ about me too, haven’t you? Tell me, baby girl.”

His fingers pressed against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that had your body arching toward him despite the tight grip he had on you. You whimpered softly, and that only seemed to spur him on, his touch growing more intense, more possessive.

“You like that, huh?” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Like it when I touch you like this, when I make you feel like this.” His thumb pressed harder against your swollen bud, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your lips. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

His fingers slipped lower, one of them sliding inside you with ease, the wetness between your legs making it effortless.

He groaned low in his throat as he felt how tight you were around his finger, his breath coming out in heavy pants against your neck.

“Damn, you’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “You were made for me, baby girl. Fuck, just look at how you take my fingers.”

He added another finger, and the stretch made you cry out softly, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for support as your knees started to weaken.

Joel’s free hand gripped your hip even harder, holding you steady against him, making sure you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, takin’ it so well… you’re so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”

His fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars, and you moaned, your body arching into his hand.

Joel growled in response, his fingers moving faster now, thrusting in and out of you with a punishing rhythm.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his voice low and filthy. “You love it when I fuck you with my fingers, don’t you? So fuckin’ desperate for it.”

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your body trembling with every stroke of his fingers.

He was relentless, not giving you a moment to catch your breath as his thumb continued to work your clit in slow, torturous circles.

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he growled, his voice thick with lust.

“I can feel it. I can fuckin’ feel you clenchin’ around me. Come on, baby girl, don’t hold back. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

His words, his touch, the roughness of his voice—it was all too much. You couldn’t hold on any longer. Your body tensed, and with a sharp cry, you came undone around his fingers, your walls clenching tight as the pleasure ripped through you. 

Joel didn’t stop. He kept thrusting his fingers into you, drawing out your orgasm, his breath heavy against your ear.

“That’s it, darlin’. Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight. You feel that? You’re fuckin’ mine.”

Your legs trembled, barely able to hold you up as the aftershocks of your release pulsed through you. Joel finally slowed his movements, his fingers still buried deep inside you as you sagged against him, breathless and spent.

He pulled his hand from your jeans, his fingers glistening with your release as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded with lust. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, his voice still rough as he brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a satisfied growl. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

You were still trembling, leaning against him for support as he finally released his grip on your waist. But the look in his eyes, the heat still simmering there, told you he wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he growled softly, his hand coming back to grip your waist, pulling you against him once more. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against your stomach, and the heat flared between your legs all over again.

“I’ve been hard all fuckin’ morning, thinkin’ about you, and now you’re gonna take care of that for me.” His voice was low and dangerous, full of promise as his fingers tightened on your waist. “Get ready, baby girl. I ain’t lettin’ you go anytime soon.”

Joel’s body stayed pressed firmly against yours, the rough bark of the tree digging into your back as you tried to steady yourself.

The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, and the weight of him against you was both grounding and dizzying. Your legs still trembled, the aftershocks of his touch lingering, but Joel’s presence only seemed to magnify the need burning inside you.

He let out a low growl, his hand tightening on your waist, pulling your hips closer to his. You could feel him—hard and ready, pressing insistently against you—and your breath hitched at the thought of what came next.

“Joel… what if someone comes?” you whispered again, your voice breathless, barely able to think through the haze of desire clouding your mind.

Your words trembled, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, the thought of someone stumbling upon you both sending a rush of nervousness through you. It was the only thing cutting through the intensity of the moment.

But Joel didn’t pull back. He didn’t even flinch. His hand slipped lower, his grip firm and possessive as he pushed your jeans down further, his movements slow, deliberate, and unwavering.

“Ain’t no one comin’, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice rough and gravelly, thick with lust and something darker. “This is my land. No one’s gonna find us. And if they do…” His lips brushed your ear, his breath hot and heavy, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll shoot ’em dead for even thinkin’ about seein’ you like this.”

His words made your pulse race, the possessiveness in his voice sending a thrill through you, though something about the way he said my land confused you.

He’d never mentioned this before. But the thought slipped away as quickly as it came, overtaken by the rush of heat between your legs, the way his hands worked your clothes off with practiced ease.

You swallowed hard, your body aching for him even as your mind raced. “Your land?” you asked softly, your voice shaky with both curiosity and naivety. “You never told me—”

Joel cut you off, his voice a deep, rough growl in your ear. “Don’t worry about that, baby girl,” he muttered, his lips brushing the side of your neck. “You don’t need to know about that. All you need to know is that you’re safe. No one’s gonna touch you, see you, or hear those pretty little sounds you make for me.”

His words sent another wave of heat through you, your body arching into him instinctively, desperate for more. Joel’s hands moved with a confidence that made you dizzy, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him.

“And you…” Joel’s voice dropped to a dark, seductive murmur, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his hand slid between your legs again. “You’re not thinkin’ about anyone else right now, are you? Just me. Just this old man you can’t get enough of.”

Your breath caught at his words, the way he threw the nickname back at you.

You’d teased him that morning, calling him a handsome old man with a smirk on your face. But now, hearing it from him, laced with possessiveness and dark intent, it made your stomach flip in ways you hadn’t expected.

Joel’s hand gripped your waist again, his fingers digging into your skin as he pressed you harder against the tree. “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his voice a low, filthy rasp. “You like the way I take care of you. No boy your age knows how to handle you like I do.”

You whimpered, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as Joel’s words wrapped around you, making your head spin.

His body pressed harder against yours, his hips rolling forward, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

You could feel him, thick and hard, pressing against your slick heat, and it made you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“I’ve been hard all damn morning,” he growled, his lips brushing your neck as he ground his hips against yours, making you gasp again.

“Watchin’ you… thinkin’ about how good you felt last night, how sweet you sound when you come. You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, baby girl.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding instinctively, arching into him, desperate for more.

The tension between you was unbearable, and the way he was pressing into you—teasing, taunting, never giving you exactly what you wanted—was driving you mad.

Joel’s hand slipped between your legs again, his fingers brushing over your swollen clit, making you cry out softly, your body jerking in response.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust. “You’re gonna take it so good, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at him as his fingers toyed with you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Joel… please…” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper. You could barely think, the heat between your legs, the roughness of his touch, the darkness in his voice—it was all too much.

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s it, baby girl,” he growled, his fingers teasing you with just enough pressure to make your body tremble. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you want it.”

You swallowed hard, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them. “I want you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Joel…”

He groaned low in his throat, his hand gripping your waist even harder as he lined himself up with your entrance, the heat of him pressing against you, making you gasp. “You want this old man, huh?” he growled, his voice dark and filthy.

“You want me to fuck you right here, out in the open, where anyone could come?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe, your body trembling with anticipation. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaky and desperate. “Please.”

Joel smirked against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he teased you with the promise of what was to come. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. “But you’re mine. No one else gets to have you like this. No one else even gets to look at you.”

With that, he thrust forward, filling you in one swift, brutal movement, and you cried out, your body arching against his as he buried himself deep inside you.

Joel’s body was pressed so tightly against yours, it felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs.

The rough bark of the tree scratched at your back, but the sharpness of it barely registered over the overwhelming sensation of him inside you.

His grip on your hips was almost bruising, his large hands holding you in place as he thrust into you, deep and relentless.

His breath was hot against your neck, coming out in harsh, ragged pants that matched the pace of his movements.

“You feel that?” he growled low in your ear, his voice dripping with rough need. “You were made for me, baby girl. Only me. Ain’t nobody ever gonna fuck you like this.”

You whimpered as Joel slammed into you again, each thrust harder than the last, making your whole body jolt with the force of it.

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you back onto him with every brutal movement. He wasn’t holding back anymore. It was all raw, unfiltered desire, and it had you gasping for breath.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he pounded into you.

“You take me so fuckin’ good… like you were just waitin’ for someone to fuck you like this. Ain’t that right?”

You could barely form a coherent response, your mind clouded with the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely, stretching you in ways that made your legs shake.

Every word he said seemed to sink deeper into you, each one driving the pleasure higher, making it harder to hold on.

“Tell me,” he growled, his teeth grazing your neck as his hips snapped forward again, the force of it sending sparks of heat through your body. “Tell me no one else gets to fuck you like this. Say it.”

You gasped, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders for support, trying to steady yourself as the pleasure mounted.

“No one else,” you breathed, your voice shaky, barely audible over the sound of your bodies moving together. “Only you.”

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from Joel’s chest, his grip on your hips tightening even further.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Only me. You belong to me now, baby girl. You don’t need anyone else. You need this.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, each one sinking deep into your core, making you tremble beneath him.

The roughness of his voice, the filthy way he spoke to you, the way he claimed you—it had you spiraling out of control, and he knew it.

He could feel it in the way your body responded to every hard thrust, the way you clung to him, desperate for more.

“And you love it, don’t you?” Joel growled, his hips slamming into you harder now, his pace unrelenting.

“You love the way I fuck you, the way I make you come apart. Ain’t that right, little girl?”

You nodded frantically, your breath coming out in short, desperate gasps as he drove into you, harder and faster, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Yes,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a breath. “I love it.”

Joel groaned low in his throat, his hands roaming over your body now, possessive and rough.

His fingers slid up your shirt, finding your breasts, squeezing them as he slammed into you, making you cry out.

“Good girl,” he growled, his voice thick and commanding. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect. So tight, so wet… all for me.”

You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure mounting higher and higher with every brutal thrust.

Joel’s pace never slowed, his hips driving into you with the kind of intensity that had your head spinning, your body trembling under the weight of it all. It was too much, too fast, too intense, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he groaned, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Come on, baby girl, I want to feel you come for me.”

His words pushed you right to the edge, your body trembling as the pressure built to an unbearable point. “Joel…” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. “I—”

But before you could finish, Joel’s hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your swollen clit with unerring precision.

The moment he touched you, your body shattered, your release crashing over you in waves, your muscles clenching tight around him as you cried out his name.

Joel groaned low in his throat, his thrusts becoming even more erratic as he felt you come apart around him, his hips slamming into you with a raw, primal need.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough and breathless. “Fuck, you’re so perfect… so fuckin’ perfect…”

He buried himself deep inside you one last time, groaning your name as his own release hit, his grip on your hips tightening as he emptied himself inside you, the pleasure overtaking him completely.

His body trembled against yours, his breath ragged, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you close.

For a long moment, the only sound was the harsh, heavy breathing between you, both of you trying to steady yourselves, your bodies still pressed tightly together. Joel didn’t pull away, didn’t let go.

His hands stayed on you, holding you possessively, like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you, not yet.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, his voice rough and thick with satisfaction. “No one else gets to have you like this. No one else even gets to look at you the way I do.”

His words were a promise and a warning all at once, and though your mind was still spinning, you knew one thing for sure—Joel meant every word he said.

You were his, and he wasn’t letting you go.

You pulled in a shaky breath, trying to gather your scattered thoughts. The tension in the air was still thick, the weight of what had just happened between you lingering like a heavy cloud.

Joel’s hands reluctantly pulled away from your body, and you could still feel the heat of his touch, the way he had teased you to the edge before you both had to stop.

“I need to get home,” you murmured, your voice still unsteady, a hint of the recent intensity lingering in your tone.

Joel’s eyes met yours, dark and unreadable for a moment. His hand lingered on your waist for just a second longer before he let out a low sigh, stepping back.

You saw the way his jaw tightened, like he was trying to pull himself together, rein in whatever was still simmering just beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice gruff, filled with restraint. “We’ll get you home.”

You both moved around the camp, the quiet between you loaded with everything unsaid. Joel’s movements were deliberate, quick as he packed the last of your things.

His eyes occasionally flicked your way, watching you as you gathered yourself, but neither of you spoke about what had just happened, the charged silence saying enough.

His hand brushed yours as he handed you a bag, and you felt that familiar spark again—the one that had drawn you in from the start, the one that always made your heart race.

Once everything was packed, Joel turned toward you, wiping his hands on his jeans. He didn’t say a word as he walked over to your car, already starting to hook it up to his truck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You blinked, watching him in surprise. “Joel, I can drive myself home,” you said, your voice still shaky but firm.

He didn’t even look at you as he continued to secure your car to his truck. “Not happenin’,” he replied, his voice full of that rough authority that left little room for argument. “You’re not drivin’ alone.”

You crossed your arms, a small frown tugging at your lips. “I’m not a child, you know.”

That’s when he stopped and turned to face you, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes darkened slightly as he stepped toward you, his presence immediately overwhelming in that way you’d grown used to.

“Baby, listen to me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You’re not drivin’ yourself home. Not after this. Not when I can make sure you get there safe.”

The way he said it, with such finality, made your heart skip a beat. He wasn’t asking—he was telling. His protectiveness, the intensity in his eyes, left no room for argument.

You huffed lightly, trying to fight back the flush rising in your cheeks. “Fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze, but you couldn’t hide the way your body reacted to his words, the way your pulse quickened under his watchful eyes.

Joel’s lips twitched, clearly catching the shift in your demeanor. “Good girl,” he said quietly, the two words carrying more weight than they should, leaving you flustered.

As he finished securing your car, you both climbed into his truck. The hum of the engine filled the air, but the tension between you remained. He glanced over at you as he pulled onto the road, his hand resting comfortably on the steering wheel, the other tapping lightly against his thigh.

“You know I’d do anything to keep you safe, right?” he muttered, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of something softer. “No one’s ever gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you replied quietly, glancing out the window as the familiar roads blurred by. “But, Joel… I’m not helpless.”

He let out a low chuckle, glancing at you with that dark, knowing look. “Darlin’, I know you’re not helpless. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you face things on your own.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his voice unmistakable.

He wasn’t just protecting you because he thought you needed it—he was doing it because he wanted to, because he couldn’t stand the thought of you being out of his reach.

Joel’s hand rested on your thigh, his fingers gently massaging as the truck hummed along the road. His touch was casual, but the heat of it was unmistakable, spreading through you like wildfire.

You could still feel the lingering effects of what had happened earlier—the way his hands had moved over your body, the roughness of his voice as he whispered dirty promises in your ear.

The way he claimed you in the woods, his protective instincts morphing into something darker, more possessive.

But now, in the quiet of the truck, you couldn’t ignore the practical reality of what needed to happen next.

As your mind drifted back to the present, a thought popped into your head, and you knew you couldn’t put it off any longer.

“I, uh…” you started, shifting slightly under Joel’s touch. His hand stayed firmly on your thigh, the pressure increasing just enough to make your breath hitch. “We need to stop at a pharmacy.”

Joel’s brow furrowed as he glanced over at you, but his hand never left your leg. “Pharmacy?” he echoed, his voice low and rough. “What for, darlin’?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little shy. “I, um… I need to get the morning after pill.”

For a moment, Joel’s hand stilled on your thigh, his grip tightening just slightly. Then, without a word, he nodded, his jaw working as he processed what you’d said. His thumb resumed its gentle, circular motion, tracing patterns over your skin as he let out a low hum.

“Morning after pill, huh?” His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of amusement lurking behind it. His hand squeezed your thigh gently, possessively.

“You know… our babies would probably be real cute.”

You blinked, glancing at him in surprise. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or if there was something more serious behind his words.

His face was unreadable, but the heat in his touch remained, and it made your pulse quicken.

“Joel…” you muttered, shaking your head as a smile tugged at your lips.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Let’s handle one thing at a time. You get therapy first, old man.”

He chuckled at that, his grip on your thigh tightening, thumb brushing dangerously close to the edge of your waistband. His eyes flicked over to you, dark and intense.

“Still old man, huh?” he drawled, his voice dipping low, filled with that familiar growl that made your skin tingle. “You weren’t complainin’ about my age a few minutes ago.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away, biting your lip. The reminder of what had happened in the woods—the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way his hands had claimed you so thoroughly—sent a shiver down your spine.

Joel’s smirk grew as he caught the look on your face. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear as his hand slid just a bit higher on your thigh.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker. “You gettin’ shy on me now?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you spike again, the air thick with unspoken desire.

His hand stayed firmly on your leg, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your waistband. You could feel the heat of him, the intensity of his gaze, and it made it hard to think straight.

“I’m just… trying to be responsible,” you muttered, trying to regain some composure, but your voice came out breathier than you’d intended.

Joel chuckled again, his grip tightening. You couldn’t help but smile at that, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the heat coursing through you. “But seriously… pharmacy first.”

Joel just grinned, his hand lingering on your thigh as he shifted gears, the truck humming beneath you both.

“Whatever you need, darlin’. But don’t think for a second I ain’t still thinkin’ about those cute babies.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a teasing smile. “Joel, again, you really should stop thinking about babies and start thinking about calling a therapist.” 

Joel chuckled, the sound deep and rich, his broad hand squeezing your thigh possessively. “A therapist.” His voice carried that rough, teasing edge, filled with warmth. “Darlin’, I’m already workin’ on that, but don’t pretend you didn’t like the idea of those cute babies.”

You shot him a playful glare, rolling your eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

His hand stayed firm on your leg, the heat of his touch seeping through your jeans, making your pulse quicken. Joel had this way of making everything feel charged, every touch more than just casual, every glance heavier with meaning.

The tension between you both was thick, that lingering heat from earlier still hanging in the air.

When Joel parked, his hand found yours, gripping it firmly as if he wasn’t about to let go anytime soon.

Without a word, he got out and came around to your side, pulling you out of the truck and keeping you close, his hand wrapped around yours as the two of you entered the pharmacy.

You were barely inside before you spotted the familiar face of the pharmacist behind the counter.

"Hey," you greeted with a friendly wave, feeling Joel's presence looming behind you, his hand tightening around yours.

His grip was solid, a constant reminder that he was there, watching, protecting—even when it wasn’t necessary.

You explained to the pharmacist what you needed, but Joel’s energy shifted beside you. You could feel the weight of his stare as the pharmacist smiled at you, his fingers flexing slightly against your hand.

The slight possessiveness was impossible to miss, his jaw clenching just the tiniest bit as if he didn’t appreciate the friendly exchange.

When the pharmacist handed over the pill, you reached for your wallet, only to have Joel beat you to it, pulling out cash before you could even open your bag.

