#sweet pea angst imagines

[strrynigghts]

— series

— oneshots

[thefiresfromheaven]

The time has come, my friends, to say good-bye.

I have decided that it’s time to delete this account— along with the works that have been produced here— and start anew.

I will be reposting edited, revamped versions of all my work, as well as new projects that I have been working on for the last year.

For those of you that decide to follow me on my new journey— I so look forward to this adventure and can not wait to start posting.

For those of you that decide it’s time for us to part ways— I thank you, from the bottoms of my heart, for all the love, support, encouragement, and every interaction whether it was big or small. This blog has been my home for five year and even though I’m sad to see it go, I know that it’s time for growth and change. And none of that would have been possible without every single one of you.

Linked below is my new home, where I will continue to create worlds and build something for those who wish to share it with me.

Again, thank you all for everything. I hope to see you soon— and if I don’t just know that I wish you all the happiness in the world with all the gratitude I have.

With all the Love, Xx.

[gloomwitchwrites]

What If 141 and the best enemies to lovers line of all time...

"Who did this to you?"

Cue protective instincts and sexiness

hehe I am giggling!! Okay. Listen. I am fully aware that this is an enemies to lovers trope, but I don't think it applies to all of the 141 guys in that manner. Is there protectiveness? Yes. Is there a bit of spice? Yes, if you squint really hard. Is there also some sweetness thrown in? Absolutely there is. I had lots of fun with this one. I hope you enjoy it!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x 141!Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief blood and injury, hurt/comfort, brief suggestive themes, protectiveness, light angst

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Who did this?” Kyle bends forward at the waist, pressing a bag of frozen peas to your face. His concern is genuine. You can see that, but it’s strange. The two of you get on, but this is something else.

Kyle looks…angry like your injury personally offends him.

“It’s nothing,” you murmur. “Things happen during sparing. It’s fine.”

Kyle’s frown only deepens. He doesn’t believe you. And why should he? The person you were placed with took it too far. And it was all to impress him as if putting you in your place would somehow grant his favor.

It’s clearly done the opposite. He could care less about your sparring partner.

“It was your sparring partner, wasn’t it?”

You don’t answer. Just press the peas to your forehead a little harder.

This time, Kyle’s frown turns slightly upward. “Jokes on them, ya?”

You glance at him sideways. “How so?”

Kyle is grinning. It’s stunning. All pearly white teeth.

“Because I have my eye on someone else,” he says simply, as if that answers everything.

Though you cannot see yourself, you feel your face growing hot under Kyle’s gaze.

“You shouldn’t say thing like that,” you reply.

“Why? It’s true.”

John Price

“Who did this?”

“Why do you care so much, John?”

You attempt to pull your face out of his grasp but he holds firm.

“Of course I care,” he replies. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, chests heaving. John is close. Too close. So close he could easily brush his lips against yours.

“I don’t know why,” you murmur.

“You do,” he affirms, authority in his tone.

Do you? Maybe. Perhaps. Deep within yourself you truly know the reason but can’t decide to speak it to the air. That would make this real. Whatever this is between the two of you.

‘Tell me who did this?”

“And do that what?”

“What the fuck I want to them, love.”

“It’s nothing. You shouldn’t worry about it,” you reply, again trying to escape from him.

But John isn’t having it. His other hand hooks around your upper arm, and then you’re pressed closed to him. He is so warm. All strength.

“Let go,” you say, but there is no volume behind it. It is weak. Not even a protest.

“Tell me,” he repeats, head dipping slightly.

Yes. Close enough to kiss.

“Tell me,” he says again, this time softer.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon’s blood beats heavy. It is tinged with metal. A lace of fire that cannot abate.

His boots slap against the linoleum floor. The overhead lights are bright. Clinical. He is a shadow here. A dark specter.

No one stops him. No one glances his way.

And why should they?

He is a man made fury.

There were hands put upon you. A training exercise taken too far. Simon was not there. And he doesn’t know why. Not exactly. But he’s furious. Protective. The fact that he could not stop this only infuriates him further.

To him, this is a failure.

He doesn’t come to a stop. Doesn’t knock. He barges right on in.

The nurse yelps. Spins suddenly. Face red.

You glance up, eyes wide at first but soothing slightly as they land on Simon. You’re bruised. Stitched up.

Fucking hell.

“Out,” barks Simon.

The nurse leaves but stares him down the entire time. He approaches the table, and lightly brushes the backs of his fingers against the wound on your forehead.

“Who did this?” he asks.

“Simon—”

“Which fucker?” he growls, bending forward slightly to look into your eyes.

“Should see the other guy,” you joke, smiling.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny shouldn’t feel this way. He shouldn’t. You’re not his. Even if he wishes it were so.

Every swing of his fist sends the building frustration outward, shooting into the massive boxing bag before him. It’s a poor substitute for the face he truly wants to smash. Several faces that is. Two specifically.

Who did this?

The words slipped from him unbidden. An instant anger. You had only scowled. Told him you could handle yourself. And you can. Johnny knows this. But he’s still fucking pissed about it. Still seething.

All the fucker got was a quick slap on the wrist. A promise to not do it again.

That sits sour in Johnny’s belly.

But you didn’t cave, no matter how much Johnny insisted that he’d take care of it on your behalf. So he is here, punching the shit out of something that isn’t flesh.

He wishes he could take away your pain. Take away the memory. Give it to himself to carry. You don’t turn on your own. There’s no honor in what happened.

But as much as he wants it to be true, Johnny can do nothing.

You are not his.

Even if he wants to be.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@pearljamislife @heeheehoohoohahahihi @eternallyvenus @burn1ngw00d @taysarchive

[springtyme]

hii!! i saw ur inbox open and was wondering if i could request this; so, imagine dad!simon (or konig idm!!) having his son / daughter see his face for the first time since they were born and theyre just kinda sitting there like :000?? hes so pretty?? while yn is just screaming in the back?? <33 have a great day n thnaks for reading x

𝐔𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ♡

Thank you for the request, I had such a good time writing this! I love writing dad!Simon so much! ♡ but also, ngl, the image of this big bloke wearing a mask in front of his baby seems borderline comical to me.

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: Your daughter finally sees her father's face for the first time.

word count: 2.2k

warning/tag: Mostly just dad!Simon fluff with a little hint of angst. No gendering terms are directly used for the reader, but they are pretty fem coded. It's mentioned that they were pregnant. No use of y/n.

As the soft morning light filters through the curtains of your bedroom, you slowly begin stretching your limbs and blinking away the remnants of sleep. As you slowly settle into wakefulness, you hear the screeching sound of the baby monitor on your nightstand coming to life and you feel how your heart flutters happily in your chest as a familiar sound comes through. The sweet sound of your daughter’s happy coos, accompanied by Simon’s deep, gentle voice, fill the room with sweetness. 