“Joel, I can pay for myself,” you protested, giving him a look, but his eyes were focused solely on the pharmacist, his tone gruff and unyielding.

“Of course I’m payin',” he said, slipping the cash across the counter, his voice low.

“I was the one cummin' inside, wasn’t I?”

The air between you thickened, heat creeping up your neck at his blunt words.

The pharmacist awkwardly handed Joel the small paper bag, and Joel gave him a curt nod, his hand never leaving yours as he turned, guiding you firmly out of the pharmacy.

Once outside, you could breathe a little easier, but your heart still raced from Joel's possessive display. As he opened the passenger door for you, his hand brushed your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

His protectiveness was palpable, but so was the underlying heat between you, simmering just beneath the surface.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered once you were settled inside, watching as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I know,” he said, his voice a bit softer now, though still laced with that possessive undertone.

“But I wanted to.” His hand was back on your thigh as he started the engine, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over your jeans, the touch sending warmth through your body.

The truck’s engine rumbled quietly as Joel navigated the familiar streets, his hand still resting possessively on your thigh.

The drive had been mostly quiet, Joel’s fingers occasionally flexed against your leg, his grip steady and firm, as if he was grounding himself by touching you.

As the truck slowed down and turned onto your street, you blinked, glancing out the window. “Wait…” You frowned, turning to look at Joel. “How did you know where I live?”

He didn’t even flinch, keeping his eyes on the road, his thumb stroking over your skin in that calming, deliberate way. “You told me, baby,” he said smoothly, his voice a deep rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You paused for a moment, trying to recall when you’d given him your address, but the events of the past couple of days had been so intense, it was hard to keep track.

Maybe you had told him?

You were still shaken from everything that happened, and besides, Joel always seemed so capable, like he knew everything before you even realized it yourself. Naively, you shrugged it off, not questioning it any further.

Joel pulled up in front of your house, the truck coming to a smooth stop. His hand lingered on your thigh, giving you one final squeeze before he turned off the engine.

For a moment, the two of you just sat there in the silence, the weight of unspoken words heavy between you.

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him, your heart racing.

“Joel… I really like you,” you admitted softly, biting your lip nervously. “But you need to get help before we start anything serious.”

His eyes flicked to you, a mix of surprise and something deeper flashing in his gaze. It was like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing—that someone like you, soft and kind, actually wanted him.

Joel had been so used to shutting people out, to keeping his distance, but here you were, offering him something real.

“You…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to wrap his mind around it. “You actually want me? After all this?”

You nodded, your fingers nervously fiddling with the edge of your sleeve.

“Yes, Joel. I like you… a lot. But you’ve gotta work on yourself. Therapy could really help, you know? Before we can start something long-term.”

Joel exhaled slowly, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But all he saw was sincerity, and that shook him to his core.

He wasn’t used to people sticking around—let alone wanting more with him.

He leaned closer, his voice soft but filled with a deep, raw emotion.

“If gettin' help means I can have you, baby… then I’ll do whatever it takes.” His voice dipped lower, almost a growl. “Everything, if that’s the outcome.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the intensity in his voice sending a thrill through you.

Joel reached over, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as he gazed at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. “If this is what you need, then I’ll do it. No questions asked.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, the vulnerability in his words touching something deep inside you.

But you knew this was bigger than just you—it was about Joel getting the help he needed, about him facing his past and his trauma.

“Good,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “Because I want you to be okay. For you, not just for me. You need it“

But the tension between you two didn’t dissipate—it only simmered beneath the surface, as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his gaze flicking down to your mouth.

“I’ll do it,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise. “I’ll go to therapy, I’ll get the help.”

Before you could respond, Joel was already opening his door, coming around the truck to your side.

He opened the passenger door and offered you his hand, pulling you out gently but firmly.

His hand stayed in yours as he led you to your front door, his fingers still wrapped possessively around yours.

As you fumbled for your keys, you felt his gaze on you, warm and intense.

He reached out, cupping the back of your neck, pulling you toward him with a soft but commanding grip.

“You make me wanna be better, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

The kiss that followed was slow, deliberate—filled with all the unspoken promises of what could come if Joel followed through.

His lips moved against yours, soft but insistent, his hand slipping down to your waist, pulling you close.

By the time you pulled away, your heart was racing, your skin tingling with the memory of his touch.

“I’ll see you soon,” Joel whispered, his voice low, full of intent.

You nodded, your breath still shaky as you opened the door, stepping inside.

As you glanced back at him one last time, you couldn’t help but smile.

This was the beginning of something new, something real—and for the first time, you were hopeful that Joel could find his way through the darkness.

· · ─────

It had been eight months since the night that changed everything. Therapy had helped Joel more than he liked to admit, but some parts of him hadn’t changed.

The protectiveness, the obsession with keeping you safe—those only seemed to have deepened. But the dark cloud that used to follow him had lightened considerably.

The nightmares had lessened, the guilt had dulled into something more manageable. Now, he could breathe again.

But the thing he still couldn’t get enough of was you.

You were at his place again, spending time together after a long week.

He made dinner—something simple but delicious—and the two of you had settled on the couch afterward, the fire crackling in the background, casting a soft, golden glow around the room.

Joel’s eyes never left you. It didn’t matter if you were laughing, talking, or just sitting there; he watched you with the same intense gaze that always seemed to heat your skin.

It was like he was memorizing every detail of you—the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the small smile that played at the corner of your lips when you caught him looking.

“Joel,” you teased, catching his stare again, “if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got an obsession.”

He smirked, his hand finding its familiar spot on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your jeans.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, “if you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re not payin’ attention.”

You laughed softly, the sound filling the cozy room. "Guess I should start taking notes, then,” you teased, leaning into him, your shoulder brushing against his arm.

Joel’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “You should. Wouldn’t wanna miss a single detail about this old man, huh?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him with your shoulder. “Well, you do make it easy to forget about the ‘old’ part sometimes.”

Joel chuckled, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes.

He liked when you played with him like that—when you didn’t shy away from the age difference but turned it into something light, something flirty.

“Easy, huh?” he teased, squeezing your thigh a little harder. “I’ll take that as a compliment, darlin’.”

“It is,” you grinned. “I mean, you’ve definitely surprised me.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Surprised you, huh? What exactly are we talkin’ about here?”

You bit your lip, your smile turning a little mischievous.

“Oh, you know… how a certain someone hasn’t had any trouble keeping up.” You shot him a look that made your meaning clear, your cheeks flushing slightly even as you held his gaze.

Joel barked out a laugh, the sound deep and rumbling. “Well, I do what I can,” he said with a teasing wink, his hand sliding a little higher on your leg.

“Guess you make it easy for me to keep up, baby girl.”

You rolled your eyes again, but the grin on your face betrayed how much you were enjoying the banter.

Joel had a way of making you feel like the center of the universe when you were with him. It was in the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, and how he always seemed to find a way to make you smile—even when he was teasing you about the age difference.

The night wore on in that same comfortable, easy rhythm—talking, teasing, laughing together.

Joel had lit a few candles around the room, the flickering light adding to the warm, intimate atmosphere.

As you sat together on the couch, your legs draped over his lap, Joel’s hand continued its slow, steady path up and down your thigh, his thumb brushing the inside of your knee, sending little sparks of warmth through you.

At some point, the conversation drifted into something quieter, more meaningful.

You talked about the last few months, how much had changed, how much better Joel was doing.

He admitted that the therapy had helped, that he wasn’t waking up every night in a panic anymore. The nightmares still came, but they didn’t have the same grip on him they used to.

And it was because of you.

“I wouldn’t have made it this far without you,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion as he looked at you, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “You know that, right?”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at his words. "I’m proud of you, Joel," you said quietly, reaching out to brush a hand along his cheek. "You’ve worked so hard… You’ve come such a long way."

Joel looked at you for a moment, his eyes filled with something deeper than gratitude—something more like devotion.

"I wouldn’t be here without you, darlin’," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You pushed me to get better. You gave me a reason to."

Your fingers traced the lines of his face, the strong curve of his jaw, his stubble rough against your fingertips.

"You did this," you replied, your voice soft but firm. "You put in the work. I just… I just believed in you. And I’m really proud of you, Joel."

He seemed to take in your words, his brow furrowing slightly as though he didn’t quite know how to accept the praise.

His hand tightened slightly on your thigh, his thumb still moving in slow, comforting circles.

"You’ve been staying here a lot," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Feels good, havin' you here with me. Feels right."

You grinned, feeling the warmth spread through you at his words. "Yeah, well," you teased, "I guess I kinda like it here too. You’ve got a nice place, Miller."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "It’s not just the place, and you know it," he muttered, his voice deep and full of meaning. "I like havin' you around, baby girl. More than I can say."

Your chest fluttered at the nickname, and the way his hand slid a little higher on your leg didn’t go unnoticed.

There was a warmth in his eyes as he looked at you, the same kind of warmth that made your heart race every time he called you "his girl."

You’d been together for months now, but the way he looked at you still made your stomach flip.

"I never thought… I didn’t think I’d ever have this again," he admitted, his voice rough. "Someone like you. It feels too good to be real sometimes."

You smiled softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "I’m real," you whispered against his mouth. "And I’m not goin’ anywhere."

Joel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap.

His hands slid up your back, his touch warm and comforting as he held you close. "You’re mine, and I’m keepin' you," he muttered, his lips brushing your ear.

"Can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you here with me."

You grinned, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands resting on his chest.

"Well, I’m lucky too," you replied, your voice teasing but filled with affection. "Not every girl gets to say she has the strong, protective, handsome Joel Miller as her man."

He chuckled, shaking his head as his hand moved to cup your cheek. "Sweet talker," he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "But I guess I like hearin' it from you."

For a while, you both stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the warmth of the evening settling over you like a blanket.

The night felt perfect—easy, peaceful, and filled with the kind of love that made everything feel right in the world.

As you nestled against Joel’s chest, his arms still wrapped around you protectively, you couldn’t help but smile.

You’d come a long way together, and despite the obstacles, despite the darkness he’d had to fight through, you were here now. Together.

"Guess I’m stickin' around," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with certainty. "I kinda like it here with you."

Joel grinned, his hand sliding up to tangle gently in your hair. "Good," he whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "’Cause I’m not lettin’ you go, baby girl."

You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat filled the quiet room. You were home.

The quiet of the night settled over you like a soft blanket, the only sound the distant rustle of wind through the trees outside.

Joel held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if letting go would break the fragile peace you had built together.

He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of your hair, the steady rise and fall of your chest against his.

There was a softness to this moment, something sacred and rare. It was the kind of quiet Joel had never known he could have—one that wasn't haunted by ghosts of the past or shattered by the weight of guilt.

He had come a long way, you both had, but the road behind you was littered with moments of doubt, fear, and the suffocating grip of old wounds.

There had been days when the darkness had almost swallowed him whole, when the weight of his past, the endless guilt over what he had lost and failed to protect, had nearly driven him away from everything good in his life.

But you had stood by him, steadfast and unshaken, even when he couldn't see a way forward. You had anchored him, reminding him of what life could be beyond the nightmares, beyond the pain.

Your presence, your love, had given him hope—something he'd never thought he would find again.

And now, with you nestled into his side, the warmth of your body grounding him, Joel finally understood what it meant to live for something more than survival.

His eyes drifted to the window, where the faint light of the moon spilled across the floor, a reminder that the world was still out there—dangerous and unpredictable as always.

But for the first time in as long as he could remember, Joel wasn’t afraid.

He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had something real, something worth holding onto, and for once, he felt like maybe he deserved it.

As the minutes stretched into hours, Joel’s thoughts softened, his mind no longer racing with what-ifs and could-have-beens.

The weight of his past wasn’t gone, but it had shifted, lightened somehow, transformed into something more bearable.

It no longer consumed him. He had found peace in the present, in the steady rhythm of your breathing beside him, in the warmth of your hand resting gently on his chest.

He had spent so long chasing redemption, thinking he needed to be better, to do more, to fix what had been broken inside him.

But you had shown him that healing didn’t come all at once. It wasn’t about erasing the past—it was about learning to live with it, to carry it with him without letting it define him.

And in that moment, with you curled up beside him, safe and warm in his arms, Joel realized that maybe, just maybe, he had found his way out of the darkness after all.

The future stretched out before you both, uncertain and unpredictable, but Joel no longer felt the fear that used to creep into his bones at the thought of what might come next.

He had you, and you had him, and together you had built something stronger than the shadows that once haunted him.

There would still be challenges, moments of doubt, but you would face them together—because that's what you had become.

A team. A partnership. Something real. Something worth fighting for.

And as the night faded into dawn, Joel closed his eyes, finally letting go of the burden he had carried for so long. He was no longer the man who had lost everything.

He was no longer just surviving.

He was living.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Joel felt at peace.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Sorry, I had to let these two end with some fluffy happy end. 😭

The End with the main story!

Will probably do spin offs and also a few of Joel’s therapy sessions as well as smut if y’all are interested.

Thank you so much for the support and all the nice comments, they were my favorite :)

xoxo

[xyfanficarchive]

here, have some incredibly personal laios x reader hurt/comfort, written as therapy in the form of reader insert bcos i was sad today, might be a bit ooc idk man :)

————————————

“You know, I actually love when you ask me for things, when you tell me you’re feeling down, or if I’ve upset you.”

You raised your red-rimmed, apprehensive gaze to meet Laios’ eyes, clear and completely earnest as he smiled at you. Weakly, you tried to return the expression. It didn’t feel very convincing.

“It makes me feel like you love me and trust me. That you trust me enough to be honest - that you trust me to comfort you, to do better by you, that you believe in me and my ability to meet your needs, that you believe I can be there for you in a way that makes you happy,” he elaborated, reaching his hands out and taking yours. “I feel valued.”

You flitted from golden eye to golden eye, searching his expression desperately for any inconsistency, any unfinished edge, any loose thread that would unravel his perfect honesty and found none. Your frail smile faltered. He was like the life-giving sun, but you felt as though you were in the desert being beat down by his radiance. You wanted to shrink away, and your shoulders hunched. Oh that sentiment was so nice, and certainly he meant it. But that just meant it would hurt exponentially more when he was done with you, when he finally realized-

“What’s going on? What are you thinking?” He stooped his head closer to yours, and tears welled up in your eyes, your lips parted in a wince as you shook your head. Laios’ brow furrowed. “No, something’s wrong. This is what I mean: I want to help you, you want me to help you, but I can’t unless you tell me what’s going on! So please just tell me what you’re thinking!” The urgency in his voice struck you like an arrow through the heart.

It wasn’t like you could be much more humiliated than you already were. It felt like it was already over, it was going to blow to pieces either way. Your thoughts felt slippery as you gathered them as best you could, your vision starting to blur. You turned your gaze downwards, you couldn’t even look Laios in the eye as you drew a shaky breath in.

“You say that, but,” your voice was quiet, “you don’t understand - we’ll both regret it when you realize…” The words caught, you couldn’t say it.

“When I realize what?” He insisted.

The few seconds of silence felt like an hour. Then, quiet as a whisper, you admitted, with much difficulty: “My needs… my feelings… I’m really hard to deal with… I'm too much... You’ll realize I’m a huge fucking burden, and then you won’t want me anymore!!” You sobbed, and before the tears could fall you covered your face with your hands and hung your head, feeling two inches tall, feeling so deeply embarrassed and ashamed to the core of your being. You wished you could just disappear.

"You think I don't already know you're a burden?"

The words shocked and pained you so deeply you stopped crying, eyes shot up in gape-mouthed, grief stricken disbelief as you recoiled. He was fast with it. All these years, nobody had ever affirmed your belief so directly, nobody had ever stated it so plainly. You'd heard many empty platitudes that were hard to believe, precisely because in the end they had always proved you right - whatever you needed the most, whenever you needed it the most, you were always left in the dust, alone and despairing, and feeling like the biggest idiot in the world for your blind hope.

You saw his face change - he cringed, looking extremely pained, and with panic started to explain: "D-Don't get me wrong! Agh..." For a moment he held his brow in his palm, then took a deep breath, composing himself before he continued. He grabbed you by the shoulders.

"Everyone's a burden, aren't they? Just thinking of my friends - Marcille is really picky and particular. Chilchuck is way too proud and secretive, and he drinks a lot. Falin is my little sister, so I have to be there for her, look out for her. And Senshi... Well, Senshi seems to have a lot figured out already." He paused, and broke eye contact for a moment to look at the floor. "And we all know how I am..." His tone was incredibly loaded, and your heart broke because he was the brightest and most vibrant being you had ever met, having faced a lifetime of hardship and betrayal and still coming out the other side so true to himself.

He leaned in closer to your face. "The point is, though, they all have needs - and they know how to ask for help when they need it! You only ask for help when it becomes an emergency. If even then." His expression softened. "I know you have lots of needs. I know because I've worked really hard to meet them, without embarrassing or scaring you by asking. And it meant a lot of thinking, constant planning, lying awake at night wondering, asking everyone for advice... It's tiring work." He went down the list and you broke his gaze, looking downwards. You felt low, ashamed at all the trouble you've caused him, all because you tried to be no trouble at all. What a right mess you've made.

"Hey, look at me," his hand came up, fingers resting so gently on your jaw, and your watery eyes obliged. "I did it because I wanted to! It makes me happy to see you happy, or fulfilled, or relieved, and to know that it's because of me! I did all of that because I love you! But I can’t keep up with all that hard work all the time. I don’t think it’s fair.” You had been fending off the tears as you listened but now the dam broke again, hot as they rolled down your face, and you sniffled as your nose clogged up. “So can you please help me help you easier? Would you please help me love you like that?” His eyes were glassy now as he looked down at you.

The cry came out of your throat as a whine as Laios took you in his arms, embracing you tight while you sobbed into his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt around his back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorryyy,” you repeated through the tears and he shushed you, holding you while you cried it out until your gasping, hiccuping breaths slowed and calmed.

It was hard to say what you needed to say next, because you had to admit you were wrong about something you had believed so deeply for most of your life. It wasn’t easy to fully give up the idea that had kept you safe for so long. “I’ll try to be more honest about my feelings… and to ask for help before it’s too late…” Still in his embrace you lifted your head to look up at him, and stared into his eyes with intensity. “It’s terrifying, I won’t lie. But… I trust you.” How couldn’t you trust someone who was so deeply genuine as he was?