“Morning, sweet pea,” Simon’s voice crackles through the monitor followed by the sound of your baby happily gurgling at her father and then exclaiming a little more whiny sound. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re hungry, but we have to get you changed before we can make breakfast, lovie.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you lie there, basking in the warmth and comfort of your bed. The love and joy that echo through the monitor remind you of just how much love fills your home. It’s moments like these that make your heart swell with an indescribable sense of happiness.

Your mind wanders, and you find yourself reminiscing about the journey that brought you here. 

From the moment you and Simon first met, there was an undeniable connection, a spark that ignited and grew into a love that was both fierce and tender. However, it hadn’t been that easy to convince him that he in fact was deserving of such love. He had been scared that he would mess it up, mess you up, convinced himself that he wasn’t able to make anyone happy and that he was broken beyond repair. But you had been rather insisting, and he had finally let his walls crumble and let you into his heart. 

And as you had expected, all his worries had been unfounded. He is the best, most loving partner you could ever have dreamt of. 

The love you share with him is a love that feels like home.

And then, the arrival of your daughter added a new dimension to your love story. From the first time you had held her tiny hand, you knew that your family was complete. Watching Simon transform into the most loving and doting father has only deepened your admiration and affection for him.

And as you lie here,  reminiscing on your life, you can’t help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the love that surrounds you. 

With a content sigh, you finally pull yourself out of bed, ready to start the weekend with your little family. 

As you make your way down the stairs you can hear the sound of your daughter’s laughter from the kitchen, filling your heart with warmth and you can’t help but smile and make your way towards the source of the joyful commotion. As you enter the room, the morning sun gently illuminates the kitchen, casting a soft glow over the room, and you are greeted by a heartwarming sight. Simon is standing at the stove, stirring a pot of millet porridge, your daughter’s favourite, while she is sitting in her highchair, which has been moved away from the kitchen table and closer to the counter, so she can see what Simon is doing, clapping her hands in delight.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the comforting scent of the porridge. You can’t help but feel a surge of immense love and gratitude for the man who stands before you, effortlessly balancing the roles of partner and father.

Simon turns towards you. “Good morning, love,” he greets you, his eyes twinkling with warmth, the bottom half of his face covered by a black mask. He had started to wear it around the house again after your daughter had been born.  

“Good morning,” you reply, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and adoration. “I see you two are having quite the breakfast party.”

Simon laughs softly and nods. “We thought we’d surprise you with breakfast in bed, but it seems that someone couldn’t wait,” he says, glancing at your daughter, who just giggles in response.

You walk over to them, planting a soft kiss on Simon’s masked cheek before planting another on your daughter’s, much chubbier, one. “Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed. This is the best way to wake up,” you say, gazing at your little family with a heart full of love.

Together you finish cooking breakfast, porridge for the baby and scrambled eggs and turkey bacon for you and Simon.

You begin to set the table as Simon picks up your daughter, supporting her with one arm as he settles her on his hip, so he can move her chair back to the table, but before he can grab the chair he stops dead in his tracks.

Your little girl has grabbed a fistful of his mask in her tiny hand. She doesn’t seem to be pulling on it, or otherwise trying to take it off him, but she also doesn’t seem to want to let go of it when Simon gently takes her hand to get her to release her grip.  

“Sweetheart, please…” Simon says softly, but he trails off, a wave of emotions flickering over his eyes, but they end up having a sort of determinant look to them as they lock with his daughter’s.

You feel how your heart skips a beat as Simon lets go of her little hand to instead grip the place his mask is fastened.  

With a deep breath, Simon removes the mask, revealing his face to your daughter for the very first time in her young life. You feel goosebumps rise along your arms as Simon’s features come to light. The room falls silent, and time seems to stand still.

Your daughter’s gaze is fixed on Simon, you can see a whirlwind of emotions flickering across her little face. 

It’s a pivotal moment that holds the power to change everything. You can see how Simon, too, feels a mix of emotions coursing through him. 

He has once mentioned to you that he was afraid that his scars would scare her, but you have had a suspicion that something else might be the reason he has kept the mask on in front of her for. 

He does have a few scars from his work, but they are nowhere near severe enough to scare anyone. You do have another theory to why he has kept it on, one he hasn’t directly confirmed, but a conversation from your pregnancy has stuck with you. 

He had voiced his concern that something would happen to him on the battlefield. not because he was that concerned for his own wellbeing, he knew what the risks of his job was, but because he was afraid of something happening to him, leaving you and your little one alone in the world. He had, on the whole, had many worries about becoming a father. 

He had been worried that his past had broken him so severely that he couldn’t be the dad your daughter needed him to be. Like the fear he also had about you and your relationship in the beginning of it, the fear that he couldn’t be the man you deserved. 

He has, in all the time you’ve known him, done everything to disprove that concern, he is the best partner you could ask for and now the most lovable dad to your little girl, but you know that he still has his concerns and that his feelings about them are valid. 

You think the mask has served as a sort of safety blanket for him. Like he thought that it would be easier for you and your daughter to lose him if your little girl couldn’t remember his face, or something like that. You find that thought heart rending.               

You know that his job comes with a risk, you had known it when you got together and you had known it when you married him and you had known it when you got your daughter. Losing him on the battlefield would be your worst nightmare come true. You know that he is smart, strong and capable, but you also know that there are no guarantees in war, which, to you, is just all the more reason for  your daughter to know her father’s face, but you have let Simon choose for himself when he was ready for that.  

But you don’t want to think about any of that right now, so you push those thoughts away, and instead let yourself be completely mesmerised by the sight before you   

Your little girl focuses on his, now revealed, face, taking in every detail. Her eyes widening in surprise, curiosity, and perhaps even a hint of fear, her little mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ of surprise as she absorbs every detail of her father’s face. 

“It’s just me, princess,” Simon tells her, his voice filled with a mix of amusement, nerves and an overwhelming love for his little girl. His eyes, once guarded, now shine with warmth and affection. 

The confirmation of his voice is what convinces her. A wide smile spread across her little face, revealing the adorable dimples she has inherited from Simon, on her sweet, chubby cheeks. She lets out a happy squeal, as she realises that it really is her father who’s now smiling down at her, a set of dimples matching hers on his cheeks.    

She giggles happily, which, to you, is the most beautiful sound in the entire world. Her little hands starting to explore Simon’s face, her tiny fingers tracing the lines and contours of it. It’s a gentle and tender gesture that speaks volumes. You watch in awe as the beautiful moment between your daughter and her father unfolds in front of you. It’s a moment you will cherish forever. 

When she finally seems satisfied with her mapping of his face with her small hand, she turns her head to look over at you with an excited expression on her little face, one that conveys something along the lines of ‘you seeing this too?’ Her eyes lighting up, reflecting the genuine joy that fills her little heart.

“Yeah, baby, that’s your daddy,” you smile at her, and she lets out another happy shriek before looking back at Simon again, happily nuzzling her little face into his neck. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” You continue as you step forward, placing a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles over the dusty rose bodystocking that she is wearing, one that Simon picked out when he got her ready and you still laid in bed.   

You look up at Simon, a soft smile on his lips as your eyes lock. 

“He never wants to believe me when I tell him, but he is actually the most handsome man I know,” you say, with a playful glint in your eyes. “He’s probably the most handsome man in the whole world, actually.”           

Simon chuckles, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Oh, come on now,” he replies, his voice a mix of embarrassment and amusement.“I think you might be a bit biassed there, love.”

You shake your head, a warm smile spreading across your face. “Nah, I don’t think I am,” you state, wrapping your arms around both Simon and your little girl in his arms. “Just stating facts. I actually got the most handsome husband and the most beautiful daughter in the whole wide world.” you say with a content sigh, hugging your little family tightly.  

It’s a hug that speaks volumes, conveying love, affection and acceptance. In this embrace, you know that you truly have the most beautiful family in the world.  

As you finally let go of them you place a sweet kiss on your daughter’s little nose. She giggles joyfully, and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratefulness over what a happy little girl you have. Simon seems to be thinking the same as he smiles down at her.  

But your adorable little troublemaker doesn’t seem to be done with causing havoc yet.   

She reaches out her tiny hand and grabs for the mask again. Simon hesitates for a moment, looking down at the fabric in his hand, the symbol of his past, before letting her have it. The mask, once a symbol of his doubts and fears, now becomes a simple toy for your daughter as she happily shakes it up and down, a cheeky grin on her little face. 

You and Simon lock eyes, and then the two of you burst out in laughter.  

As your laughter fills the room, a sense of pure joy washes over you. You look at Simon, his eyes sparkling with happiness, and you know in this moment, that the love and bond the three of you share is unbreakable, and it fills your heart with an indescribable warmth.

With a deep sense of gratitude and contentment, you take a mental snapshot of this beautiful moment. It’s a memory that will forever be etched in your mind, a testament to the strength of your love and the joy that radiates from your little girl.

As the laughter subsides, you gather your family close again, embracing the love and happiness that surrounds you. In this embrace, you know that you have everything you could ever need.

Your daughter’s laughter and Simon’s unwavering love fill your life with immeasurable happiness, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the beautiful family you have created.

[navybrat817]

Has Sweet Pea's mom called Bucky? 🥺

Not yet, nonnie.

Heart and Home

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: You reflect on the love you have for your daughter and your loneliness.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Fluff, light angst, loneliness, single parenting, daughter nicknamed Sweet Pea, thinking about Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Follow up to Moving in Slow Motion. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky hadn’t left your mind since the museum. How could you not think about him? The man looked like he’d been ripped right out of one of those romance novels you liked to curl up with once your daughter fell asleep. Tall and built, movie star handsome, a smile that made your heart stop. Not only that, he made your little girl smile. That meant the world because she was your world.

But that didn’t mean anything was going to happen and it was way too soon to think it would.

“Dinner’s almost ready!” You called out.

“Okay, Mama!”

You glanced at your phone as you grabbed a couple of plates, wondering when and if you should call Bucky. You couldn’t remember the last time someone offered their phone number once knowing you had a kid. It was a dealbreaker for some. Not to mention, you had been out of the dating game for some time and you weren’t even sure what was an acceptable period of time to call or not call.

“He isn’t thinking about me,” you muttered, loading up the plates once everything was ready. A man like Bucky probably had a line out the door of people who wanted to date him. Beyond his looks, there was something mysterious about him. Maybe even dangerous. You couldn’t put your finger on why you felt that way. It likely had something to do with those books you couldn’t stop yourself from reading and it was bleeding into reality.

“Dinner is served!” You smiled as you set the food on the small dining room table. Your daughter was still in the living room, occupied with coloring at the coffee table. Your apartment wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but things like trinkets, snuggly throw pillows, and photos of you and your daughter helped make the place a cozy home. “I made dino nuggies.”

Her eyes widened as she looked up from her sheet. “Dino nuggies!” Both of you laughed when she held her hands up and roared. She loved nuggets and dinosaurs. “One more minute, please?”

You pretended to think about it. “Okay, one more minute,” you said, taking a seat to watch her. She grabbed another crayon and pursed her lips as she colored. It was an adorable expression of concentration. She must’ve picked it up from you since she didn’t get it from her father.

You shut your eyes for a moment when her dad’s face shimmered in your mind. The two of you weren't together anymore and he wasn't part of your daughter's life either. He likely never would be since he wanted nothing to do with kids. It hurt some days. Not because you missed him, the man was never meant to be your forever partner. But how could anyone look at your daughter and not love her?

At the end of the day, the two of you were better off alone instead of forcing him to stick around. And you did your best to give her the love of two parents. But what would happen as she got older and wondered why her dad wasn’t there? You would never regret having her, but what if you weren’t enough for her? What then?

“What are you working on?” You asked, pulling yourself from those sad thoughts and concentrating on the present.

“The museum!” She answered, scrutinizing the paper. She took her coloring very seriously. “Finished!”

“Let’s take a look,” you said, holding out your hand when she brought it over. It was the room at the museum where she built the roller coaster, full of wonder and energy. The bright colors jumped off the page, like the shade yellow reflecting her natural happiness. Maybe you were a little biased, but you thought her drawings were perfect. “Wow! Beautiful, just like you.”

She giggled at the compliment. “You’re beautiful, Mama. A queen!”

“I guess that makes you a princess then,” you smiled, booping her nose and getting another giggle out of her. “You did a wonderful job drawing the roller coaster.”

She held her head high. She was so proud. “I did. And look! That’s you and me,” she said, pointing at two of the stick figures in front of it. “And that’s Mr. Bucky!”

Your smile faltered as you looked at the third stick figure, the colors matching the outfit he wore along with a pair of blue eyes. Your finger traced it before you could stop yourself. She was adding him to drawings after only meeting him once? It shouldn't surprise you since she kept talking about him as you took her around the museum. “It’s a very nice drawing, Sweet Pea.”

“Thanks, Mama.” She smiled, taking a seat and pulling her plate closer. “Can we send it to Mr. Bucky? Please?”

“The nuggets may still be a little warm, so blow on them, please,” you warned, looking at the drawing again. The innocent look in her eyes made it hard to say no. “I don’t think we can send it to him. I’m sorry.”

She made an exaggerated show of blowing on the first before she took a bite, but the happiness from the meal faded quickly at your response. “How come?” She asked sadly, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout she easily learned to perfect. “H-He liked my art.”

You reached over to rub her back when she hung her head, your comforting instinct coming out. “Oh, I know Mr. Bucky liked your art. He really did. I just don’t know where he lives, which is why I can’t send it,” you replied gently, which was true. It didn’t take the sad look off her face. “But if we see him again, we’ll be sure to ask if he’d like a drawing from you. I’m sure he’d love it.”

You tried to emphasize the word “if” since you didn’t want to get her hopes up or have her get attached. You wouldn't get your hopes up either. Being cautiously optimistic was the way to go.