He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead between your brows, and your eyes rolled closed. When he pulled away you turned your head and pressed your ear to his chest. “I want you to be happy. I want this to work. I love you so much,” he said, and you felt the words rumble against your cheek.

“I love you too,” you murmured, lulled by the sound of his breath and heartbeat.

[yannaryartside]

CARMY NEVER WANTED TO CREATE A MENU WITH SYD.

AND WHY THAT IS THE CORE THEME OF THE SHOW

PART 1: THE LIE THAT CARMY BELIEVES

So, one of the bases of creating an efficient character arc is to give the character something they want, and something they need. In the pursuit of getting what they want, the theme of the show and obstacles will show them what they need. Most of the time, they need healing from an emotional wound that prevents them from growing into the ultimate version of themselves, capable of winning the challenges of the story. I will try to explore Carmy's wound and, more importantly, the lie that created that wound.

In 'The negative trait thesaurus" by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi, it reads:

"Wounds are often kept secret from others because embedded within them is the lie-an untruth that the character believes about himself."

When I started therapy (disclaimer: this is not professional advice; I am just talking from how I interpreted all of this), I was introduced to the concept of "limiting beliefs:" lies we have told ourselves about our own nature or the nature of the world. The most difficult beliefs to leave behind are those established in our early childhoods, and we told ourselves those lies to make sense of the world, to make peace with realities we were not equipped to comprehend yet. 

Some examples of lies people belive:

"I am too stupid to learn anything; my teacher said so" "It was my fault that I was molested." "I am a bad person for wanting a different life."

When people believe these lies, they will act accordingly, maybe attracting situations that hurt them but keeping the lie active in their lives. They may self-sabotage or create bonds with people who also believe the lie, even if it doesn't seem this way. 

In some cases, people may develop complete personalities or behaviors to prove the lie wrong, but deep down, they still believe in the lie. Carmy falls into this last category. This is where we find the most contradictory parts of his personality, how he can act shy and insecure in some instances and appear confident and even aggressive in others. 

Long post underneath.

THE RESENT OF A MOTHER:

We can only assume here because I think Storer is gonna let us know more about this soon, but I think I got an idea of this wound when I saw the only moment Carmy was alone with Donna on "Fishes."

I have a lot of things to say about Donna herself, but let's begin with the obvious: the conversation in this scene had little to do with the dinner itself. This was a woman stating that she felt alone and not valued, probably due to being abandoned by her husband and having to overwork herself at the beef to support her 3 kids, all while being a single mother. We don't know if this feeling of abandonment is something she has carried since childhood, but in the state of current womanhood, it wouldn't be uncommon. The work of women (especially mothers), particularly the emotional labor, is rather invisible and not valued at all.

But again, this is something she has used as fuel to resent her kids, who, at the end of the day, didn't ask to be here. Her anger has to go somewhere since she cannot direct it toward the people that ctually caused it. To get to the point:

THE BEARZATTO SYBLING DYNAMIC

Carmy said, "You are not alone; I am here with you." (This kind of comes back to telling Syd she was not alone at the end of the season.) This scene is about a kid trying to communicate to his mother that he loves her and trying desperately to connect with her, to get her to express her affection for him as well.

It tells me that growing up, he felt like he had to "earn" her affection. Donna likes to make her kids feel guilty about her unhappiness, so the kids feel that they are constantly walking on shells because they think their mother hates them, or at least that she resents them and that it is their responsibility to fix it.

In the scene, Carmy asked,

"What is so hard, Mom?"

I think what he was actually asking is, "What is so hard about being with us, to love us? What did we do to you that made you resent us this way?" He is asking because he wants to know, to finally understand. Why do you drink, Mom? Why do you yell? Why do you say such hurtful things?

When she answers, "Nobody makes things beautiful for me," you can see in his face the disconnection. He knows he can't do anything about that.

Then, a crucial part in the scene occurs when Donna calls him "Michael, " which indicates that the only one of her children who could make her feel happy was Michael, or at least that is how the other two kids felt. You can see the hurt in Carmy's eyes in the scene because this answer dismisses his effort to connect to his mother in his own right. She asks him to just leave. He offers to wait to connect with her. Then, it comes to the most chilling moment on the scene, the "we have a problem" using his full name, with resentment in every word. She hugs him while crying, kisses him, and then slaps him.

This is rejection. There is a book called "The Five Wounds of the Soul": wich are Rejection, Abandonment, Humiliation, Betrayal, and Injustice. I think Carmy's wound is rejection, for never earning his mother's love, particularly comparing himself to Michael.

Michael took responsibility for the Beef, finally giving their mom a break. It was Michael's job to make sure everyone was having a good time, to compensate for the discomfort that caused being in Donna's presence, to make sure all of them stayed as a family, which was Donna's intention, so Michael thought he had to make that happen for her. Therefore, Michael is the only one of her kids who succeeds and makes her happy. We know Donna rejects Natalie and Carmy. About Natalie, we can write another whole essay.

THE LIE THAT CARMY BELIVES

According to this scene, I think Carmy thinks that her mother didn't love him because he is not Michael; in fact, he is the most "not like Michael" someone could be. He was shy and stuttered and didn't have friends or girlfriends, comparable to Michael's ability to control every room he was in. Carmy was sensible and no macho alfa as Michael presented himself to be. Carmy left home and the family business, and both Michael and Donna expressed that they feel like he thinks he is better than them. Michael admitted later to admiring Carmy's work in Copenhagen, but Donna never did. carmy grew up having to live with the crumbles of Donna's attention that Michael left behind, wondering every day what was so wrong with him that made her reject him, and wondering what he could do to change that.

The lie that Carmy belives, could be sumarize this way:

I need to earn people's love. I need to always go the extra mile, doing the most possible at all times to earn people's love.

This all goes back to his trauma with Michael. It goes back to his career as a chef and how he became the best. He didn't need to succeed on a larger scale in the culinary industry to earn Michael's respect and love; he needed to be the best in the world, so he did that. He judges his own social abilities, comparing them to Miachae's. He left that promising career only because of Michae's death. He got the girlfriend Michael wanted for him (not saying it was the only reason, but it was there).

PART 2: WHAT DOES ALL OF THIS HAD TO DO WITH SYDNEY?

Well, what does a person who feels they always need to do the most? They do the most. I want to bring you back to the moments Carmy had to develop menu ideas with Syd on s1 and s2.

When Syd suggested items for the menu in s1, he gave her an inconclusive, not enthusiastic "maybe."

When she had to actually cook the thing for him to approve, he tried to make her feel small about it. He felt the need to remind her that she was "impatient and green," according to her previous bosses. He commented about her possibly ruining the flow by using time to cook her recipe. Yikes all around, but the core here is that he was treating her like an enemy, like competition, while she was trying to save the restaurant with what they had on hand to use the most efficient solution.

Then, when Carmy tries the dish and feels stunned by it, he has to make an ambiguous excuse on the fly and just finishes every chance of them using the recipe by saying, "is not ready yet"

And what does he do next? He goes to show the crew a recipe that is extremely complicated for the level they are operating at currently—they said so themselves. I think the recipe is a variation of Donna's butter chicken recipe. To put a nail on that coffin of his intentions to earn her love and approval at the end of it all.

But why does he do all this? Because he needs to be the hero, subconsciously, he is still that small kid begging for acceptance and love; he must go the extra mile. He cannot accept Sydney's help and partnership, because that will take away from him earning what he wants on his own merit.

In S2, he seems unenthusiastic about starting the menu in the first place. Then Claire comes along, and he tries to make it work with Syd and the menu, but I think he subconsciously thanks the universe for not having to go to his core wound. That is what self-sabotage is. That is why he bailed on the food tour with Syd, using such a stupid excuse as helping somebody else move out and never mentioning it again. He never asked her what she liked or what ideas she thought of. For most of the creative process, Syd is alone, working on her own creative crisis. The menu ends up being like two recipes they made in collaboration and then all of his family's traditional recipes. It is two of Syd's recipes and the rest of Carmy's. Then, desserts Marcus did on his own. The collaboration was superficial at best.

All of this creates the core theme of the show. The Bear was once a chaotic place (like their childhood home) that needs to evolve into an efficient, peaceful place built on love, support, and mutual collaboration like a functional family should be. Sydney is the member of this found family that forces Carmy to confront his core wound and learn he can actually be good enough while still accepting help. Therapy probably will play an important part in this theme, alongside with Carmy learning there was nothing wrong with him in the first place, that earning your parent's love is not something a kid can do.

Thankyou for reading. Gif and images are not mine.

[millersgirl80]

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby (Part 2) 18+

Pairing: Dbf!joelxf!reader

Word count: 1.6k or so

Warnings: unprotected p in v (Joel pull out game strong af, keep it wrapped)

Summary: Joel goes on a date…

Notes: Sorry this took so long. I promise it'll get better! 😫🫣

Previous Part Here, part three here

I leaned against the kitchen counter, the scent of fresh coffee filling the air, when my dad comes downstairs on the phone.

“Just a girl from work. Trust me, you’ll like her. She’s cute and fun. Just hired at the office. Don’t be late!” Dad laughs before hanging up the phone. “Playing matchmaker?” I smile grabbing the coffee pot pouring my cup full. “Something like that, just sat Lisa and Joel up on a date.” I spilt the hot coffee on my hand as those words left my dads mouth. “Thought Joel didn’t date?” I say cleaning the mess up. “Yea, so he says. Maybe this will help him out” dad shrugs.

After sitting in my room after what felt like hours, I got a shower and got dressed heading downtown for some much needed shopping therapy. I went to a couple stores getting some new outfits for the coming fall. After shopping I headed to the diner to meet my friend hanna for some lunch. “So after you fucked, he just left?” He summarizes my experience with Joel. “Pretty much, he’s usually at the house everyday. It’s been a week and dad’s been going over there.” “He sounds like a dick.”

“I just don’t get it, Hannah. One minute he’s all over me, and the next it’s like I don’t even exist.” I say poking at my salad. “Maybe he freaked out?” She sighed. “Maybe” I look down at my untouched salad “It just feels so awkward now. I keep wondering what I did wrong.” I slide my plate off to the side. “Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong, well, I’m not saying sleeping with your dad’s best friend is right, but if this is what you want. Then go for it!” She smiles. “Go talk to him!”

“I would but he getting ready for a date tonight” I roll my eyes. “I’m just gonna go home and rot in bed with ice cream and watch friends” I huff paying for my food getting up. “Count me in!” Hanna quickly follows.

Joels pov

Joel!” Mike shouted across the diner, waving like a maniac. I sighed, dragging my feet toward him. The place was crowded, the sound of forks clinking and laughter filling the air. I spotted her before I reached the table—a girl with dark curls and bright blue eyes. She was smiling, I straighten up a bit.

“Hey, this is my buddy Joel,” Mike said, gesturing to me like I was an award-winning trophy.

“Hi, I’m Lisa!” she exclaimed, standing and extending her hand. I took it, feeling the warmth of her palm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah? All good things, I hope.” Mike winks to me and walks off. I chuckled awkwardly and slid into the booth across from her.

“Mostly,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m sure you have a lot of secrets.”

I shrugged, trying to keep my expression light. “Nothing too scandalous.”

“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” She leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, what do you do for fun?”

“I mostly just hang out,” I replied, “You know, work and the occasional barbecue.” I shrug “Just hang out”

“Barbecue, huh? I bet you make a mean brisket.” She smiled, and I felt a flicker of something in my chest. It was nice to be here, but the thought of Darlin’ crept back in, making my stomach twist, like it has been for a week.

“What about you?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. “What do you do for fun?”

“I love hiking and photography. I actually went to Big Bend last month. The stars out there are incredible.” She sighed dreamily. “I took a bunch of pictures. You should see them.”

“Maybe I will,” I said, forcing a smile. The longer we talked, the more I felt the weight of my situation. Darlin’ was always there, a shadow in my thoughts.

“So, Joel, what’s your deal?” Lisa asked, her gaze catching me off guard.

I cleared my throat, trying to focus. “I work in construction. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills.”

“Construction? That’s cool! Do you enjoy it?” she asked, leaning forward, her interest piqued.

“Yeah, I like working with my hands. It’s satisfying seeing something come together.” “built the gazebo down at the park. The one with the flowers?”

“You built that?” Lisa exclaimed. “That’s amazing!”

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to let the compliment go to my head.

As the night wore on, I tried to focus on Lisa, but every time I would focus on her. I'd find myself thinking about darlin bent over the counter in her kitchen. I was reminded of the invisible thread connecting us. After we finished our dinner we exchanged numbers and headed to our vehicles. “Do you wanna come back to my house with me?” I turned and asked Lisa “sure. Lead the way.” Lisa smiled out of her window. The drive to my house was quick, considering I was arguing with myself about whether I should do this or not.

When we arrived at my house, we raced to the door, I tumbled through the door, Lisa’s lips locked in on mine. Her hands expertly unbuttoned my shirt, as her fingers tracing the contours of my chest. My breath quickened as I undressed her, my hands shaking slightly as I revealed her soft curves.

I guided Lisa towards the bedroom, our lips never parting. I kicked my door shut, as I backed her up and laid her down on the bed, my eyes taking in her naked body, but I couldn’t stop the images of darling playing in my mind.

I positioned myself between her legs, taking a moment to try to get darlin out of my mind. "Fuck me, Joel," she whispered, wiggling her hips, her voice thick with desire.

I thrust into her, as Lisa moaned loudly, her nails digging into my back as she urged me on. The sound of our flesh slapping together filled the room, mingling with our loud groans. My guilt momentarily faded as i moved in and out of her body, my mind starts to betrayed me, flashing images again of darlings innocent face and soft moans. I thrust harder thinking of Lisa to push the thoughts away, but the forbidden fruit of my best friend's daughter was too tempting to ignore.

"Harder, Joel..I’m gonna cum!" Lisa cried out, her body bucking against mine.

I complied, pounding into her with renewed vigor, my own desire reaching a fever pitch. I felt her clench around me as she came. The sensation pushed me over the edge, and i pulled out finishing on her stomach, my body shaking with the force from my orgasm.

As my breathing slowed and returned to normal, I rolled onto my back, feeling a mix of satisfaction and guilt. Lisa snuggled up against me, her hand resting on my chest.

"That was incredible, Joel," she purred, her breath warm on my neck. "I can't wait to do that again."

I nodded, my mind already elsewhere. "Yeah, it was..."

She placed one last kiss to my cheek, before standing up and getting dressed. “I had a lot of fun tonight Joel. Call me anytime.” With a sweet smile, she walked out the door.

Darlins pov

After hearing about Joel's blind date with Lisa, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. A couple weeks has passed since I seen or heard from Joel. I made my way to Joel's house . My heart raced as I climbed the stairs, my mind filled with questions and a growing sense of anticipation.

I knocked on the door, my knuckles rapping against the wood with a rapid rhythm that mirrored my racing pulse.

Joel, unaware of the visitor behind the door, open the door with an urgency. His handsome face, slightly weathered by the years, fell at the sight of me. "What are you doing here darlin?" He stepped aside, inviting me into his house, looking out behind to make sure no one saw me go in.

I entered, my eyes scanning the familiar surroundings, I turned around to face Joel, almost bumping into his chest. "Joel, I need to talk to you," I said, my voice laced with a mix of anxiety and determination.

Joel walked past me and led me in to the living room. "What happened between us was a mistake it shouldn't have happened and it’s not going to happen again.” Joel says sitting on the couch.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered her courage. "I heard about your date with Lisa."

Joel's eyes fall from my face as shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Yea, Mike set us up." He tried to keep his voice steady, but the guilt was evident in his expression.

"W-was it…Did it go well?" My voice softening. "

Joel's heart sank as he heard the pain in my voice."Yes, I had an excellent time.” Joel huffed

My eyes welled up with tears, I held my emotions in check. "Oh," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Did you fuck her?" I asked bluntly, blinking the tears away. The words felt like knives, slicing through my heart, but I needed to know. “Thats none of your business darlin.”

“It is when you were inside me a few days ago,Joel.” I spt back at him. “How was it, was she better than me?” I asked. “Or was she just another body to you?”

Joel's face flushed, and he looked away, unable to meet my gaze.

"That’s great." My voice cracked, feeling my composure starting to crumble. "I uh… I should go, glad we could talk.” I quickly say, making my way back through the front door across the street to my car. Joel called after me a couple of times but I ignored him driving off.

I drove to Hanna's house, getting out of the car, and knocking on her door frantically. “He slept with her.” I walk past Hanna. “He, who?” Hanna ask rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Joel slept with Lisa!” I said plopping on her couch letting the tears fall.

“Oh you poor thing!” Hanna sits beside me rubbing my back. “What happened to me?” I asked wiping my tears away. “I use to be able to do this, sleep with someone and just act like nothing happened, but then I fuck Joel ONCE and I feel like I'm the clingy girlfriend!”

“Look at me, this situation is different, you've had your heart set on Joel as long as I could remember, maybe he does feel the same way and he just can't come to terms with it.” Hanna comforts me for a little bit longer until then tears fade away.

“I know what we need to do.” hanna smiles. “The day of the barbecue, come over and get ready here. We will go together!” she smiles.

I stay the night with Hanna not ready to go home or have the chance of seeing Joel again today. I often ask Hanna what she has in mind for the barbecue and she just responds with, “You'll see” and a smirk.

[itsabouttimex2]

Can I ask how the lmk characters would react if your childhood cat ran away and I mean that you’re very very very close to the cat.

Because my childhood cat Leo just ran away and I’m having a massive meltdown because of it and crying so much.I already watch one cat die I can’t lose another and your work’s always bring a smile to my face and I really need something to get my mind on something else right now.

(I’m sorry to hear that, dear. Trouble with pets is never fun. I hope things get better.)

Missing Pet Reactions

Sun Wukong, Mei, Sandy

Sun Wukong has never really had a “pet”- but he does have a whole mountain of monkeys ranging in age and disposition. I imagine he understands quite well the panic of one going missing for more than a few minutes.