After a moment, she lifted her head and took another bite of her food. “Okay, Mama.”

You quietly dug in, knowing this wasn't the end of it. She had such a loving heart, so pure, and you wondered if she sensed your loneliness some days or if it rubbed off on her. You did your best not to let it show. She was a child who didn't need to carry any burden of your feelings.

“How about after dinner you pick out a book for us to read together?” You suggested, giving her a tiny smile as she contemplated it. She still enjoyed having bedtime stories and you’d indulge that as long as she let you.

“Any book I want?” She smiled.

“Any book you want,” you promised.

As the two of you continued to eat, you glanced at the empty chair across from you with a heavy heart. Maybe one day it wouldn't be empty. Maybe a caring person would occupy the seat. Someone who would bring more love to your home. Until then, you would give Sweet Pea all the love she deserved.

And maybe you’d give Bucky a call once you were in bed.

Oh, Bucky is eagerly awaiting that phone call. And I just want to wrap them up in a hug. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[toxicanonymity]

when was the first time reader hugged raider on her own and what was her reaction?

Wash Bin

1k, raider!Joel x f!reader / Raider Masterlist

mood board by @milla-frenchy

A/N: This question is kinda tricky because he's always had that twisted tenderness for you and you collapse into his arms on day one at the end of Failed Rescue. Thank you @milla-frenchy for questions and reading passages. SUMMARY: This is one scenario I can imagine . . . A glimpse at life in your early days at Joel's trailer. You get to wash your clothes for the first time. WARNINGS: I8+, angst / pitiful, brief dubcon piv, references to past noncon, toxic domesticity.

SET BETWEEN "STASH HOUSE'" AND "SHOOTING PRACTICE."

When Joel first took you home to his trailer, you were shaken up, quietly in shock.  He comforted you again, just like he had right after he shot your boyfriend. “S’gonna be alright, sweet pea. I’ll make sure no one hurts ya.” Other than that, he didn’t talk much. 

He didn’t quite know how to take care of you. He seemed to treat you like a stray kitten he had taken in without thinking. You were something  precious he enjoyed having around but needed to learn to care for.  He didn’t think to give you clothes right away.  Your diet was practically entirely meat, which you didn’t care for – small game like rabbit and squirrel.  He held you close at night, in a possessive way, but it still made you feel safe.  He knew your name but didn’t tend to say it.  He always called you sweet pea, and was never stern or angry in those early days before you escaped. 

He didn't physically force himself on you.  Even that first time, he had his way with a calmly delivered threat to hand you back to his men.  Based on that first day – when he did it three times in a matter of hours– You assumed he was an insatiable sex machine.  And he did become one, but not right away. After bringing you home with him, he didn't fuck you the next day, which led you to wonder if the prior day's actions had been fueled more by the situation than a need to have your body. As if seeing those men with you triggered an animal instinct – claim, fuck, take. And you became his. 

Back at Joel’s trailer, he was mostly quiet. If he spoke, it was to insult his men, rage bubbling in his voice as he ranted about what they would have done to you.  You were still in shock the first day or two.  Then, sitting at the kitchen table, you finally started crying with reality setting in, and fear about what life would be like.  

"C'mere," he said, placing a hand on your arm to pull you closer. He began to take off your pants and you let him. He didn't have to warn you. “Wanna go to bed or stay here?” After that, all he had to do was get hard, palm himself over his jeans or unzip them and you would lie there compliantly or get on your knees.  Your body was on board before you were, and at some point your mind caught up. You stopped feeling guilty for your physical enjoyment. 

—--

One day, you laid down for a nap on his bed and woke up when the mattress dipped under his weight.  He lay on his side, propped up on his elbow with his head in his hand.  He didn’t say anything to you, but he fiddled lazily with the hem of your shirt, looking at your body. He would undress and dress you like a doll.  You were getting self conscious without any clean clothes. You took baths but put the same clothes right back on the next day. Joel didn’t seem to notice or mind and you were shy to ask for anything.  

He wasn’t looking for you to do or say anything, and you weren’t sure you should, but while he was touching your clothes, you took the chance of asking,  “Can I please wash them?” It was one of the first times you spoke without him first speaking to you. 

He dropped the hem of your shirt and took a deep breath as his big hand came to your inner thigh and he caressed it, then squeezed.  He looked at you for a few seconds, then nodded. 

“You know how?” he asked. 

You nodded. “I can do yours too. . .if you want.” 

His brow furrowed in contemplation, then he nodded.  His voice was deep. He talked so little that it felt special when he did.  “Soap’s in the pantry.” 

---

He put his thumb in your waistband and unbuttoned your pants deep in concentration.  You helped him take your pants down, then he put your hand on the hard bulge in his jeans and used it to massage himself, which made you get butterflies between your legs as you felt him harden.  After a minute of that, he reached between your legs and sharply inhaled when he felt your slick. Your face got hot. 

“You wanna bend over or lie on your tummy?”

“Lie down.” 

“Good girl.” 

You lay prone on the bed with your head on your hands as he unzipped his jeans and  got between your legs. He put a hand on your ass and you tilted your hips for him.  He notched his tip at your entrance, then planted one hand between your shoulder blades and another on the bed and pushed his cock into you. You whimpered as your body accommodated him. He didn’t allow much time to adjust.  He fucked you wordlessly, grunting and sighing, his fingers digging into your flesh and seeming to span your entire back. His tip firmly nudged your g-spot repeatedly until you came with a whimper. After Joel came, he laid there for a minute, then got up, mumbling “i’ll get the stuff.” 

------

He got out the soap and washboard himself.  A little later, he went outside with you to the faucet where there was a metal wash bin, so he could show you the stuff. There was a fallen clothesline hanging from a tree near the trailer.  

“whenever ya want,” he said. 

Back inside, Joel gathered his dirty clothes.  You started taking yours off and shyly asked if you could wear something while you washed them.  He didn’t say anything, just looked you over, then looked through his clothes. He let you wear a pair of boxers and t-shirt, either his or from a raid. 

While you washed the clothes in the boxers and t-shirt, Joel fixed the clothesline. Then he came over and watched you scrubbing the clothes, hands on his hips. “Good girl.”  This activity took your mind off things, and the the fact that he fixed the clothesline for you overwhelmed you with gratitude.  

You stood up and hugged him around his side. “Thank you,” you whispered. 

He seemed surprised, but after a second he patted you on the head and wrapped an arm around you.  "see, you'll be alright, sweet pea." Then a few seconds later, he said “goin’ inside.” As he backed away, he said “lemme know if ya need somethin’.” 

—-

Thank you for reading. Now flash back to the future. . . go read his more recent ones to remember how far he's come lol.

Raider's affection / possible feelings

Raider: Close (Jul 3, 2.7k) - Joel gets home late injured, and men approach the trailer with bad intentions. 🖤

✨Raider: Gun Hug (Jul 31, 3.7k) - You and Joel take out two bad eggs in the stash house

---------

[itgetsdark-x]

I Wanna See You Beggin’ (Part 4)

Summary: Joel Miller is your dad’s best friend, you knew it was wrong, you knew it would only cause trouble but you couldn’t help the way you ached for the man. (Part One | Part Two | Part Three)

Disclaimers: (Title is from I Hate Myself for Loving You — Joan Jett & The Blackhearts), I do not own any of these characters / people but I did write these words, I don’t give permission for this to be copied anywhere else 😌

Characters: dbf!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni, pls), unprotected p in v (pls be responsible and wrap before u tap), mild violence / swearing / general angst, age gap (reader mid twenties, Joel would be late 40s), no outbreak in this au.

A/N: woweeee, I am still blown away by the interest in my dumb writing! thank you for all the reblogs / likes / comments and thank you for your patience whilst I got my act together and wrote this fourth part! I feel like it sucks, if it does, I’m so sorry! I think I have one more part in me, with this series which would include a small time jump to finish it off. if people are interested, I will definitely write it. enjoy and I hope it makes y’all happy, finally hehehe. love u all <3

“Y/N?” Your dad called louder this time and you slapped Joel as you jolted awake, your fist hit his chest and he spluttered as he awoke from his deep sleep. 

“Fuck, shit. Fuck. Joel, get up, get the fuck up and get dressed.” You hissed and Joel sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You immediately went into action and pulled your pyjamas on hastily, your shirt was inside out and you almost fell over as you stumbled down your stairs to answer the front door. 

“M-morning dad, you woke me up.” You mumbled, your voice panicked. “What’re you doing here, are you okay?” You lied as he entered your hallway. 

You could sense it, your dad was pissed, he rarely ever got angry but whenever he did, you knew it immediately. 

“Well uh, I went to Joel’s house to pick him up but it was weird, his truck wasn’t on his drive nor was he actually home. I shrugged it off and assumed it was just ‘cause he went to site by himself so imagine my surprise, sweet pea, when I drive past here and see his truck parked up out the front of your house.” Your dad spoke and you could feel the annoyance, his eyes were scanning the area, looking behind you to see if he could spot Joel. “You wanna tell me why it is exactly that his truck is out front?” 

“Look, I, um. We, uh, fuck.” You cursed and your cheeks flushed a deep red as you shifted awkwardly on the spot, your brain not moving nearly fast enough to come up with a convincing lie.

“Just… Where is he?” Your dad asked and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“M-my bedroom…” You answered quietly. “B-but it’s not what you think!” You called after your dad as he didn’t hesitate to climb your stairs quickly. 

“Miller,” Your dad barked and your stomach flipped, you felt sweaty and sick. “What. The. Fuck have you been doin’ with my little girl?” He shouted and slammed your bedroom door open, you followed your dad and tried to grab his arm back and take him downstairs. “Get downstairs, right now.” Your dad hissed at you. 

Joel was stood in your bedroom, he had pulled his boxers and shirt on and was just trying to button up his jeans. It was clear as day; entirely evident what had been happening here; it was written over both of your faces and the fact Joel’s shirt and jeans were unbuttoned only supplied further, concrete proof to your dad. 

You dad lurched at Joel, his forearm pinned the older male against the wall as he pushed his arm across Joel’s chest and without thinking for another second, your dad planted a hard punch to Joel’s face. You heard a sickening crunch and you winced before you leapt into the room and tried to peel your dad’s frame off of Joel’s. 

“I told you to fucking go downstairs. Go.” Your dad barked and you flinched away from him, that seemed to soften your dad’s eyes ever so slightly but the rage soon built once again as Joel spoke. 

“I’m sorry, bud. It’s not what you think. I haven’t been preying on her, I care about her. A lot.” Joel spoke, trying to calm your father down. “Can we please sit down and talk about this?”

“So you haven’t been fucking her then?” Your dad spat and it made the guilt in your stomach bubble ferociously. 

“Dad.” You whispered. “I’m a woman, I can choose whom I have relationships with. You don’t get to decide that.” Your voice shook as you looked at Joel, you wanted to take him into your arms and stroke his hair, just do anything to soothe him. He dabbed at his nose with his sleeve as blood soaked it and your stomach turned again. 

“So you decide to fuck my best friend, a man older than your own father? Like a cheap whore.” He spat at you and you felt tears prick your eyes before they fell silently down your cheeks. 

Joel pushed your father off him, whilst he was turned to look at you and he grunted with the effort. 

“You don’t get to speak to her like that.” Joel shouted, squaring his large shoulder up to your dad. 

Your dad laughed, it was dark and fuelled by anger. “Yeah, well, you don’t get to tell me how to do shit. You’ve lost that privilege.” 

“I know you’re upset, dad and I’m really sorry, I didn’t want this to happen, not like this… b-but, but I really like Joel.” You spoke quietly as you steadied your panicked breathing. 

Joel looked at you with a soft smile as he mopped up the last of his blood that was staining his moustache. His eyes were soft as he looked at you and he felt such pride that you would even stick up for him to your dad. He knew your dad’s anger was justified which is why it was hard to argue his case. 

“Look, I’ll take the day off work, I’ll go home and then maybe you could both come over this evening and we could talk about this, calmly. I know you’re angry, and trust me, I would be too. I am sorry you found out this way but I’m not sorry for this happening.” Joel’s voice was edged with coldness but he remained calm as he spoke to your dad. 

“You can take everyday off, ‘bud’. You’re fired, so if I see your face around any of the sites, you’ll be a dead man. You had a kid, you should understand how fucked up this is. Maybe it’s for the best your daughter isn’t around.” You dad said heartlessly. 

“Dad!” You gasped disappointedly. 

Joel winced at your dad’s words and they cut deeper than any punch could. 

“We will speak later. I’m sorry for yelling at you, sweet pea. It’s not your fault, he took advantage, you’re just a kid.” You dad whispered and he went to give you a kiss on the cheek but you flinched away from his touch. 

“I’m a woman, I’m closer to thirty than I am to twenty, dad. I’m a fully grown woman. I’m sorry you found out this way but we’ll only be speaking if you’ll sit down with the two of us. Understand?” Your voice wobbled as you spoke and soon the tears were falling down your cheeks yet again. 

Your dad threw his hands up in defeat and walked out of your room silently, the thick atmosphere of your room was shattered when the front door closed and you jumped. 

The way your dad acted was entirely out of character, he usually never so much as raised his voice at anyone and especially not at you. He wasn’t an aggressive man, so the way he reacted truly shook you to your core.

“Joel,” you cried and went to hold his arm but he avoided your touch. “Joel please,” your voice was coming out as wrecked cries. “Please don’t shut me out, don’t let him get into your head like that. I’m sorry for what he said. He’s just angry and he didn’t think. I’m sorry.” You sobbed further and fell to your knees dramatically, you brought your arms around yourself and cried. 