So he sympathizes. He understands.

And the moment Wukong sees the tears beading in your eyes as you desperately recall the circumstances of your pet going missing? He’s on the move.

Even if the Great Sage didn’t have his Golden Vision ready to track down your pet, he still has the power to create clones en masse. A storm of ginger simians down every street and road, knocking on windows and doors with their bold hands.

The real deal will stay beside you while his clones “shred” the city with haste, taking a moment to calm and shush you with the biggest grin he can manage.

While they search, Wukong encourages you to snack on whatever you'd like in his pantry (though it's nothing but junk food...) to keep your stomach full and settled. He’ll bust out a peach soda for you and settle in with a blanket, and wait out the literal handful of minutes that it takes to his clones to return your pet to you.

Mei has her own way of “tearing” the city apart, mainly through her use of her expansive follower base. All it takes is one text and there’s a few thousand eyes on the streets, looking for your little fur baby.

She’s also personally out on her motorcycle, zipping up and down backroads and busy streets to find your furry friend and bring it home.

The dragon girl is split pretty fifty-fifty between taking you along and leaving you behind, but will lean either direction depending on how hysteric you are. She might just throw you onto the couch and slam the door behind her as she races out, throwing you a credit card and instructing you to order something for dinner.

It’s not that she wants to leave you all alone in this state of distress, but Mei prioritizes your safety above your comfort, as it happens. And besides… if you’re fear-snacking on pizza and soda by the time she gets back (with pet in tow), then the two of you basically get to celebrate together immediately. Win-win!

…she’s absolutely recording the tearful reunion, though.

Oh, no one is going to be more on your side through this than Sandy. His dozen therapy cats? His little Mo? The big blue softy so sympathetic to your plight that he has to fight back a few tears of his own.

Now, I have no doubt that one or two of Sandy’s cats have gotten out here and there, only to be quickly returned by the call of dinner or his frantic pleas- the ex-soldier knows all about luring little wayward pets back home.

Freshly popped tuna cans and cats treats are scattered about the yard and deck, and then Sandy puts out two chairs and a platter of snacks to go with the tea he brews for you.

For this gentle giant, it’s only a matter of waiting- he knows to stay calm, to calm you down, to just… wait.

Out of all three, his plan works the best, just because there’s not a frantic chase or a surplus of noise to make things worse, or to frighten the cat further. In less than an hour, you’ve got your buddy back.

So basically, Sandy has the knowledge + temperament to get your cat back without harm or a pointedly long lapse of time spent futilely looking in the wrong place. 10/10!

[antiquarianfics]

Just a library of things I wrote for ease of access!

Fics are ordered newest to oldest.

❀ Fluff ○ Angst ✧ Smut

★ Personal Favorite ✰ 1k+ Notes

Requesting Guidelines

Oneshots

Don't Think About It ❀ Maybe admitting how you feel isn’t the worst thing?

Soon You'll Get Better ○ Desperate people find faith. Bucky's desperate for you to get better, so, yeah, he'll pray to someone else's god.

Dark and Bloody Ground ○ ★ So you violently murdered a man? So what? You did it in the name of love.

Making Waves ❀○ Bucky gives you a pep talk when life’s beating down on you a little too hard.

Shoot Me ❀ ★ Bucky swears he doesn’t like Y/N. In fact, he’s so confident he’ll challenge this: If he likes Y/N, shoot him.

Draw 4 ❀ You always swear you can hold your liquor until the next morning when you’ve no clue how you’re $80 richer and why your husband is too amused for your liking.

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa ❀ ✰ Becca Barnes is generally not a serious child. She is, on the contrary, quite the opposite. She’s a silly, carefree, easy-going kid, so whenever her demeanor changes to the opposite, it is an immediate red flag that something is wrong.

A Slip of the Tongue ❀ ✰ Bucky reacts to your daughter’s new name for him as she tells him all about her new friend.

Slow Down ❀ An object in motion stays in motion until acted upon by an outside force. In this case, you’re the object and Bucky is the outside force.

You Have a Girlfriend? ❀ ★ ✰ So you get a little confused when you’re drunk? So what?

The Best Things Take Time ❀ ✰ Bucky has a code. You manage to crack it.

Therapy ❀ Sometimes all a person needs is a little reassurance they’re not a bad person.

Jealousy, Jealousy ❀ ○ ✰ Jealousy is a green-eyed monster, or so they say. You’d argue that jealousy is actually a blue-eyed, one-armed, super soldier.

Better Than Us ❀ Being a woman is hard, and it’s not necessarily something you’d wish on another.

Marry Me? Nah. Marry Me? Yeah. ❀ ★ ✰ 4 times Bucky Barnes asks you to marry him and you refuse. 1 time Bucky Barnes asks you to marry him and you accept.

Buck Moon ❀ So maybe you read the Farmer’s Almanac wrong. It’s still a successful date.

Shower ❀ ○ Sometimes it's all you can do to breathe. Sometimes you need a little help--even with the basics. Bucky's happy to help.

Sun to Me ❀ If there is one thing Bucky Barnes remembers about his mother, it is that she told him to find someone who plants flowers in the darkest parts of him. If there is one thing Bucky Barnes knows about Reader, it is that they grow him to the clouds.

Timeless ❀ Reader wonders how their life might have looked different in 1944, but they know they still would have loved Bucky Barnes.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

Series

Accidental | pt 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 | blurb 1 ○ ★ What happens when you accidentally kidnap the exact man you were looking for?

Taken (ongoing) ○ If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

Drabbles

Lost Time ❀○

Poolside ❀

Distraction ❀○

Can I? ❀ ✰

Not What I Heard ❀✰

Ruinin’ the Game ❀

[paraphwrites]

@carpediemma made a poll post about which characters would be who in an alice in wonderland au and none of the one's winning are the ones i want so i will now be justifying my thesis

alice - niko. above all else, alice must be curious and kind. she is also afraid, a lot, because she's in a wild new world - very similar of how niko is scared and in a new world (both ghost/supernatural, america, and a world without her father)

white rabbit - edwin. polite yet preoccupied, punctual yet anxious, obsessive yet unpredictable, always dressed smart... the similarities go on. and while i think some of their actions might not align entirely, i think there is a case to be made for edwin shewing someone along, insisting it must be done his own way

mad hatter - charles. playful, defiant to social norms, bit of an eccentric dress style! though charles is a bit less over the top, i feel that in the right environment, he could go totally mad. hatter has a lot of fun but there is this hint of despair to him which to me, entirely emulates charles

the dormouse - jenny. tired, confused, and underpaid, next question

the march hare - maxine. unpredictable, bizarre, reckless, excitable. not a huge character so not too much to go from but i see some loose similarities in the erratic nature - it's not that they're evil, it's that they're so invested in existence that they might stab you

please do not think of the implications of shipping the dormouse and the march hair i will not be held responsible for that

tweedledee and tweedledum - litty and kingham. petty?? childish?? looks similar??? guys come ON there is no more iconic duo in dbda! they're not very kind, they're not anti violence, they love attention- am i talking about the tweedles, or litty and kingham? you literally can't tell.

the caterpillar - tragic mick. appears when alice is uncertain and needs help, prompts her to reflect on her own identity. not particularly nice but is very helpful and kind, in his own way. calm, almost cryptic, slow manner of speech.

cheshire cat - the cat king. im not gonna explain this one

ok guys bare with me for the next two. they're kinda controversial. i could see them flipped and i did flip them many times but this is what i decided on

the duchess - esther. the duchess is abusive to her child (monty), but can be overly affectionate, as well. duchess is hella comedic in a dark way, she's got a fucked up relationship with power (duchess is a slave to the Queen, esther is a slave to the Snake), she's absurdly contradictory (like esther and her contradiction of wronging girls using lilith's gift)

the queen of hearts - the night nurse. the queen cannot see a way of life other than executions. i know she SEEMS hella emotional, but legit, i think it's more this desperate desire for feelings and sensations because she is so stuck in a loop of being listened to. the night nurse is similarly stuck in this loop of bureaucracy. neither are happy and neither have any true meaning to their lives. they both also seem to lack a nuance to empathy (nurse thinking ends justify the means so no need to feel guilty about the means, almost viewing finding the boys as a game in order to feel SOMETHING). neither would not survive a day in therapy

the king of hearts - kashi. foil to the queen of hearts, very minor character. gentle, soft spoken, trying his best, exists more in his own universe than anywhere else. the key difference is if they went to therapy, kashi's therapist would end up getting therapied, and king would just break down sobbing

the knave of hearts - monty. while if esther was the queen, maybe this would be more apt, but this is my analysis so i'll do what i want. the knave is a victim of absurd injustice, is somewhat sympathetic but ultimately a perpetuater of this same system. monty does the same thing with esther & her abuse. he is also young and handsome which, we've all seen joshua colley, i don't need to explain

the talking rose - crystal (with/pre-david.) haughty, mean, cruel, flirtatious. she's not a villain but she's definitely not on your side. she's critical, both of your looks, personality, and general vibe. but she's also just one of the many flowers, kind of how crystal was just one of the rich kids, not really doing all that much

in this version, i'd have when the flower's roots are freed be the same energy as the boy's getting rid of david. moment of self-transformation, free from curse. i will probably make a follow up post on how i'd do the plot, but i wanted to throw that bit on david out there.

[girlgenius1111]

i can't hide from you like i hide from myself

part 3 of cool about it. reader almost relapses. almost.

tw for mentions of self harm.

Recovery was just as hard as you remembered it; the only difference was that you didn't know how the hell you did it without Alexia the first time. She had kept her promise; she was right there with you, every second of everyday, someone always anticipating what you needed.

The hardest part was getting rid of the guilt you felt; so far, you hadn't struggled with needing to do it again. You were just overcome with shame. You were back in therapy, though, and the necessary adjustments were being made to your medication. Things were looking up. Recovery, though, is evidently not just an upwards slope.

-----

You'd insisted that Alexia go out with her sister and her sister's friends. She'd been by you side constantly, and you knew she needed to get out. You weren't really feeling up to that yet, though, so you assured her you would be fine, and all but shoved her out the door.

In your defense, you hadn't been feeling bad when she'd left. Alright, maybe a little down, but nothing you couldn't handle. You'd had a calm night in, watching TV and catching up on emails. You were doing alright, admittedly excited for Alexia to return home.

The catalyst was a simple nick in the shower; you were shaving your legs, mind on the next day's practice, when you felt a sharp sting. You dragged the blade to the side slightly on accident, and there was a small cut on your shin. You dropped the razor in shock, watching in horror as blood dripped from the wound.

You hadn't done it on purpose. You hadn't. Suddenly, though, all you could think about was doing it on purpose. Somewhere in your panicked brain, you remembered that this was an addiction, like any other addiction. Even if you didn't want to do it for the normal reasons, your body still craved the release.

It would have been so easy to just give in. Alexia wasn't due home for a few hours, and you were already bleeding. You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts, picking up the razor and chucking it out of the shower, into the sink. You washed the remaining conditioner from your hair, hands shaking, before shutting the water off and climbing out.

You didn't even want to look at the cut on your shin. It was a combination of reminding you of what you'd done just a few weeks ago, and what you desperately wanted to do right now.

You left the bathroom, getting dressed quickly, before forcing yourself to apply some pressure on the cut. It wasn't deep, or serious by any means, but shins had the tendency to bleed a lot, and if you didn't want to drip blood all over your apartment, you had to do something.

Your hands continued to shake as you held a washcloth over the cut, and you felt your control slipping. You were panicking, and you knew what you should do. What you needed to do. Without letting yourself think too hard, you grabbed your phone off the bed, sitting down on the ground. You clicked Alexia's contact, reminding yourself that she wanted you to call her, she'd told you to call her.

"Hola mi amor! Everything alright?" She asked, clearly trying to mask her alarm at the call from you.

"Yeah, um. I mean, no. I'm sorry. Can you come home? I need you." You said weakly. Alexia's tone shifted instantly, and you heard her tell someone, presumably her sister, that she had to go, before she was speaking to you again.

"Of course, mi amor, I'm leaving right now, I'll be there in 5 minutes. Stay on the phone with me, vale?" She said, and you let out a hum of agreement. She didn't ask you to explain, or ask you what was wrong. She knew that you needed her, and that was enough for her to speed home. The sound of her breathing over the line was enough to keep you grounded, until you heard her shut the car door behind her, rushing up into the house. "I'm coming up, okay? Where are you?"

"Bedroom." You mumbled. You were really starting to panic now, head spinning with anxiety. You heard the front door open and close, and Alexia's fast footsteps as she rushed towards the bedroom. She threw the door open, her phone forgotten in her hand, as her eyes frantically searched for you. The minute her eyes met yours, and flew down to your leg, you realized what it looked like.

"Oh, mi amor," she sighed, and you couldn't help but feel like she was disappointed in you.

"It wasn't on purpose, Ale, I promise, it was an accident," you told her frantically. She moved to sit down next to you, moving your hand away from your shin as she inspected the cut.

"Okay." she said, believing you. Still, you insisted, not really hearing her response.

"I was shaving and the razor slid, I promise, I didn't do it on purpose, Alexia," you cried, and it sounded like you were begging her to believe you. With her free hand, she cupped your cheek, shushing you.

"I believe you, mi amor, it's alright. I'm here, and everything is fine," she told you soothingly. You were still panicking, though, still completely distraught, eyes glued to your shin.

"Look at me, bonita, eyes up here," she said, drawing your attention away from the cut. She gripped your chin gently, holding your gaze there. "Deep breath in, with me," she told you, exaggerating a deep breath. You stumbled over another inhale, but Alexia's attention stayed on you, reminding you when to breathe in and out.

With her help, you managed to calm down. After a minute of following Alexia's breathing, you opened your mouth. You had to be honest, you had to tell her the truth, before you lost your nerve.

"It wasn't on purpose," you said again, and Alexia looked at you sympathetically, nodding her head. "I almost did though, after. I almost did it again," you told her brokenly.

"Okay, mi niña. You didn't though; you called me instead," she reminded you. "You asked for help when it would have been easy not to, and I am so proud of you, bebe," Alexia insisted. You looked at her uncertainly.

"I shouldn't have freaked out, though, I don't know why I did," you reasoned, not really prepared to except her praise. Alexia shook her head, though.

"No, amor, that's not true. What happened before was traumatic, and this was something so similar to that experience; it makes sense that this was really upsetting to you." She sounded so sure, so convinced, you couldn't help but internalize her words, just a little.

"I'm sorry you had to leave dinner," you told her quietly, still feeling incredibly guilty.

"Don't be sorry. I want you to call me when you need me, no matter what I'm doing," she replied. Her words made you feel so loved, but at the same time, you felt so unworthy of that love.

"You're too good to me. I don't deserve you," you mumbled attempting to slightly farther from her. She reached out to stop your movements, lips pursed in dissatisfaction. She hated that you didn't see yourself the way she did; that you didn't recognize that every hard moment was worth it, because the good you brought her was unmeasurable.

"You deserve good, y/n. You deserve everything good. Even when it's hard to accept, even when you don't feel like it. You always deserve to be treated with love, and care, and patience," she paired her words with an arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you to lean against her chest, until you were enveloped by her soft sweater, by her comforting scent. "I'd sit with you here for as long as you need me. I love you, and I'm always going to love you, even when you don't feel like you deserve it," she promised.

You tried to burn her words into your memory. You didn't want to ever forget them. Not the way she said them, her chest vibrating under your ear, or the way she spoke slowly, wanting you to hear every sentence.

Leaning up, you softly kissed Alexia's pillowy lips. It was slow, and somehow meaningful. It communicated how thankful you were for her words, for how patient she was with you. She kissed you back, cradling your face like it was breakable, lips moving against yours perfectly. You broke apart after a minute, and you looked up at her, at the adorable way she her eyes crinkled slightly when they met yours.

'Thank you for being here," you said.

"Always," she replied, without hesitation. She'd promised it before, but something about this time was different. You believed her.

-----

soft alexia <3

[littlerosetrove]

I think the show is going to start doing better by Eddie in upcoming episodes, and I desperately hope I’m right. Some critical thoughts incoming because I just want better for Eddie.

My focus of this post is about Eddie being in a romantic relationship, although there are absolutely so many potential storylines to delve deeper into with Eddie. Trust me, I know. 

I do get why Eddie was with Ana, I do. That man was still repressing so much trauma for starters, and (even now) Eddie was also feeling pressured by society and his upbringing to “give Chris another mom.” It was something Eddie felt like he should do. And hooboy does Eddie still need to work on issues surrounding things he often feels like he “should” do. We all know that Eddie stuck it out with Ana far longer than he should have (Ana is guilty of this two, cause it takes two to tango). An apt description for Eddie is that he’s “the architect of his own misery.” ← Idk who originally said this phrase, but I got it from @yramesoruniverse, and it’s true. 

Speaking of misery. No matter how the show tried to paint it as something cute and good, there is nothing actually good about Marisol and Eddie. Let me explain and bear with me. 

Let’s be real. The show during 6B treated Eddie’s loneliness and his subsequent desire to date as a joke. Maybe not 100%, but even 1% is too much. That montage of Eddie going hiking, playing golf (??), and hanging out at a fucking country club (?????) to find a date? That was played for laughs. 

Now at one point, Eddie had a genuinely great heart to heart with Bobby. I can’t recall their conversation exactly right now since I haven’t rewatched season 6 since it aired, but I know Bobby basically said Eddie should find someone who will sit with him during the hard times (please correct me if I’m wrong).  

But then the show tried to frame Eddie running into Marisol - someone he met on a call - as this spark, this magical moment. Let’s remember that in season 6 Eddie was wistfully reminiscing on his and Shannon’s beginning and called it magic. And so again, the show tried to say, “Hey look! Eddie bumping into Marisol (no last name) is meant to be. This is magic!” Then we jump into season 7 where we’ve gotten no development on Marisol still, and zero development on their relationship, unless you want to call Eddie admitting to using Marisol as a babysitter as some development. Hell, we don’t even know how Chris feels about her. With all of this in mind, to me this just looks like Eddie had grabbed onto the first person he could so he wouldn’t be lonely. If the show wanted us to care an iota about Marisol or their relationship in any capacity, they would have. But they haven’t. And that’s just heartbreaking for Eddie. All they’ve given Eddie is a surface level, nothing of a relationship. 

It’s clear Eddie and Marisol are going to break up in 7x7 at the latest, and… for what? 7x5 will definitely have to do some backfilling on where and why their relationship isn’t going to work (it doesn't appear Marisol will be in 7x6). Even still, what was the point of it all?? Before anyone says it, yes Eddie is allowed to date, even casually, but GD there’s been nothing to grasp onto, you know? No reason to feel even remotely excited or happy that Eddie’s dating, specifically not with Marisol (and the actress is a shitty person) who ffs doesn’t even have a last name. Just having two attractive people in the same room does nothing for me, sorry. 

To try and conclude this, this *gestures at everything I just said* is why I want better for Eddie and Ryan. I really really hope we’re going to get something of substance for Eddie as a character. Yes it’s been great to see Eddie so much happier in season 7 (thanks to therapy, though he needs more, and Buck and Tommy lbr), but, and to stick with the relationship aspect of it all, I want better for Eddie. Idk if Eddie will have or needs someone like Tommy for himself, or if Eddie is just going to work on himself before the next relationship he’s in will be Buck. We’ll have to wait and see, but yeah…. Eddie just. deserves better. 

(this post was inspired by a recent conversation I had with @elvensorceress)

[mhahaikyuus]

Wait for me

Tags:; angst to fluff, exes to lovers, mentions of therapy, drinking, trying to move on, Bakugo groveling, crying, happy ending

“I don’t want to talk to you”

“But I want to talk to you.” He insisted as you kept walking trying evade him. Katsuki’s hulking figure trying to blocking your path.

“What do you want? Huh?” He said speed walking a little in disbelief at how fast your legs could move from him.

“To leave me alone.”

He grabbed your hand and yanked it stopping you both from the street. Katsuki pulling you to the side from the busy pathway both of you were inhabiting into a alleyway.

“I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

“No.” You groaned tired of the same routine.

“Shoes?”

“I already have a pair.” You said with dead eyes and a blank face.

“You want a bag?”

“Nope.”

He was getting desperate.

“Makeup? Clothes? Books? I’ll buy you a car! Come on im trying here.” He said exasperated

You shrugged.

You were shut down from him. Looking at him as if he was a stranger not your ex boyfriend you hadn’t spoken to in almost two weeks.

“I don’t want your money. If i did I would have kept talking to you.”

He sucked his teeth in annoyance.

“You know what I want.” You continued looking at him unimpressed. This show of money irritating you.

“You know I can’t-“ He struggled to put it into words. Fortunately you knew him like the back of your hand

“Okay. I’m not forcing you and i’m not going to demand you. It’s your choice. I can’t be in a relationship with you anymore.” You said with a sigh letting down your wall even if it was an inch.

Katsuki felt his stomach turn at your words. He hadn’t had many relationships in his life and he was known for his abrasive personality. Something all his previous partners had to endure. Katsuki knew it was wrong but always made it clear, if you couldn’t deal with it the door was always open.

It wasn’t til seeing you walk out made him reconsider everything.

All you had asked for was an apology. To admit he was wrong and say sorry.

But it would never come, and after a while it took a toll on you.

Gifts and a hug were nothing to you, and Katsuki trying to skirt around those two words began to hurt your heart.

You brought it up after every fight asking him to address your needs.

When it was clear he wouldn’t, you accepted it. Never one to beg you took up Bakugo on his words, leaving him.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for, “If that’s all, can I go now or do you have something else to say.” Adjusting your bag and shuffling your feet.

Katsuki felt ashamed of himself but the words still wouldn’t leave his mouth. Letting you know his pride was worth more than your relationship.

But what else could you expect, dating the number two pro.

The correct choice was made, no matter how heartbroken you were. Seeing him now confirmed that. He wouldn’t change.

Katsuki mumbled, “No I dont.”

You nodded, “Alright, it was good seeing you. If you need something you can call me, okay?” Offering him a small smile and going on your way, blinking back tears.

You wanted so badly to be angry at him but you couldn’t. It wasn’t meant to be. If he wanted to change he would for the right person and you weren’t her. It wasn’t his fault. All you could hope was he would be happy and he learned to better himself because he wanted to, that or find the right person. But you didn’t want to think about it, the very thought making you want to collapse.

Katsuki watched you leave feeling the hole in his chest grow.

It had been two weeks since you had left him teary eyed. Your last words replaying in his mind.

“I want an apology for what you said.”

He dragged his hand down his face, “I know but you know how I feel why do I have to say it.”

“You can’t say two words?” You asked sadly truly realizing his ego was his number one priority.

He almost started grinding his teeth almost as if he was in agony at the thought of putting you first.

“Nevermind…I know I shouldn’t have asked.” Your previous words felt to close to begging for your liking.

He let out a sigh of relief, thinking you would let it go. Like you had done one hundred times before.

Why were you with someone who would never put you first?

After a moment of silence you spoke up “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

You had also realized you had let this behavior go on 100 times before, and it wasn’t right. You didnt deserve that.

“What?” He said in a shaky voice starting at your dispirited form.

“I don’t want to be with you anymore. I won’t ask you to change when you don’t want to. It’s better to end things now than end up miserable.” You said slowly

He made you feel as though a future with him would end in misery.

It was all he could think about for the last two weeks. After the first day seeing you not respond to his texts he left you alone. His pride too big.

Bakugo felt he was stuck in a constant cycle of wanting to swallow his pride and chase after you. The fact you wouldn’t beg or plead with him to change caused him to spiral. But he couldn’t. After decades of this behavior it was impossible for him to try and make another choice.

Instead soft moments you two shared plaguing his mind.

Cuddling after a long day while Katsuki groaned into your chest as he told you about his day.

“Commission told me I needed to change my attitude if I was going to work on the mission and I told them to fuck off.” He grumbled as you raked your hands through his hair.

You laughed at his words.

“Good because I wouldnt want you to change for anyone. I like you exactly as you are.”

He glared at you his chin resting on your chest.

“Like?”

You huffed at his insecurity but never complained, always happy to reassure.

“Love, i love you exactly as you are.” You corrected yourself.

He had never met anyone who had so wholeheartedly accepted him. Even in your worst moments you never wavered on your love for him.

Everyone else, his friends, his family, his own mother. Every single one told him his flaws in detail and told him he had to change. It angered him to no end but he knew he had no one to blame but himself.

All you had asked was to try and put you first and he foolishly took that for granted. Now Katsuki only had fleeting moments with you. He had carefully orchestrated after spending so many nights alone. Katsuki had noted your most common areas of walking in the city when you were together and asked a favor to switch patrol times.

Seeing your familiar jacket and hair he took his chance to see you again.

Katsuki didn’t know what he would say when he saw you again. He just needed to. But it only to affirmed your reasoning for leaving him.

Seeing you walk away for the second time was a widening hole to his chest. Worse than any pain a villian had inflicted upon him.

The one person who never asked him to change, walked away.

He loved you more than life. Why couldn’t he say the words.

The days got longer and the nights became sadder. The remnants of your presence left in his apartment were the only thing keeping him going.

Your toothbrush next to his on the sink, lotion on the nightstand, pillow smelling of perfume on his bed.

Not seeing you curled up in bed, the tv blaring whatever show you liked, the smell of shared dinner wafting in the apartment. Katsuki realized what he had done.

He was ashamed.

Your toothbrush next to his untouched, your pillow smell less of you everyday, and making dinner for one made him silently weep before he left in the morning and every night before he went to bed.

Bakugo had always assumed he was going to end up alone since he was a child. His awareness never seeing a reason to be sad. But now he had the experience of love it was devastating. It was all his fault.

Two weeks of no contact besides Katsuki’s street ambush turned into 2 months.

You were heartbroken but tried to move on.

The feelings of guilt and shame didn’t carry onto your side.

Each date you powered through. If you weren’t the right person for Bakugo, then he couldn’t be the one for you.

These dates could let you find someone who, on the off chance could love you back as much as you did them.

It didn’t change the result, each date ending with a kiss and you coming home alone to cry.

Until you found a sweet guy named Yuki. He was nothing like your ex. Very kind, quiet, and he liked you a lot.

Sorry was at the tip of his tongue in his daily speaking, slightly shocking but it was a nice change.

On a coffee date he had bumped your chair a little too rough and almost went into a panic.

“I’m so sorry are you alright?” He asked with widened brown eyes of fear as you readjusted yourself.

It was all you could do to not laugh.

“I’m fine, i swear. Stop apologizing.” You said gently touching his hand to calm him.

He was shy, rubbing the back of his neck, “Okay.”

Todoroki was picking up bakery sweets for his girlfriend, a stop on his way to home from patrol. Seeing you and Yuki on your fourth date enjoying each others company in the corner of a small cafe.

He interrupted your date to say hi.

“Hi y/n how are you.” Todoroki asked standing at your table. It had been a while since he had seen you.

It was a shock to see one of Bakugo’s friends after removing yourself from his life.

“Hi Shoto! How are you?” You asked

Making small talk before Shoto said his goodbyes and left not wanting to interrupt.

“Who was that?” Yuki asked seeing slight distress in your eyes.

“Oh…um an old friend.” You replied with a small smile changing the topic.

The only thing on your mind, wondering if Shoto would tell him.

Bakugo wanted to die.

Shoto on patrol mentioned offhandedly seeing you with a friend yesterday night at a cafe. Having no idea that the two of you were broken up.

In the two months of being alone he was trying everything to fix himself.

One weak night he had, he broke and came to his father in tears asking what to do.

His father was so gentle mannered and quiet and he loved his mom. Making a copy of his wife, when they found out they were expecting. Both Bakugo and Mitsuki butting heads due to being so similar. If anyone could talk to him it was Masaru.

“What do I do? I need her” He said tearfully. Katsuki had pride and not anyone could see him this vulnerable. But his father knew him so intimately it was hard to keep that wall up.

Masaru was gentle but he was firm. The only way to be with his wife for this long. “You need professional help. Therapy might be best for you.”

Bakugo nodded in defeat at his words.

Now once a week he sat in a office on a cramped couch to discuss his feelings.

He hated it.

Everytime the therapist asked him a question Katsuki wanted to snap at him. Instead taking a deep breath and grumbling out an answer.

Remembering that you would move on and could find someone if he didn’t do this.

Now his worst nightmare came true. As he was trying to work on himself you had moved on. Icy Hot being a dumbass and rambling about seeing you last night with a “friend”, Bakugo knew all your friends and what he had described was a date.

He got off of work and went straight to the bar to drink. Something he did rarely but today called for a drink.

You were sleeping in your bed as one does at 2am. When your ex boyfriend pounded on your door waking you and your neighbors up.

Jumping from your sleep at the noise of his giant fist slamming against the door. At first you thought someone was breaking in but the incessant banging shook the sleep from your head. Dragging yourself out of bed to swing open your door. To see your ex leaning against the doorframe towering over you. Liquor on his breath and cloudy red eyes. He looked so different from the last time you saw him. Bloodshot eyes sunken deep with bags, he had scruff on his usual clean shaven face, and his hair was longer.

You jumped back in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” You said almost tripping on your own feet to move away.

“I missed you.” He said pushing his way in.

“It’s 2am and youve been drinking.” You scolded him.

A cocky smile graced with face. “You worried about me baby.”

Okay he was really drunk.

“I’m calling you a cab home, sit on the couch.” You said grabbing your phone. Katsuki plucked it out your hand and pulled you in by the waist. Smelling your hair with a deep inhale. You shoved him back in shock.

“Katsuki! You can’t. Sit down.” You said his hand still firmly on your waist.

Now you were back in his arms he wasn’t letting go.

“I love you.” He said with a drunk slur nuzzling your neck.

You pulled your upper body back and gripped his face.

“Listen to me.”

His drunk eyes were glazed over but he focused on your voice. He nodded.

“Sit down and let me go.” You said slowly

“I already let you go once.” He said and you could see his eyes water. Your chest hurt at his words.

You sighed, “Okay, and im coming back. Just lay back on the couch.”

“Promise?”

He was such a sappy drunk.

“I promise.”

He nodded slowly letting you go and you guided him to the couch.

You grabbed a bottle of water and put two pieces of bread in a toaster.

Bakugo was face first into your couch. Gently pulling his body up he swung his arm around and yanked you into his lap.

You huffed at his touchiness.

“Eat and drink up.”

He nodded almost crumbling up the toast into a ball to eat it in under a minute and chugging the water.

At least he wasn’t fussing about the bread and water. An attempt to try to sober him up, but that seemed to fail. The only comfort knowing tomorrow morning wouldn’t be as bad for him.

“Where is he?” Katsuki asked

You were half listening to him, “Who?”

“Yuki.” He said leaning on your neck, “Your new boyfriend.”

You prepared for this, when Shoto greeted you. Still his question made your heart squeeze.

“Not here, and he’s not my boyfriend.” You corrected brushing back his hair, letting yourself fall for a moment. Knowing it was wrong. Even if the love you had for him still existed it didn’t mean you could show it. It wasn’t healthy, you broke up for a reason.

Pulling back from him, climbing out of his lap.

His hand grabbing your own and locking your fingers.

“I fucked up.” Katsuki said leaning into you. “I’m sorry.”

You froze at his words, telling yourself

hes drunk

“I’m sorry I was an asshole. I lost you.” He mumbled again with watery eyes.

Twice he had said the words that had broken you up. Holding his face you nodded with matching sad eyes..

“You weren’t all bad. We just weren’t meant to be together.” You struggled to put it into words feeling your chest ache.

He nodded slurring, “I’m changing, i’m trying.”

You hummed gently laying him back. He was finally losing steam and the drunkenness catching up to him.

“I’m happy for you.” You said putting a blanket over him.

His eyes were half open and his pinkie still locked in yours.

“I’m in therapy. Talking about my feelings n shit. You know i’d do anything for you. Ya love of my life. Can’t believe i lost ya im drowning. Im gonna be better, for you.” He murmured. His crimson eyes closed, features relaxing succumbing to sleep.

You left another glass of water on your coffee table and a trashcan by the sofa. Quietly closing your door to your bedroom. Sobbing into your pillow, wishing it was real. The small part of you still wanting for the both of you to be together. But drunken words meant nothing in the morning.

The next morning you walked in to Bakugo sleeping on your couch. He always woke up late when he drank. Two years together you knew him as well as breathing. Closing your door you didn’t want to wake him.

Around 1pm you heard shuffling and creaking of your couch. A small knock was heard on your door before Katsuki slowly came in.

He looked as terrible as last night.

“Hey,” You said quietly

He cleared his throat ashamed at what he had done, “Hi, look i don’t…whatever happened i’m sorry.”

“How are you feeling?” You said shutting the book you were reading, gesturing for him to sit on the bed.

“Like I got hit by a truck.” He admitted sitting down at the foot of the bed on the side that was previously his.

You nodded, “Um you were just drunk and mumbling. Don’t worry about it, I know drunk words don’t mean anything.”

He nodded, “My bad.”

Katsuki was getting flashes of what he said. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Drunk mumbles of what he was thinking all the time.

You shrugged, “You had a bad night. I’m just concerned that you are okay. You don’t look the best.”

He fiddled with the seam of his pants unable to look at you, “You heard everything I said last night?”

“Yeah, but like I said. I know it didn’t mean-“

Katsuki interrupted “I meant every word, at least everything I remember, it’s coming back in pieces.”

“Katsuki you were drunk and emotional. We can just mark it off as a bad night. It’s partly my fault for letting you get so close.”

In truth some of the words he said you took with a grain of salt.

Katsuki in therapy made you laugh. He always grunted about how stupid it was to talk and he would never.

He was regretful for how things ended but that was common in a breakup. Getting drunk was an outlet for unsaid emotions. Along with the fact he was a sappy drunk.

It wasn’t real.

He would never change for you.

A bad night, that’s all it would ever be.

Bakugo was getting frustrated at you letting him off the hook. This would be so much easier if you grilled him or yelled about his actions last night.

But you were giving him an out. He wanted to take it. Feelings made him sick, vulnerability scarier than any else in this world.

You knew this about him. It hurt his heart that you were still so loving to him.

Katsuki took two deep breaths and covered his face with his hands. Elbows resting on his knees.

“How did I fuck this up this bad.” He muttered to himself fighting back tears.

Unable to hear what he said you hesitantly touched his shoulder to grab his attention.

“Sorry what did you say?”

He studied you a moment and took every piece of advice that stupid therapist had given him about you.

If you want her to think about giving you a chance, you have to be honest with her. You have to make the decision to try and put her first even if it makes you uncomfortable. If you love her you will try.

Ignoring every fiber of his being screaming at him to shut up and take the out. Leave you alone so he wouldn’t have to be vulnerable.

“I said how did i fuck this up this bad.”

You shrunk back at his words, “Oh…” Recognizing the venom in his tone and mistaking the anger he had towards himself at you.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

He almost barked out a laugh, “I’m so in love with you this is killing me. And now you don’t believe anything I said.” His retinas burning with unshed tears

You swallowed at this confession. Even if you both loved each other…it wouldn’t be enough. Love isn’t enough as much as you wanted it to be.

“You were drunk I would never hold you to drunk words.”

“I meant every word. I fucked this up because I was selfish. I still love you and this is killing me. And now you’re moving on and I have no one to blame but myself. I’m trying to get better, for you. I took you for granted. But i was telling the truth last night i’m going to therapy im trying to work through my shit so if you ever changed your mind about me you won’t be miserable. So we could have a chance. I’m sorry.” He said so sadly.

Tears were dripping down your face once he finished. Shaky breaths the only noise in the room.

He was saying everything you wanted but why so late? Why did it have to get to this point for him to realize.

Katsuki froze at you crying your eyes out grabbing you and holding you to his chest as you sobbed.