“Peach,” Joel whispered, his voice shaking also. You looked up at him and his eyes were blurry with tears and it only broke you further. “Your dad is right, I’ve been taking advantage and maybe we didn’t realise because we were blinded with the pure pleasure of it all.” He spoke and he knelt down to look you in the eyes. 

You shook your head and wiped your eyes roughly to clear your vision. “N-no!” You shouted. “You don’t get to fuck me and then tell me you’re taking advantage.” You shouted and weakly punched at Joel’s arms in frustration. “You don’t get to do that.”

He winced as you took your frustrations out on him but he took it all. “I care about you, peach, a lot but… this is my life, I need that job.” He sighed as he took your flailing hands to hold them steady. 

You tried to pull away from his grip with a whine of frustration as he only held you tighter. “Go then.” You stated coldly, tears still falling down your cheeks as you wiped them away in vein. “If the job means that much to you, go. Go apologise to my dad for ‘taking advantage’ of me, go tell him it was the wrong thing to do even though we both know that it’s a lie.” You cried, openly and blatantly now, you let the tears fall as your voice shook with effort. 

Joel enveloped you in his arms, his hand stroked through your hair and he shushed you softly. “Baby girl, it’s okay.” He whispered into the top of your head and he closed his eyes. “It’s not as simple as that. I really care about you and fuck it, I guess part of me didn’t want to admit it, especially not this early on but clearly, I love you. I’ve cared about you for years, I just didn’t understand to what capacity. It’s just… I can’t let this ruin my life, or yours for that matter… If your dad says anything to anyone… I’ll be a wanted man, people will be furious with me.” He sighed. 

His words cut through you like a hot knife through butter and it only seemed to make things worse. “I’m a woman!” You cried quietly, wiping your eyes again to try and clear them. “Why doesn’t anyone understand that? I’m a fully legal and consenting woman! I pay taxes!!” You laughed through a cry which caused Joel to chuckle above you. 

“We knew we were crossing a very strong line when we slept together last Friday, we knew it would cause issues but we did it anyway. And I’m glad we did… it’s just, I think I need to go home and think about this all. You should think too, if we decide to pursue this further it might mean your old man won’t speak to you again…” Joel spoke quietly and released you from his arms. 

“I —“ Your voice cracked and you took a deep, calming breath in to try to resume some composure. “I don’t need to think about this, Joel. I’ve wanted you for months, if not years, it’s actually kind of embarrassing. Sure, a lot of that lies in lust for you but I want you completely, I want to be yours. I- I want a future with you.” You mumbled the last part of your sentence. 

Joel cringed internally at your words; it made his heart swell at your kindness, your sincerity in wanting a future with him but he couldn’t help but cringe at the fact you would give everything up for him. He didn’t feel worthy of it. He felt like a complete screw up. 

“Peach,” his voice shook as you looked into his big, sad brown eyes. “You need your dad, he needs you, you know this. I can’t, I mean, I won’t let you throw that away on me.” He said sadly and slumped his back against the wall, creating some space between you both. 

“Joel,” you said sternly. “If my father can’t get over this, then that is on him. He should care more for my happiness than the awkwardness of the situation. I understand that it’s a difficult thing for him but on our one date we have been on, you treated me so much better than any guy my age. You’re a gentleman, you’ve been nothing short of that.” You finalised. 

“That’s sweet of you, baby girl. It is but, you need to be sure of this. It’ll get a whole lot more ugly before it gets better.” Joel sighed. 

You pinched at the bridge of your nose, closed your eyes and sighed frustratedly. “God, I just don’t understand why it effects him so much?! You’ve known me for years, you wouldn’t hurt me! Surely that’s better than some stupid fuck boy my age just looking for a quick fuck and chuck.” You grumbled and Joel couldn’t help but laugh. 

You shot a warning glare in his direction and he bit back another laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He laughed and threw his hands up in surrender. “It’s just… You’re adorable when you’re grumpy. It’s not the time but, you’re just so cute.” He smiled. 

“Shut up.” You grumbled and rolled your eyes. “We need to get you cleaned up, I’m gonna text my boss and tell him I’m taking the day off. I’m a mess and I couldn’t think of anything worse than client calls today.” You stood from the floor and wiped your face with your hands. “Go get in the shower, I’ll grab a towel for you and bring it in.” You held your hand out for Joel to take, he took it gently and pulled himself to his feet. 

You didn’t release his hand, instead you reached up to cup the side of his face so you could place a chaste kiss to his lip, the faint metallic tang of blood lingered on your lips and you sighed softly. 

“Joel, for what it’s worth, I’m glad he found out about us. It’s taken the pressure off of it and now, we can work on winning him over.” You said softly and looked into his soft eyes, you could see the tiredness and sadness hiding in his deep irises. 

“I am too, peach. I’m sorry for how he shouted at you though, you don’t deserve that. Not now, not ever.” He concluded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Come join me in the shower?” He asked with a boyish smile. 

“Give me five minutes to call my boss and I’ll be right there. Go warm the water up for me.” You smiled and pushed him towards the bathroom. 

That’s exactly what you did, you phoned your boss and explained you weren’t feeling great and needed the day off, thankfully, he didn’t ask too many questions and was pretty forgiving. Once that was taken care of, you grabbed a couple fresh towels from the laundry closet and headed to your bathroom; you smiled to yourself as you heard Joel hum lowly and saw steam spilling from the room. 

There he was, in all his rough perfection, all strong lines and a light frown settled into his features. He had his head tipped back into the hot stream of water and the hot water cascaded down his body like a river. Your breath caught in your throat slightly as you watched him and it hit you all at once, like a brick, you had such strong feelings for this man and finally, you were allowing yourself to feel them all at once. Your shoulder was leant up against the doorframe when Joel finally tilted his head back up and opened his eyes to see you watching him. 

“Didn’t realise you were such a peeping Tom, darlin’.” He huffed out a chuckle as he cleared the water from his face with his hands. 

“Just admiring you, s’all.” You smiled. “You’re pretty damned handsome, Joel Miller.” 

“And you,” he held a hand out to you, ushering you forward. “Peach, are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your heart fluttered at his words and once again, a blush settled high in your cheeks. He had such a physical effect on you with his tender words. You took a step towards the bathtub and smiled at him. 

“Are you trying to have sex with me again, Miller?” You asked with a soft smirk. 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He shrugged. “But get in here with me anyway.” Joel grinned before holding his nose when the pain rippled through his face. 

You undressed from your pyjamas and stepped into the bathtub with Joel, he made room for you and allowed you to have the direct stream of water to flow over you. You sighed happily as the hot water washed away all the tension in your body. 

You held onto Joel’s arm tightly as you went onto your tiptoes to inspect his face further, your delicate fingers held his chin as you rotated his head to get a full view of his features. 

“Do you think it’s broken? Do I need to take you to the ER?” You asked worriedly. 

Joel shook his head. “Nah, not broken or anything darlin’, just really fucking sore. I’ve broken my nose before and it was a lot worse. It’ll be fine.” He dismissed with a weak smile. 

“I’m sorry,” you sighed and stroked Joel’s arm. 

He shook his head at you, “Please stop apologisin’, wasn’t your fault.”

You reached behind you and grabbed the shampoo off of the shelf in your shower. “Let me wash your hair.” You smiled at him and began to lather the fruit-scented liquid into his salt and pepper hair. 

Joel hummed in appreciation and dipped his head down so you had better access; your finger nails gently scratched at his scalp and he let out a soft groan. You smiled as you washed Joel’s hair, it felt so domesticated and natural. 

“Got a few new grey hairs here.” You teased as you took the shower head and directed the stream of water to his head. 

“Do not!” He grumbled which caused you to laugh again. 

You finished washing his hair and Joel switched your positions so he could return the favour, his rough fingers massaged your scalp before he let his fingers drop lower to massage your tense neck and shoulders. Your back was turned to the older male as his fingers worked the tight knots in your muscles loose. You hummed as your body relaxed further and Joel dipped his head down to pepper soft kisses to your neck. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Joel whispered as he kissed your neck and shoulder; you could feel his body pressed to yours, his cock hardening with each kiss he pressed to your soft skin. 

“Shut up.” You giggled affectionately; Joel nipped at your skin in response which caused you to yelp quietly. 

“Manners.” He reminded you as his hands worked their way down your body. 

His hands landed on your breasts, he gave the flesh of them a testing squeeze and let his fingers tweak your nipples softly. 

“God, I want you just as bad as the first time.” He hummed into your neck, his fingers twisting the delicate buds of your hardening nipples. 

You made a soft noise of appreciation, your ass pressed against Joel harder and you wiggled your hips for him. Joel’s hands slid down your torso before sliding behind you to cup your ass, he spread your cheeks and gripped at the flesh tightly, you leant forward slightly to give the male more access. 

He made a guttural noise behind you and let his cock slide between your folds which cause you to let out a breathy moan. 

“How about I take your mind off this mornin’, fuck the stress right out of your little cunt.” Joel whispered, his gruff voice almost being drowned out by the water running. 

You nodded meekly, your stomach knotting with the anticipation of being filled by the older male once again; it felt like no matter how many times you had him, you were always left wanting more. He was intoxicating, worse than any drug out there and it left you hungrier than the last time. 

Joel let out a low, breathy chuckle and passed his cock through your slick folds again. “Please.” You whispered and pressed yourself back, catching the tip of his cock. 

“Okay, pretty girl. No teasin’, not today.” He laughed, taking his length and pressing it to your needy hole. He pushed his hips forward roughly and bottomed out, you gasped out loudly and your hands fell flat onto the tiled walls of your bathroom. Joel held your ass and gave the delicate skin a soft slap, the sound of your wet skin echoed in the room. 

Joel groaned out as he pulled his hips back and snapped them forward once again. “You feel like heaven, wanna stay inside of you forever.” He mumbled, building up a quick pace. 

You moaned into your arm as Joel’s cock worked its way in and out of you, your fingers flexed weakly as they searched for something to grip onto for support. 

“How ‘bout you touch yourself whilst I fuck you?” Joel asked, his voice oozing with just enough condescension to drive you crazy. 

You nodded and let one of your shaky arms drop down your stomach and you let your fingers find your throbbing clit. As soon as your nimble fingers made contact with your sensitive clit, you moaned and clenched around Joel which only seemed to egg him on further. You circled your clit in time with Joel’s thrusts and it didn’t take long for your stomach to bubble with your impending orgasm. 

“G-gonna cum.” You stated, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths. “Please, please let me cum.” You whimpered, knowing Joel loved it when you asked him for permission. 

“Mmm, atta girl. Such a good girl for asking. Cum on my cock before I drain my balls into your tight little hole.” He groaned.

It’s all the permission you needed; Joel’s filthy words lingered in your mind as the obscene sounds of your wet pussy and your bodies slapping together filled the room. Your walls fluttered around the older male, your toes curled and you tried your hardest to keep your balance as the water poured around you. You screwed your eyes shut as you came around the male, his name falling from your wet parted lips. Stars fluttered behind your closed eyelids as you rode out your high, Joel still fucked into you with vigour. 

“Fill me up, please.” You whined to Joel as you clenched around him, the aftershocks of your orgasm still thrumming through your body. 

Joel was there, chasing his high like a crazed man. He held your hips tightly and kept his thrusts deep and quick as he worked himself to his finish. It only took a matter of seconds before he roughly grabbed one of your breasts and finished deep inside of you. You gasped as you felt the hot liquid spurt in you, spilling around Joel’s thick cock as he fucked himself through it. He groaned deeply in your ear and kept your body close to his; he had pulled you up so you were standing upright and his face was buried deeply into your neck. His lips brushed over your ear and his hot breath fanned across your skin, you shuddered as Joel finally pulled himself from within you. You already felt his semen leaking from your spent hole and you whined at the sensation. 

“I’m a ruined woman, you’ve ruined me, Joel Miller.” You laughed dryly, to which Joel kissed the top of your head with a breathy chuckle. 

—

Once you were cleaned up, you and Joel found yourselves cuddled on your sofa; he had claimed his hoodie back and had slipped his boxers back on, it was a look you quite appreciated as it meant you could stare at his muscular legs. 

You had a blanket wrapped around you, your legs draped over Joel’s lap as you faced the male. “I feel like we should properly speak about this morning… Now that everything has calmed down a little and I’m not crying anymore.” You mumbled, breaking the comfortable quietness in the room. Your tv was on in the background but the volume was low, you were entirely sure what Joel had put on but his attention shifted as soon as you spoke. 

“Yeah, we probably should. I think maybe you should reach out to your old man.” Joel said quietly. 

You opened your mouth to protest and he raised an eyebrow at you, causing the words to quickly die in your mouth. 

“I know. I know you were about to say that he’s the one in the wrong and he needs apologise and yeah, he does, darlin’. He was a nasty piece of work this morning, with the way he spoke to you but you did have sex with me, like we said this morning… we knew we were crossing a line and we let it happen again afterwards.” Joel continued, you listened and nodded slightly. 

“I just… I don’t know what to say to him, I know it was a shock this morning but like, he was a dick!” You protested, dropping your head back onto the arm of your sofa in frustration. 

“I think we need to be a little more understanding, sweet girl. Could you imagine if you walked in on your dad and one of your close friends?” Joel asked. 

“Gross!” You exclaimed with a fake gag. “I guess you’re right though… do you think I should try calling him? I think he would be on his lunch break now?”

“I think it’s a good idea, I could leave and give you some space, if you like?” Joel asked and looked you, your head was still dropped back and he squeezed your leg gently. 

“No!” You called out and lifted your head, your eyes filled with panic. “Please stay, I want you here incase he shouts or something again… I’ll probably cry.” You stated bluntly. 

“As long as you’re sure, peach.” He said softly and stroked the bare skin of your legs. 