“Please don’t cry. Please.” He whispered

“I wanted you to get better while we’re together. I thought maybe if i was the right person you would. But so much has happened, we’re not together anymore. I don’t think we’re right for each other. I don’t think i’m right for you. I don’t…i don’t think love is suppose to hurt this way.”

Katsuki felt like a brick was on his chest as he tried to stay afloat. You didn’t think you were suppose to be together? You didn’t think that you were right for him?

When in all this time, that was the only thing Katsuki was sure of.

“You are the only girl for me. The only person in this world I want to be with. We’ve been apart and that’s what is hurting us, not our love for each other.” Katsuki was cradling your face regret written all over his, “I know. I made a mistake. It took me losing you to figure that out but i’m making changes i’m trying.”

“I can’t…”

“Please baby please.” Katsuki didn’t care he was begging now. Pride out the window the second he decided to come over last night belligerent. These past two months without you were agony. He couldn’t imagine doing this for the rest of his life.

“I can’t trust you to do the same as last time. I don’t want to do that again.” You said your hand over his, tears still dripping.

He nodded, “Okay, I understand. What do you want me to do, I’ll do it. I can’t be without you anymore baby I can’t sleep, I can’t eat I need you. Just one more chance, that’s all i’m asking. I promise I won’t screw it up. I’ll prove to you we’re right for each other, I’ll earn your trust back.”

You took deep breaths pulling back from him Katsuki kept your hands in his, his face leaning into yours, vermillion eyes frantic studying your own. Trying to break through the walls you had built up in your time apart. His other hand wiping your tears.

You took 3 shaky breaths trying to calm down your breathing. “You have to keep going to therapy. We won’t be together until I see actions not just words.” You said “I need to see you make an effort. I don’t want to go back to the same relationship. If you really want to change for me you need to show it. And no more trying to buy my love instead of apologizing.”

Bakugo was holding his breath hoping for you to give him a chance he didn’t deserve.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship until I do. We can date but we aren’t together until I say so.”

Bakugo felt his chest lift. You were giving him another chance. He knew he didn’t deserve it, he didn’t deserve a minute more of your time. But that would change. He would make himself worthy enough to call himself your life partner. Katsuki would remove any doubt you had about him.

Bakugo nodded his head

“Whatever you want baby. Just wait for me?”

You nodded, “I’ll wait for you.”

[ashsd3ad]

# being gojo satoru’s therapist.

word count: 2.5k-ish

some angst (suicide is mentioned very briefly), no use of y/n, cursing, female!reader, idiots unknowingly pining for each other, emotionally constipated gojo

it was so fucking stupid, he didn’t need any of this. he’s the strongest sorcerer of the modern era for god’s sake.

why on earth was he being forced to see a goddamn therapist?

upon yaga’s request- well, demand actually, he was required to see a shrink because, as the principal worded it, he needed ‘a lot of fucking help’.

of course, he refused at first.

thee satoru gojo in a shrink’s office? what was that, some twisted fucking joke?

sadly for him though, yaga decided to put his foot down and he wasn’t taking no for an answer. he threatened the snowy haired man to take away his teaching job if he didn’t get the help he apparently desperately needed.

so it began, satoru gojo’s journey with his therapist.

over the course of a couple of months, satoru had grown accustomed to his routine with his therapist.

he met up with her in her cozy little office, she tried to make the conversation about his feelings and he’d redirect it to something else entirely, mainly complaining about higher ups in his field.

that always earned him a look, but she never forced him to share his inner monologues with her.

she couldn’t do that even if she wanted to anyways, he wouldn’t let her.

all of this led to an unlikely.. friendship?

well, satoru wouldn’t exactly call it a friendship, but it was.. something.

that day, was no different than their usual meetings.

a tall and lean figure made its way into her office and sat on the comfortable armchair in front of her about 30 minutes prior, but all she got from him up until that point were silences and changes of subject.

“and how did that make you feel?” god here she went again with that stupid fucking question.

satoru sighed, stretching his legs and arms a little.

sometimes she forgot how massive he actually was.

the woman briefly averted her eyes, looking everywhere but at his stupidly stunning figure, afraid yet another crack would appear in her professional persona.

she’d tell herself it wasn’t her fault, it was only natural after all! he was just very nice to look at.

she could be pretty dense, for a therapist.

“you worry too much,” he said casually, albeit a little irritated, after some back and forth. for some reason he couldn’t quite understand, his mood wasn’t the best that day, but he still tried to keep his usual laid back attitude, hiding the annoyance behind a pout. for her sake.

“i’ve told you countless times, i’m here just because i was basically forced, nothing is actually wrong with me.. if yaga didn’t constantly check in with you, i wouldn’t even attend our ‘sessions’ in the first place”.

well.. if he had to be completely honest, satoru had told only half the truth.

he attended their meetings also because his therapist was a very pretty sight to look at, and surprisingly interesting to talk to (when she wasn’t trying to pry into his feelings, that is.)

satoru was more than aware she was only trying to do her job, he really was. he just.. didn’t care, so he decided he was going to make it her problem. maybe he’d manage to get her to her wits end and she’d finally give up on him.

‘please don’t give up on me’

gojo leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. a playful smile took over his previously pouty lips as he said something along the lines of ‘why don’t we talk about YOUR feelings instead?’.

maybe he could joke his way out of this? he hoped he could.

his therapist sighs, scrunching her nose and pinching the bridge of it slightly. cute.

“we don’t talk about my feelings because i am your therapist, not the other way around, gojo” she countered, trying to keep the conversation as workplace appropriate as possible, suppressing the urge to headbutt the stubbron (and gorgeous) man in front of her.

the woman was very proud of her skills as a therapist, so much so that the lack of progress with this peculiar snowy haired man left her particularly dissatisfied, so she started putting slightly more effort than usual in trying to crack his façade, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“and, for your information, i do worry about you for a reason” she continued, voice firm, stern even.

‘she really worries about me?’

“judging by the very limited amount of insight on yourself you’ve provided me, you really do need someone to talk to about your feelings” his pretty therapist added, looking at him straight in the eyes.

she looked like she wanted to obliterate his sunglasses with her mind.

‘don’t look at me like that’

feelings feelings feelings, he was so tired of hearing her going on about them.

after that statement his mood quickly worsened even more, his face fading in a cold, borderline cynical, front.

‘well, thats a first’ she thought to herself, a little taken aback.

satoru had been curious about what exactly she saw in him from day one. was it concern? pity?

‘i don’t want her pity’

whatever it was, it was a waste of time on both ends.

"i see" he hummed thoughtfully as he tapped his fingers against his knee, pondering on his next words. "can I ask you something?"

“sure, go ahead” she answered calmly, a bit of unsureness and skepticism detectable in her voice given the sudden shift in his character.

satoru seemed to stare right through her for a few moments. his gaze was cold and unmoving, his eyes felt like they were piercing hers in a way that no other client's ever has.

“have you ever considered…” he begins slowly, voice low “that you might not be as good at this job as you think you are?”

his words were sharp, each one chosen with great intent. there was something behind his eyes that both fascinated and terrified her.

‘im sorry’

her eyes widened momentarily at his question.

a flash of annoyance, maybe even anger, thundering in them as her eyebrows furrowed, her lips parting to throw an equally biting remark back at him.

be professional.

she took a deep breath and crossed one leg over the other, speaking calmly once again.

“if you want to criticise my skills you’re free to do so, even though you’re not qualified to do so” the woman retorted.

“and if you want a different therapist you’re more than free to ask mr. yaga” her words did have a little edge to them, but she still managed to keep most of her composure.

before the man in front of her could get a word in, she added one more thing.

“but from my perspective, a therapist’s perspective, you do need one” she said as she tapped her heeled foot on the ground.

‘i know i need help’

‘help me please’

satoru pondered for a couple of seconds, then he chuckled humourlessly as he leaned back in his chair.

his face was stoic, similar to a statue, and his eyes lacked their usual shininess, almost looking muddy.

not that she’d noticed anyways, considering they were hidden behind his glasses.

there was an intensity to his gaze though, one that made even just looking at him feel as if she was under a microscope.

"I think you're taking this too personally." he hums, mocking her ever so slightly.

"i’m not criticising your skills per se, all I'm saying is..." he pauses for a moment, considering how best to say it. "even a blind man could see your ‘concern’ for me runs deeper than the usual pity you feel for all your patients”

“you must think i’m really fucking pathetic, huh?”

what the fuck was he going on about?

“my concern for you, or any other patient for the matter, is not based on pity in the first place, gojo” she looked at him, her face bewildered.

“you think i pity you?” she raised both her eyebrows in question, the incredulous expression still on her face.

satoru chuckles. though the sound is soft and quiet, delightful to hear, something about its sweetness makes it bone chilling.

nonetheless, this made her excited.

it was the widest range of emotions he’d ever shown her.

‘im breaking through!’

“do you not?” he asks, shifting in his chair, and leaning back in it once again, folding his arms over his broad chest.

“why else would you be trying as hard as you are to ‘fix’ me?” he asks, a frown stretched across his gorgeous face.

“i’m just a client like any other, but yet here you are! trying your damn hardest to change me.”

ah, so he did noticed her extra effort huh. fuck.

still, who the hell put the idea she pitied him into his stupid head?

“i do not pity you, gojo. i’ve seen patients far worse than you are” she said, almost sounding a little defensive.

“and i’m not trying to ‘fix you’, or change you for that matter! that is not my job!” she exclaimed, a smidge too loud, massaging her temple with one of her hands immediately after. probably to chase away the growing headache he’d given her.

‘i managed to piss off my own therapist what the fuck is wrong with me and why do i even care?’

before he was completely swallowed by his self deprecating thoughts, her voice brought him back once again, like a saving grace.

“my job is helping patients navigate through their emotions, using methods that are tailored perfectly for them” she explained.

“i communicate with my patients to help them find a way to process their feelings that works for them. i do not pity them, i just help them” she paused “..or, well, try to. if they let me” the woman concluded, face serious.

his face twists in distaste as he listened to her speak. bullshit.

“that’s the thing though,” he responds slowly “i don’t need help with that”

the man pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, finally meeting her eyes properly.

‘he’s so pretty’

“you think I need your little ‘tools’? or to talk about my feelings??” he said, annoyance lacing his voice.

“i have always known how to process my emotions. I don���t need you to teach me how. i’m. fine.”

she barely held back the urge to scoff.

gojo had never realised how bad his coping mechanism were, and she was just trying to get him to develop healthier ones, bit by bit.

‘communicating would be a great fucking start’

evidently though, it wasn’t working, so she decided it was time to switch up her approach and be a little brazen, maybe that would work.

“you? processing emotions? that’s a good one.” she snickered

he scrunched his nose up, questioningly “and what could you possibly mean by that, huh?” he felt himself get more and more agitated as the seconds ticked by.

he felt like he was being stripped naked, exposed, against his will. all the things he’d worked so hard to bury, the careless persona he’d built..

‘stop looking at me, stop finding out things about me i don’t want you to know.’

“you bottle everything up, pretend it’s fine and let it eat at you from the inside, little by little” she looked at him menacingly, her eyes narrowed into slits.

“that big goofy grin, or the confident smirk you put on, doesn’t work in here, gojo”

she clicked her tongue in disapproval. “in this office, i’m reading you, not the other way around” she continued ad she pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“i know you’re used to getting you way, because you’re smart, even though it doesn’t look like it, but as long as your ass is sat in that chair, you won’t find a way to give me answers you think will please me”

“if your goal is to get me to tell yaga to get off your back, then we’re going to be here for loooong. i’m striving for the truth and i’m going to get it”

to hell with being professional.

the man remained silent for a few moments, his expression almost..hurt? “…I think I hate you.”

he smiled in defeat, leaning forward once again, and though his voice was even and calm, it came out a bit strained.

“no, I know I do.” he didn’t though, and that confused him to no end.

the woman gently laid her hands in her lap, trying to ignore the sting his words left in her chest as her voice went back to its usually stoic connotation, completely discarding the venom it previously dripped in.

“i get that a lot from patients like yourself” she started, calmly.

“usually, they drop therapy after a few session because they can’t handle the truth being thrown in their face and then, after a while..”

a pause, like she was choosing her next words carefully “they end up dropping dead on the floor when the fire crew cuts the rope they hung themselves from” she finished, her expression darkening ever so slightly.

“you think you don’t need help, you think you’re fine just ignoring your emotions, but one day they will catch up to you and it’ll be too late to save you” her voice lowered, almost shamefully, as she tore her eyes away from his.

“nobody will be there to save you from drowning.”

satoru looked shocked for a moment, then he felt a sudden and unprovoked rage take over his body.

how dare she?

he wasn’t like that. he was strong. the strongest, actually.

he wordlessly jumped up from of his seat and went to stride straight out of the room, with the intention of never stepping foot there again, but then he stopped, his back still to her.

for some weird reason he couldn’t quite comprehend, gojo felt the need to still try and prove he was fine, despite the fact the issues he’d tried so hard to hide had been uncovered and brought up to the scorching sunlight.

“i’m not stupid. i am perfectly aware shit might eventually catch up to me, but i’m the strongest fucking being that ever walked this earth, i’ll deal with it”

what was meant to be a powerful statement, came out sounding whiny and hoarse, almost like he was trying to delude himself into believing his own words.

‘at least he admitted he has issues, progress is progress’

his therapist opened her mouth to talk, but he didn’t give her a chance.

he felt like he was being consumed by a sudden and foreign rage.

“BESIDES WHY DO YOU EVEN CARE?!” he suddenly screamed, rapidly turning to face her again, his glasses being hauled across the room in the process.

“why are you that concerned over some stranger like me?” he adds, his expression hard, “do you genuinely, truly, believe I’m worth helping?!”

‘we’re going to have to work on these self deprecating thoughts’

‘im the strongest, i don’t need to be cared for.’

“yes, i do” she stood up from her chair in a (failed) attempt to not crane her neck upwards to look at him.

“i do believe you are worth helping” she assured him in a gentle voice “you can walk out now, if you wish, but never forget this is a safe space where you’re free to talk, satoru” she said, her words surprisingly comforting.

“you’re not a god, you’re human just like the rest of us”

being called human never felt so good.. and it was also the first time she had ever called him by his first name.

and just like that, the usual gojo satoru was back, cracking jokes.

“do you normally call your clients by their first name, or am i special?” he asked, the question dripping with sarcasm and a tiny bit of flirt, as a small smile appeared on his lips.

the angry pretty boy has been calmed down, success.

“you definitely have a savior complex” he added quietly, chuckling a bit “it’s cute”.

a smile made its way on her face too as she shook her head a little, her cheeks a little warm at the compliment “whatever lets you sleep at night”

the woman sat back down, once again crossing one leg over the other.

“now, will you sit down and give therapy an actual chance, satoru?” she looked up at him, expectantly and hopefully.

“yeah.. yeah, i’ll do that.”

gojo satoru may have been the strongest sorcerer in modern history, but he was still human like everyone else.

☆

| @ASHSD3AD ‘S WORK, DO NOT COPY OR TRANSLATE. |

[imagionationstation]

I know the evil Leo au involves the rise brothers being perfect, but do you think that they ever do anything perfect that's *not* perfect to Leo? Before he hates their guts and everything they do?

Like, they're genuinely meaning well but he doesn't like it kinda

He’s not evil!! He’s just… Sad :(

He’s a sad boy who needs to be chained up so he doesn’t hurt anyone. He needs therapy. He needs hugs. But mostly chains.

Oh, yeah, that definitely happens! All the time. Many times.

I think what's interesting is there are a number of things that the Rise brothers do in the show and they are portrayed as 'good' or 'relatable' and I kinda side-eye it like: Is it? Really??

But of course, I respect the differences of community and families that lead others to see themselves in the Risebrothers.

Leo is too busy being scared of losing his brothers. Which means that everything the Rise brothers have done and will do gets put under a microscope WITHOUT a "respect their choices" lens.

This scene was following me for hours. I wanted to try and think of something else better but I failed miserably. This is what you get.

(I really wanted to express that neither side is the villain nor the good guy in this scene and I'm hoping that I did that well.)

Disclaimer:

Author is NOT OCD but IS playing with the topic of OCD again. OCD symptoms such as: random, intense obsession based on fears of harming/being harmed, blind desperation to follow a safe ritual, and accidental self-harm due to failure to complete compulsion.

If any of these things are triggering, recommended to walk away.

Leo was having a surprisingly good time.

He thought that the brothers were exaggerating when they said that 'their whole situations' wouldn't be noticed- seriously, what is with that cope? Just say mutants- in even the busiest parts of the city. Rafa had even gone as far as suggesting that they put on a strange variety of assorted items for 'costumes' and walk freely through Times Square. The busiest area in any New York. In broad daylight.

"Just live the mascot!" Leon had instructed before leaping backward into the city streets. His brothers had followed his lead, with Don creating a mid-air purple slide to catch them. "GERONIMOOO!"

Leo couldn't bring himself to move. Or think. Much less breathe.

Then Mikey had crept to the edge of the building, eyes blow in worry, only to relax at the sight. He looked back at Leo, absolutely beaming, and said, "Look!"

Not a single person gave the alternate selves a second look. And when they did, it was to eagerly beg for a selfie.

"We're kinda celebs down here." Leon strutted beside Leo once they joined him on the ground, hands propped behind his head. "People love a good dance party."

Which, of course, led to them dancing on a billboard. Somehow.

Leo didn't know what to think but he felt better when Raph sidled in closer to their little brothers, sharp gaze on the crowd around them. The music was blasting and people were cheering and then Mikey bolted to leap up there with them before Leo could react.

Michael pulled him up and Leo's brothers looked as shocked as he felt. They looked at him, waiting for instruction. He didn't have any. They couldn't drag him down without causing a scene. Mikey joined their groove, laughing, and Leo waited for everything to go wrong.

The song ended and they got a standing ovation.

Mikey got a standing ovation. From a crowd of humans.

They came down. The crowd immediately swarmed them to beg for pictures and selfies. Their alternates jumped into poses with their fans, but Raph charged over with a furious "HEY!", bearing enough common sense to refuse them for Mikey.

It was one thing for them to video him from afar. It's another to get a photo up close and personal that could be pasted on the internet where humans could question the legitimacy of the 'costumes'.

Thankfully, that safety measure Mikey seemed to understand.

Then a squealing fan grabbed Mikey's leg and Leo watched her get thrown across the crowd. By Raph. A bunch of her friends caught her. No one else seemed to notice. He could tell by the way that worry melted into a broad grin that their hothead picked up on the lack of reaction too. He was emboldened by it, sizing up to a pretty big guy who was insistent that his son deserved a selfie.

Mikey was having the time of his life. Raph was too, green eyes tinted with a hint of malice, so Leo left them alone.

He slipped out of the way of the crowd that wouldn't stop pressing in, eyeing the piece of hovershell that was still blasting music, darting around the crowd with money bags. The people were dropping money into it, busting out their own moves as it passed by.

This dimension was weird. But maybe it wasn't all bad.

His alternate had been right. Even in broad daylight with a poorly made robe and blaster, no one was giving the mutant turtle a second look. Somehow, magically, they managed to fit right in.

He decided to go find his counterparts.

He hadn't been very... Accepting of the idea when they first presented it. And he hadn't been very kind with his dismissal. He didn't care what they did with their own time, but he really hadn't thought they were taking his brothers' safety seriously. He owed them an apology.

He spots Michael photo-bombing a group photo and catches him as he cartwheels by. "Michael!"

He turns and grins, "Hey, Leo! Having fun?"

"Yeah," He admits. "Actually, I wanted to-"

Leo hits his carapace, baffled to look up and see Leon standing over him. "Sorry! Just need to borrow you."

"Um." Leo feels the weird shift of his body passing through a portal and then the coarse concrete under him. He blinks the blue spots from his eyes. "Why?"

"Oh good!" Don says for him. "Someone else can talk sense into this mess. Leo, Michael, I don't care. Someone. Anyone but me."

Leo sits up when Leon stops crushing his lungs.

Donnie is standing next to the frustrated Don and Leo realizes that he completely forgot about him when he wandered off. He brushes the thought away, grateful that he made his way to the alternates, scanning the both of them to get a read before he interacts.

Don is as hard to read as ever, but his monotone seems more annoyed, possibly by whatever conversation they'd been having.

Donnie's arms are crossed tightly and face is pinched in defiance. Leo can recognize the look in his eyes. He's locked down on something and nothing that anyone says is going to convince him to let up. It's going to have to play out or a tantrum is incoming.

The Sensei does not want to deal with this right now, but he also can't leave their alternates to handle it.

There's no sign of any injury or imminent threats so Leo lets the sigh enter his voice. "Donnie, what's going on?"

"We have to go home." Donnie says, rapid. "I told them. I told them, Leo, but no one is listening. They’re acting like it’s a big deal when it’s not a big deal- I JUST want to go back! I’m not scared!"

Leo reaches out, "Donnie, I know it's weird-"

Donnie steps back. "NO! I'm supposed to tell you and now I've told you so now we can go home! We have to go home!"

"Some human bumped into him and he's been like this ever since." Don grumbles. "Just keeps saying that he needs to go home. I keep telling him that no one's in danger-"

"That's not the POINT!" Donnie fires back furiously. "I TOLD you and you're NOT LISTENING!"

"I'm not listening?!" Don puts a hand on his chest. "Buster, my arguments have been sound! You're the one who's stuck in the wrong side of his brain!"

"I'm not. I'm not." Donnie counters, looking at his older brother. "He hit me and he looked at me and there are so many."

"You knew how many would be here. And they're all friendly!" Leon offers brightly, "Tell him, Leo. We're all friends here, right?"

"Just let him go home." Leo says instead because there's never been any hope in fighting him when he gets that look in his eyes. It's a losing battle that they gave up on years ago. "Trust me, it’s not worth the energy.”

"He won't go unless someone goes with him." Don juts his chin. "And I can't leave my adoring fans."

"I'm not supposed too!"

"You literally run around this city alone all the time!"

"I'm not SUPPOSED TO!"

"He's right." Leo cuts in. "It's a rule Splinter made for when he gets like this outside the lair. I think he- ran off at one point and got lost? Or something? Anyway,” Leo looks to his brother as he wrings his hands and scans his face. Reluctantly, Leo consents, "I'll go to the lair with you, Donnie. Let's just let Raph and Mikey have their fun, okay?"

Donnie nods, moving toward him, but they're intersected.

"Hold on." Michael proclaims as he pushes Leo back and rolls up his sleeves, only for them to fall down again. "What's all this about going home? No one needs to go home. It's fine. We're chill."

"We have to go." Donnie argues because his one-track mind is impossibly dense. "There are humans here."

"Humans that love you guys!" Michael beams. "You fit right in!"

"We don't. We can't." He rambles. "You don't understand- I need the dojo. I can't be here. I-I can't-"

"Why not?" Leon interjects. "What's got your tail in knots?"

"I don't KNOW!" He snaps. "Just let us GO HOME! JUST LET US GO HOME! WHY CAN'T WE JUST GO HOME WE NEED TO GO-"

Leo wishes the floor would swallow him. This is exactly what he was afraid of. Donnie screaming his head off in broad daylight. Now humans were looking their way. He had to fix this.

"Seriously, guys, it would be easier-"

Michael cuts in. "I got this."

Leo hesitates, "I don't think-"

"Dude, chill." Michael waves in his face. "Let me work."

Leo could argue, but he doesn't. This Mikey was some kind of self-taught therapist. Right?

Everyone seemed to trust him. He was always insisting that he knew exactly how to handle things. And he'd been spending plenty of time evaluating Raph. He had to know what he was talking about.

Leo can hardly ever get Donnie to listen. Much less calm down when his temper snaps. They've been right about a lot of things so far.

Maybe Michael could succeed where their family had failed.

Michael walks up to Donnie. Smiles. Inhales slowly-

"BOI, YOU'RE KILLING THE MOOD! QUIT!"

Donnie jerks back like he'd been slapped. Utterly silent.

"Huh." Don says without looking up from his phone. "Dr Delicate Touch actually does have his uses."

"You know it." Michael winks at Leo. He stares at him like he'd lost his mind and then at his little brother, who's attempting to regain his voice. It falters as he tries, "I was only-"

Mikey stands on his toes to poke his forehead. "No."

"We have to-"

A rougher poke. "Nope."

"I'm sup-"

Rapid pokes. "Man, you’re not supposed to go nowhere. The party is right here! Give it a shot! You'll have fun, doctor's guarantee!"

Donnie shakes his head, voice cracking, "I can't."

"You can." Michael soothes with a comforting pat on his arm. His entire demeanor changes, soft and open. "I know this is different for you, but it'll be okay. Just one step at a time. That's how we do it. A little immersion therapy never hurt no one."

Leo watches the battle in his gaze, between the need to keep begging and the urge to bolt. Leo can’t understand how one brain can be so stubborn, but he knows that he's terrified to go back out and for one reason or another, they're actually going to make him.

"I can't." He blurts, "I know it's different and it's stupid- I have to go. I have to. I can't be here."

"You don't have to be here for long." Michael soothes. "Just a little bit. Fight the compulsion just a little. And then you go home."

"I can't." Donnie tries to remove him grip. Michael tightens it, smiling, "Trust me, bro. This is what you're supposed to do. Two minutes. Max. Then you go home like you're supposed to!"

"I'm... I'm supposed-" He looks his way, taller than them all yet somehow very small. "Leo?"

"Guys," Leo is startled when Don slides in his path. He gives him a dismissive stare. "Let the doctor work."

"One step at a time." Michael tugs him forward. "You can do it."

"You got this!" Leon grins as he moves behind him.

Don puts his phone away, "Finally."

Then Leon shoves and Michael pulls and Leo watches terror spark in his younger brother's eyes as he's forced toward the crowd-

Leon goes flying. A firm green hand wraps around the sheath and drags his brother back. Michael almost falls forward, flailing and giving him an incredulous look.

Leo's eyes are narrowed, fury bubbling in his chest as his younger brother cowers against him, and states, "He said no."

"C'mon, man, we pushed you out of your comfort zone and you were having a good time!" Leon proclaims as he gets to his feet. "Donnie will too! You gotta trust us."

"I trust him." Leo says firmly. "And if he doesn't want to go out, then I'm not going to force him."

“He wanted to come here.” Leon reminds. “He knew what’s up. He doesn’t really want to go now, do you, Donnie?”

"I don't know." His younger brother leans against him, nails digging into skin. "I don't know. I don’t know! I'm supposed- I-! i don't know what I'm supposed to do! I don't know I don't know I DON'T KNOW-"

"Hey," Leo says firmly. "You told someone. Just like Sensei said. Like you're supposed to." He glares at their alternates momentarily then looks to his lost little brother. "What do you want?"

"The dojo." He says, blood seeping between his nails. Leo carefully pries his hand from his arm, nodding as he leads it to gripping the leather strap instead. "But I can't. I can't!"

"Donnie-"

Donnie shakes his head, quick, "They said I can’t go home. I don’t understand. I can’t be here. I can’t go home. I can't! Where can I go? I can't be here and I can't be there so where can I-"

“We’re going home, to the dojo.” Leo interrupts carefully. “And we’re going to meditate. And then we’re going to be put all your thoughts down on paper so you know why your upset.”

“Like an essay.” Donnie recites breathlessly. “A research paper.”

“Just like always.” Leo presses. Donnie scans his face, some of the fear flecking away at the promise of normalcy. “Yeah.”

“Always?” Michael cuts in, urgent. “You don’t ever mix it up a little?”

Not since he was seven, Leo thinks. Outloud, he demands, “Why are you still here? We’re not going back out there so buzz off.”

“Hey, you can’t-” Michael holds up a hand to quiet Don. His eyes linger on Donnie’s arm. “Okay, so staying is too far, too freaky, I get it. He wants to run so you let him run. Coolio. What if instead of running to your lair, he goes to ours? Hmm? It’s connected. So basically right next door! Lil’ different, lil’ familiar, tots safe. He can go anywhere he wants to chill out. Do his sciency paper stuff.”

“No.” Donnie shakes his head through every word. “I can’t. We can’t. Why are you doing this?”

“We’re trying to help-” Michael’s voice is soft, but Leo can still hear the cruelty that led him to tell his frightened brother to shut up.

“Don’t.” He interjects with vile. All eyes go to him as he narrows his. “Leave him alone.”

Leon scoffs, “That Sensei garbage doesn’t work on-”

“He wants to go home.” Leo’s voice rises. “I’m taking him home.”

Frustration spark in Michael’s gaze. “Not a good idea.”

“I wasn’t asking your opinion.”

"You are ruining our session." He accuses with crossed arms. "You clearly don’t know what you’re doing!"

"We did what you wanted and he didn't like it." Leo waves at their surroundings. "And you know what? I think your egos should know that I'm not here because of you. I'm here because of them. And if one of them doesn't want to be here then I don't either."

“You’re feeding the compulsion.” Michael argues. “Every time he gives in is another reason not to fight any of the others.”

“If you had any idea of what you’re talking about, you wouldn’t be doing this.” Leo feels Donnie’s bruise-tight hold and the way his weight shifts to lead him backward. “The only reason that he’s like this is because of you.”

“It’s because you never stop him! That’s why he’s doesn’t know how to stop! Just look at how things turned out with April!”

“April is his best friend.”

Leo shakes his head, looking at his brother.

Donnie looks back at him, scanning his face. He likely doesn't know how pathetic the puppy-eyed stare is, but it’s a obvious sign that he wants the conversation to be over. Leo hardens his resolve.

“This is idiotic. We’re going home.”

They turn to go, but a glowing chain catches Leo’s wrist before he can take a step. “Don’t do that!”

Leo grabs the chain and whips him forward, grabbing the scuff of his hoodie as the ninpo flickers in startled eyes. “You’re not a therapist. You don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you ever raise your voice at my brother again…”

He leaves it there. No one moves.

Donnie tugs Leo’s arm. “We have to go.”

Leo drops him, leveling a dark glare as he steps away from their alternates, purple and blue lighting the alleyway. Then he turns as Donnie releases his grip and mutters, “Sorry. Let’s go.”

Anxious to return to the lair, Donnie doesn’t look back.

Pointedly, Leo doesn’t either.

[cherries-in-wine]

A sort of rant/review (mostly negative) of the tortured poets department:

English isn't my first language so apologising in advance for the mistakes <3

I don't think ttpd would've had so much criticism if it wasn't so hyped up by swifties and Taylor herself. Folklore and Evermore are my favourite albums and because Taylor put so much emphasis on how good the songwriting of this album is i thought i was going to love it. So my expectations were a more Lana del rey or the national kind of vibe, orchestral pop or psychedelic rock and it would be like a third sister to folklore and evermore. I've noticed that Taylor's albums are all starting to sound like midnights. 1989 is such a good pop album but 1989 tv sounds midnightified especially the vault tracks sound like they belong on midnights. As much as I love Jack Antonoff as he gave us some great albums i think Taylor desperately needs a new producer. I think the album is definitely "raw" in the sense that unlike the other albums that are super put together, in order and organised, ttpd is messy like a bunch of paragraphs from her notes app thrown together, it isn't essentially a bad thing, but if you're gonna talk about how ttpd required more song writing talent than any other album, it's pretty reasonable for people to be disappointed. I thought name was a reference to joe's group chat name and kind of poking fun at that, but oh no it's an actual fuking asylum and the whole idea makes me very uneasy. The reason why folklore and evermore work is because it's not from the perspective of Taylor but rather the people she's made up in her mind and because she is such a good story teller those albums sound awesome. Something about a straight cis billionaire white woman calling herself a tortured poet in all seriousness and romaticising asylums/electroshock therapy makes me so so so uncomfortable. I understand why swifties are so defensive and protective of Taylor, with all the shit that happened with Kim and Kanye but I feel like they think she's a god that can do no wrong, which is stupid you can like an artist but still call me them out their shitty decisions. The "oh you think her singing writing is not that good why don't you write something better" is such a stupid argument, this random person criticising Taylor isn't constantly referred to as the greatest song writer of our generation, she is. I saw a post saying "the biggest burn is that most songs are about Matty Healy and not Joe Alwyn" like excuse me but if my ex that I dated for many years just starts gushing over a slimy ass Nazi racist sexist pathetic excuse of a man, I'd go "thank god good riddance". What happened to "you are what you love" Taylor?. I really like some songs, but I keep getting disgusted when It clicks who they're about. "But daddy I love him" is a great song but it's about ratty Healy fuck off ew.

I have a lot more to say but my brain isn't braining so I'll update later lol

[munson-blurbs]

086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 003: We're the Freaks

Summary: You muster up some courage and devise a plan to help Eddie remember the good parts of his life, while the effects of his alternate dimension adventure begin to sink in.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction, mention of shock therapy, drug use, the beginnings of mutual pining hehehe

WC: 4.4k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 31, 1984

Eddie sees you before you can even greet him, lips turning upwards in a shy smile. It’s as though he was hoping you’d be at the party, desperate for the opportunity to talk with you. He stops counting the dollar bills clenched in his left hand and casts his eyes down for a second before looking back at you. 

“Hey, uh, hi. What can I do ya for?” He bites the inside of his cheek in a silent berating. You can practically hear his brain chastising him for such an awkward opening: ‘What can I do ya for?’ Christ, am I Eddie Munson or Andy Griffith? 

You hold out the twenty dollars from Carol. “Can I buy some weed?” If Worst Conversational Skills was an Olympic sport, the two of you could easily win the gold medal. Maybe they’d even create a platinum one for your extraordinary contributions. 

Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you cringe at your own question, or he doesn’t care. He only nods, rifling through his tin box. “You want just the flower or pre-rolled?” When he’s met with no answer, he brings his focus to you again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” No. Carol didn’t specify what she wanted; last time, he’d only had flower. Was she happy with that? Did she say anything about wishing it was already neatly rolled into a blunt for her to smoke? Your thumbnail tucks itself between your teeth, a nervous habit. You can practically picture her disdain at your potential mistake. And Heather won’t be able to hide her disappointment; not at your wrong decision, but the way you’re squandering your chance at popularity. 

“You sure?” Eddie props one elbow on the counter and gazes directly into your eyes, concern woven into his kind smile. “So you know, it’s not like cutting the wrong wire. Nothing explodes if you choose one over the other.”

Except whatever semblance of a social life you have left. “Totally fine. I’ll go with flower. Thanks.” You show him the crumpled bill again but he waves it off. 

“It’s on me.” He pulls out a baggie and gives it to you, the scent of marijuana pungent even through the plastic. “This is some good shit, too. Kinda makes me mad it’ll be wasted on Carol and Tommy.” He laughs when you freeze, caught in the act. “C’mon, you think I didn’t realize that you only bought from me when you started hanging out with them?” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans in slightly, pleased with his discovery. “Do you even smoke?”

You shake your head shamefully, not daring to make eye contact. 

“Do you want to?” This grabs your attention. “With me, not them,” he clarifies. 

“I shouldn’t…my parents would kill me if I come home high,” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“Listen, I’m not trying to pressure you or anything,” he says, latching the locks on the tin box. “Just figured we could hang out or something; y’know, maybe try and figure out how Carol manages to lodge such a huge stick up her ass.”

As if on cue, the person in question shouts your name from across the room, tone thick with impatience. Your middle finger itches to flip her off, but your cowardice wins—as usual. “I gotta get this to her,” you mumble, shoving the money back in your bag. “Thanks again.”

You begin to walk away, but his fingertips gently graze your wrist. An electric current flows between you, a spark that could burn bright if only you’d fan the flame. “Look, I’m not sure why someone as nice as you is hanging out with people like them, but if you ever need a friend—a real friend—just say the word.” The smile he offers this time is not one of amusement, but of empathy. I know what it’s like to mold myself into what people want me to be. “You like to read, right?”

His seemingly random question draws your brows skyward. “Yeah…?”

“Use that,” he juts his chin in the direction of your bag, where you’re storing Carol’s money, “to buy yourself a new book. A hardcover; none of that paperback bullshit.” He punctuates the statement with a wink. The gestures have your stomach in knots; all you want is to take his hand and talk with him for hours, leaving behind the pressures of status quo adherence, but you can’t. 

“Um, hello?” Carol’s screeching voice snaps you back into reality, and you shuffle over to her without formally saying good-bye to Eddie. 

You have eight months left until you graduate and can get as far away from Hawkins as you possibly can. But until that day arrives, you’re stuck playing the game. 

March 31, 1986

“Eighty-six.”

The voice is a whisper, an angel beckoning him towards heaven. 

“Eighty-six!” the voice hisses, urgently this time, much more Lucifer than Gabriel. 

Eddie jerks awake, wincing when the handcuff clangs against the gurney’s metal bar and digs into his wrist. He’s become accustomed to it while he’s awake, but it still catches him off-guard as he rejoins the land of the living. “Jesus H. Christ, what?” he grumbles, expecting the sinister stare of a white-coated man.

Instead, he sees you in the doorway: fear seeping from every pore, but not an ounce of malice in your eyes.

“Oh, hi,” he says sleepily, ease flooding his bones when he realizes he isn’t being subjected to more unpleasant memories or poking and prodding–yet. He uses his free hand to scratch at the stubble forming along his jawline. “055, right?”

You nod, lip firmly tucked between your teeth. His grogginess means that he’s moving at a pace far too slow for your liking, your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. “Yeah, mhm; that’s me.” You check over your shoulder to ensure no one’s coming, then duck into his room. “The doctors are busy with another patient,” you start, omitting that their busy-ness involves electroconvulsive therapy for “non-compliance,” “so we have a few minutes for me to pull a memory, if you want.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, softly but enthusiastically. A smile tugs at his lips. “Can you do another one with Dustin? But, like, a less, um, terrible one?” He can still taste his own blood in his mouth when he thinks about it.

“I’ll do my best,” you promise, standing in front of him. He looks naked without his signature wild mane; there’s no longer anything for him to hide behind. How many times had you seen him in class, carelessly running his hands through his hair, his rings getting snagged on a rogue curl? All of it–the jewelry included–is now gone. You can’t even reassure him that it’ll grow back, because the doctors will ensure that it’s kept closely shaved. 

He assumes the same position as he did the previous day, but with one major difference: he extends his hand, an unmistakable attempt to hold yours.

“Oh, um,” you stammer, simply staring at it. “We don’t…you don’t need to do that for this to work,” you supply.

Eddie withdraws, not only his hand, but his body caves in from the rejection. He gives a quick nod, shoulders gently hunched so he takes up less space. 

Immediately, your heart lurches. “I mean, we can if you…if it’ll help you feel better.” If you want to is too loaded a statement to make. “I just wanted you to know that it isn’t, like, required.”

“I know.” 

With those two words, you reach out and take his palm in yours, sweat-slicked despite the lab’s perpetual chill. The rough calluses on his fingertips scratch against your skin as his lifelines merge with your own.You remember comparing with Heather back in fourth grade, sitting on a bench during recess while the other kids played dodgeball or fought over the playground's sole tire swing. She swore that she could read some hidden meaning behind them. You’d always thought it was mumbo-jumbo, that there was no way she could obtain that information from etches in your hand or the direction of your fingerprint swirls. 

When she’d read her own palm, how long did she say she would live? Was it eighteen years, the age she was on that fateful night?

“You okay?” Eddie’s head is cocked slightly as though examining the gears turning within your skull. “I dunno if this hurts you or anything, but we don’t have to do this,” he says. “I’ll get my memories back another way.” 

You shake your head, well-aware that there aren't any other feasible options, especially for happy memories. The scientists only want to see who was with him in the Nether, and from what you’ve gleaned, no part of that experience was pleasant. 

“It’s fine,” you mutter, embarrassed that he has to comfort you. “It doesn’t hurt me. You’re the one who’ll end up with a headache,” you point out. 

“Fair enough.”

You swallow your nerves, heart beating in your ears. If the doctors find you in here unsupervised and without permission…your mind won’t allow you to consider the consequences. Perhaps you’ll be next in line for Ol’ Shocky. “I need you to think about your friend Dustin. Picture him and bring the image to the forefront of your mind. Try not to let your thoughts wander.”

Eddie nods, mouthing Dustin’s name over and over as you delve deep into his brain, using his sole memory—and your memory of that memory—as guidance. 

After what seems like eons, you latch onto one and tug it to the surface triumphantly. You can feel blood trickling down your nose and over your lips, but you do your best to focus on the task at hand. 

Hawkins High’s cafeteria is buzzing with excited conversation, the phrases “I missed you!” and “how was your summer?” and “did you hear about what happened at Starcourt?” seem to be constants. A banner hung up in the entryway reads ‘WELCOME BACK, TIGERS!’, complete with an illustration that some poor art club sap was probably volunteered to paint. 

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on the tile floor, avoiding anyone and anything. He just needs to get to his table, eat lunch, and repeat every day until—

The sound of a lunch tray clattering to the ground, followed by a cacophony of malicious chuckles, grabs his attention. He watches as a group of seniors gather around a table, laughing hysterically. 

“C’mon, seriously?” A kid—Dustin, you both determine from the earlier memory pull—whines at the ruined pizza slice below him. 

“What’s that?” One of them sneers. “I don’t speak Mushmouth.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and flips off the older kid. “You’re lucky Steve graduated already, or he’d kick your ass!” he shouts.

The second boy hides his face as though hoping he won’t be their next victim, but his vulnerability makes him a prime target. Down, down, down falls his lunch, followed by one belonging to a scrawny kid who looks like a poster boy for The Gap. 

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to ignore the situation, but his conscience steers him towards the kids. “Show’s over,” he grumbles, using the strength acquired from lugging amps to break it up. He grabs one of the bullies by the collar—a jock, Andy something-or-other, according to his letterman jacket—and snarls, “get the fuck outta here before I tip off your coach to check your piss.” 

Andy just nods, attempting to play it cool, but Eddie can feel him trembling under his grip. He puffs up his chest and walks away, taking his posse with him. 

“Thanks,” Scrawny Kid mumbles, haphazardly brushing chocolate milk residue off his clothes. He refuses to make eye contact, thoroughly humiliated on his first day of high school. 

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie says casually. “Just, uh, it might help your case if you don’t dress like some prep school wannabe.” He grins, and to his delight, the boys smile with him. 

Scrawny Kid shakes his shaggy hair from his eyes. “I’m Mike, and this is Lucas,” he points to the kid who’d tried to make himself invisible, “and Dustin.” The kid branded ‘Mushmouth’ gives a small wave. 

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Weird Al, huh?” he laughs, unable to hide his amusement at Dustin’s choice of t-shirt. “Christ, you three are clueless.” He cocks an inquiring eyebrow. There’s one place he can take them under his wing and keep them safe from the moldy jockstraps known as the Hawkins High basketball team. 

“You little freaks ever play Dungeons and Dragons?”

The sound of approaching footsteps down the hall pulls you from his psyche, and you blink a few times to clear your vision. “Shit, I’m sorry.” You swipe at the blood under your nose, leaving a crimson stain in its wake. “I gotta go, but we can meet up again tomorrow.” You start towards the door, but his uncuffed hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, drawing you back.

“Wait…before you go.” Fear radiates from his deep brown irises. “I know you’ll have to pull more memories–bad ones–for them.” He swallows thickly, trying to stave off tears. “But if they ask you to do it while I’m sleeping, can you wake me up first?” he asks weakly. 

Realization crashes over you; his first returned memory was his near death, watching his friend witness the life draining from his limp body. 

“Yes.” The word is firm, confident, though you’re making a promise you’re unsure you can keep. 

Eddie manages a small smile, but it emanates gratitude, and you return it. You want to stay, to search for every happy moment in his life and allow him to bask in their joy, even if just for a moment. But both of you risk serious punishment if you’re caught, and so you make your escape as inconspicuous as possible.

Eddie lays back, staring at the fluorescent lights until his eyes start to water. Thoughts swirl through his mind, a roller coaster off of its track. In addition to Dustin, there’s Mike and Lucas. And Dustin had mentioned someone named Steve, which rang the faintest of bells. 

It’s a common name, he thinks. Could be anyone. Yet something deep inside nags at him, an instinct that he can’t shake. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

He twists the bed sheet below him until the thin fabric tears with an audible riiiiiip. His life has been reduced to two meager moments: saving three nerds from a jockstrap with an inflated ego, and losing in a battle against some bat-like creatures. Nothing before that, and nothing between. 

The after is right now, imprisoned in this room with no evidence of a crime, let alone anything pinning him as a suspect. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

He wills himself to remember any other details. What was it that he said at the memory’s conclusion? Something about Dungeons and Dragons?

“C’mon,” Eddie mutters, eyelids shut tight in concentration. Maybe it would be better to keep them open, like he does when you’re pulling a memory. Since there’s nowhere else to look, he stares down the broken clock, all three hands frozen in place. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike—

The hour hand ticks forward. 

Eddie shoots up, yanking the cuff along with his body. No, he must be hallucinating. When was the last time he ate something? Or perhaps the ancient batteries had a little kick left in them. 

Something implores him to try it again. 

His eyes lock onto the clock, channeling all of his anger and confusion to move the hand another centimeter. 

There’s a gentle splintering noise, so quiet that he’d be unable to hear it if another person in the room was breathing. It gets louder until the glass frame covering the clock face shatters completely, shards clattering to the floor like rain. 

No battery glitch could explain that. And it couldn’t explain his nosebleed, identical to yours when you utilized your powers. 

He can’t even clean his face before dizziness overtakes him, and it all goes black. 

November 9, 1984

It’s been just over a week since Tina’s Halloween party. The talk of the high school is still Steve and Nancy’s bathroom argument—and subsequent breakup—though new developments about two teachers getting frisky in the staff lounge has taken some of the attention away from them. 

“Hey,” Carol says, leaning against the locker next to yours and obnoxiously popping her bubble gum, “that shit you got from The Freak was pretty good.” She raises her eyebrows in amusement and challenge. “If you can score some more, you and Heather should smoke with us.”

Translation: you’ll get more weed, and if you don’t, I’ll tell Heather that you ruined it for everyone. You can picture the look of disappointment on her face, slumped shoulders and dejected frown screaming, you let me down. 

“Yeah, I’ll see if he still has any,” you mumble, grabbing your history textbook and slamming the door. You spin the lock’s dial and give it a tug to ensure it’s closed, giving Carol the chance to leave. 

She doesn’t. 

“Y’know, maybe it’s because Heather’s been vouching for you,” she starts, blowing another watermelon-scented bubble, “but you’re not as much of a drag as I thought you were.” It’s her version of a compliment, and you hesitantly accept it with a nod. “Anyway, eight o’clock. My place.” She flounces off, probably to find and cling to Tommy, leaving you with a churning gut.

The closest you’ve ever been to smoking weed was getting a contact high at the party. Carol and Tommy hadn’t offered to share, and you didn’t certainly volunteer yourself. If you try and end up coughing like a tuberculosis patient, you’ll never live it down. If you decline to smoke with them, you’ll all but solidify your role as the loser, straight-laced outsider and catapult yourself from their inner circle. And if you don’t show up at all? Heather will never forgive you.

You keep your textbook clutched to your chest, making a beeline for class. Goody two-shoes can’t be late. No, she’ll get there early; maybe place a shiny red apple on the teacher’s desk, and sit patiently with her hands folded. Just like she always has; just like she always will.

You’re so intensely focused that you bump into someone, your head snapping up at the sudden collision. The textbook slips from your grip and hits the ground with a thud. 

“What’s the big rush?”

Eddie. 

You shake your head. “Nothing. Sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going—”

“No worries,” Eddie says with a small laugh, leaning over and picking up the book. He hands it to you and smiles. “See you around?”

Now’s your chance. “Actually, I was hoping we could meet up after school,” you force out the request, not realizing the implication until he cocks his brow. “To buy some more, um…” You look away, unable to finish the sentence in fear that the wrong person will overhear. 

Eddie grins, eyes alight with anticipation. “Yeah, of course,” he replies. “After school, during lunch, even right now, if you want. Got it all in here.” He gives his tin box a proud slap. 

“After school is fine,” you say hurriedly. There’s that one other favor you need; it hides behind your molars and sticks to your tongue. “Would…could you maybe…show me how?” Your cheeks are so hot that your face may as well be ablaze. “Carol asked me to join them, but I’ve never…and I don’t wanna look like a total moron…” Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

His face briefly shifts expressions, something resembling disappointment, though you can’t pinpoint it before his usual shy smile returns. “Sure. Meet me by the picnic benches right after last period.”

“Thanks.” You give your book a squeeze, fingernails digging into the old newspaper you’d repurposed as a book cover. Eddie gives a quick nod before disappearing into the hallway, packed with students. The whole encounter has your head spinning; you’re going to smoke pot in the woods with Eddie Munson. It’s almost distracting enough to make you late to class. 

Almost. You’re not risking detention for this. 

March 31, 1986

Eddie awakens to the pungent odor of vinegar and something sulphuric, rousing him back to consciousness. His eyes water even after Dr. Snell removes the bundle of smelling salts from under his nose.

“086,” the doctor says stoically, fishing a tiny key from his pocket. His unnerving stare never leaves Eddie as he unlocks the cuff and untangles the chain. “I see you’ve been busy.” He gestures towards the pile of broken glass on the floor, lips twitching with the faintest hint of amusement.

“It was an accident,” Eddie mumbles, flexing his wrist and feeling the blood begin to circulate again.

Dr. Snell chuckles, sending a shiver shooting down Eddie’s spine. “Was it?” He leans over; Eddie hates his confidence that he won’t be attacked. All he wants is to wring the man’s neck like a washcloth, but he recalls your advice to earn their trust. He’ll have to remain calm if he ever wants to learn more about Dustin, Mike, Lucas, or Steve; if he ever wants to learn more about himself. 

Eddie nods pathetically. Technically, he’d only been trying to make the hand move again, to see if it was just a fluke, but he’d ended up with a shattered clock instead. “I don’t understand how…”

“Dr. Moseley would like to conduct some tests.” Dr. Snell selects his words carefully. “See what other new skills you’ve acquired during your little adventure.”

“No…” Eddie starts, catching himself before he can protest further. He swallows, throat sore with aridness. “I mean, I don’t think I have any other, um, skills.”

The doctor sneers. “That’s for us to determine, isn’t it?” He tugs on Eddie’s arm, hoisting him from the cot and guiding him down a long, dimly-lit hallway. His torso aches with each step, but when he tries to stop and breathe, Dr. Snell continues pulling him along.

“G-Gimme a sec,” Eddie finally pleads aloud, and the doctor relents with an irritated huff. It’s not from sympathy–Eddie doubts there’s a selfless bone in the man’s ugly body–but likely because he wants to avoid a ripped stitch or another fainting spell. Whatever the reason, he’s grateful for the small break.

The room he’s brought to is white on white; there’s not a stitch of color. He’s seated at a table while doctors attach adhesive-backed electrodes to his temples and forehead, cold and slimy on his skin. 

Salt-and-Pepper—Dr. Moseley, he surmises—approaches him with a thin-lipped smile. “Good afternoon, 086.” But there’s nothing good about it, and Eddie can’t even be sure it’s truly the afternoon. “I heard you had a bit of an incident today, yes?”

The doctor already knows the answer, so Eddie doesn’t bother to lie. “Yes. I, um, made the clock hand move and then broke the glass. With my mind,” he adds, as though there was any confusion about the means in which it occurred. 

“Excellent.” Dr. Moseley shoos the others out of the room, so he and Eddie are alone. As soon as the door closes, he sits in a chair across from his patient, tapping a pen on a clipboard. 

“I’m going to ask you to complete a series of tasks,” he tells him, somehow already marking notes. “Some tasks will be to assess your existing abilities; others will be to strengthen them.” He motions towards a large monitor. “This will detect any changes in brain wave activity with remarkable accuracy.” 

In other words, don’t phone it in. You will be caught. 

Dr. Moseley grabs a rubber ball off of a shelf, rolling it in between his palms before placing it in front of Eddie. “We’ll start off slow; see where you are.” He clears his throat. “Move this ball–using only your mind–as far as you can manage.” 

Eddie nods, clearing every thought except for move. Move move move. He chants it silently, his lips parting but no sound coming out. Maybe if he does this, they’ll be less stringent about memory accession. Maybe you’ll get him to a point where he can begin to connect the dots and remember on his own. Maybe—

“Focus, 086.”

He makes a strangled noise in response. Move move move. Move for Dustin, for Lucas, for—

The ball rolls slightly—not even a full inch—but it’s noticeable enough to draw approval from the doctor. 

“Well done, 086. And on your first try.” God, Eddie would love to smack the smirk clean off of his face. “Let’s continue with our assessment, shall we?”

There’s a memorization task next; apparently, his short-term recall is above average, Dr. Moseley reports. After this, the doctor makes drawings on a notepad that Eddie must decipher without physically looking at them. It’s by far the most difficult of the activities. He harnesses all of his energy trying to determine what is being sketched, but he comes up blank each time. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, wiping the blood from his nose. “I can’t do it. I want to,” he adds, not wanting his inability to be misconstrued as disobedience, “but I can’t.”

To his utter shock, Dr. Moseley accepts this, likely because the monitor corroborates his admission. “Not yet. But with continued training, you will.” He detaches the electrodes from Eddie’s head snd motions for him to stand with one crooked finger, and Dr. Snell re-enters at the same time. 

“Wait,” Eddie chokes out as the second doctor leads him away, “I noticed something.” He takes a breath, garnering the doctors’ attention. “I was able to break the clock and move the ball when I thought about Dustin—” he stops abruptly, not wanting to give away the secret session you’d had earlier. “I think if 055 finds more memories with them—him—I’ll be able to channel that emotion into doing more tasks.”

The room falls dead silent until Dr. Moseley speaks. “I’ll consider it,” he finally says. 

Not a win but not a loss, Eddie thinks as he shuffles back down the hallway, feet sticking to the tile. But I’m not going down without a fight. No way. 

--

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