You reached over to your coffee table and slid your phone off the edge, you contemplated it for a while before you unlocked your device and pressed your dad’s name to call him. You put it on speakerphone and placed your phone on your chest, your fingers toyed with the blanket as the dial-tones filled the room. 

“Dad,” you started as soon as he picked up. “Hi.” You said weakly. 

“Y/N.” You dad stated. “Is he there with you still?” 

“No,” you lied pathetically before shaking your head at Joel. “I mean, yes. He is, sorry I don’t know why I lied, I panicked.”

“I’ll call you later once he is gone then. I don’t want anything do with that man ever again and you shouldn’t either. Disgusting.” You dad hissed into the receiver, his voice was dropped low and you were thankful he wasn’t throwing Joel’s name around carelessly. You could hear the tiredness in his voice as well, like he was forcing the anger out.

“Daddy, please.” You begged, you rarely ever called your dad that anymore but you were desperate, you felt like a child seeking acceptance and validation again. “Please talk to us. Talk to me. I’m sorry for what happened this morning.” You spoke, your voice cracked part way through your sentence and you cleared your throat.

“Please don’t get upset, princess.” Your dad said softly, and for the first time today, you could hear the love in his voice. “I’m sorry for how I shouted at you this morning, my anger was directed in the wrong place and I’m sorry for what I called you. I’m ashamed of how I acted towards you this morning.”

“And towards Joel.” You said quietly. “Dad, you said it was for the best his daughter isn’t around anymore. Regardless of how upset you were, that was a disgusting cheap shot and I still can’t believe you said it.” You sighed sadly, replaying the scene in your head over and over. 

“I — uh, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that to him, I’ve been thinking ‘bout it all morning. Is he okay? Are you okay? I’m really sorry you saw me punch him like that as well, I just… I feel like I should have protected you more, I feel like this happened because I let Joel into our lives.” Your dad mumbled. He kept his voice hushed as he whispered the older male’s name. 

“Dad…” you sighed again. “Joel’s not a bad man, he’s one of the best guy’s I know. I was the one who instigated this whole thing. So if you’re gonna blame anyone, please, please blame me. Joel’s not done anything wrong. I’m an adult.”

“I know you and maybe that’s why I reacted the way I did, it’s just. You’re all I have left and it’s not an excuse but I feel like you don’t need me anymore.” Your dad admitted and you heard the wobble in his voice. 

“Please come over to Joel’s tonight, we can all sit down and talk about this properly?” You pleaded. 

“Fine. I’ll be round about 7pm, okay?” Your dad concluded. 

“I love you so much, dad. Thank you.” You whispered. 

“Love you too, sweet pea.” He said softly before the line cut off. 

You let out a deep huff and your head dropped against the arm of sofa again, tears pricked your eyes and you rubbed them roughly to stop the tears from falling. 

“Proud of you.” Joel stated, his fingers rubbing your skin soothingly. “You did so well, you were mature and kind. Perfect manners.” He praised, teasing you about your manners. 

You let out a small laugh, sitting up so you could look at Joel again. His eyes were tired and soft, his fingers continued to soothe you and you sighed contentedly. 

“God, I’m dreading tonight already.” You winced and Joel nodded in agreement. “Gonna have to keep your dirty hands off me, Miller.” You teased, jabbing your toes into his side to tickle him; he grabbed your feet and tickled the bottom of them causing you to let out a squeal. 

“Gonna have to keep your hands off me, more like. Dirty girl.” He teased, still tickling you. 

— 

Joel and you spent the majority of your afternoon on your sofa, watching TV and cuddling up to have a couple of naps. You had got dressed into jeans and a comfy knitted jumper, Joel had pulled his clothes on from the previous night. 

“Stay with me tonight, once your dad is gone? Bring some clothes and stay with me?” Joel asked quietly, feeling nervous to ask you, for some reason. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” You teased with a grin before you grabbed your overnight bag and stuffed your essentials inside of it.

Joel drove you both over to his house, it was around 6pm and you felt your stomach flip with anxiety with every minute that passed. You drew the curtains in the living room, lit the fireplace and even lit a couple of candles that were scattered in the living room. They made you smile as the warm glow flicked in front of you; you had bought these for Joel for Christmas last year, you insisted he needed a feminine touch to his house, especially if he was ‘ever going to get a girlfriend’. You had always felt to bitterly anytime your father brought up that Joel should ‘get back out there and find someone’; looking back on it now, it made you laugh. If only you could have seen what was coming right round the corner for you both. 

“I think we should order Chinese.” Joel stated from the doorway of the living room, causing you to jump slightly. 

“Oh uh, yeah. Sounds good. Dad’s favourite, good tactic, Miller.” You smiled as you wandered over to where Joel was stood. 

“What were you doing in here?” Joel asked suspiciously. 

“Nothin’, just admiring those nice candles.” You teased and wrapped your arms around Joel’s waist so you were hugging his frame. 

“Oh yeah?” Joel asked, smirking. “Some girl got me them saying I needed a feminine touch in my house, or somethin’ like that.” He teased, wrapping his arms around your neck so he could hold you close. 

You hit his side affectionately and rolled your eyes at him, you leant back so you could see his features and he ducked his head down to catch your lips in a kiss. His hand immediately found your cheek, he cupped it tenderly as his lips moved against yours. You smiled into the kiss and swiped your tongue across Joel’s bottom lip silently asking for permission to deepen it. Joel obliged happily, allowing you access to explore his mouth further and he hummed in appreciation as your tongue met his own. You could taste mint on his hot breath as you kissed and you couldn’t stop the quiet moan that escaped your mouth as you kissed. It was a tender moment, his hand held you so softly as you kissed him deeply. 

Finally, you pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath momentarily and his kissed your lips softly once more. 

“You can’t be doing that to me, not when your dad could arrive any moment. We are trying to win him over, I don’t think he’ll be best pleased if he arrived and saw you with your tongue down my throat and my cock hard in my jeans, will he?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

You giggled and shrugged at Joel. “Not my problem if you get hard from me kissing you. Sounds like a you problem, Mr Miller.” You teased and kissed his cheek before leaving the room. 

Joel slapped your ass teasingly as you walked away and you yelped at him, pushing his hand away. You climbed onto one of the stools at his kitchen island and picked up your phone to look at the time. It was 6:40pm and you knew your dad would be arriving imminently. You absently chewed on the side of your thumb and scrolled through your phone to try and distract yourself momentarily. 

“It’ll be fine, peach.” Joel said soothingly, he kissed the top of your head. “I’m gonna have a quick smoke before he arrives.”

“It’ll be fine, Joel.” You mimicked, knowing the man only really smoked when he was drunk, stressed or nervous. 

“Shut up.” He laughed affectionately and grabbed his packet of smokes from near his kitchen door; he let himself out and lit one of his cigarettes. 

You looked at him and you couldn’t help but think back to the morning after it first happened, when you walked down and saw him in nearly the same position then. It was less than a week ago but it felt like a lifetime ago now, it felt as if so much had happened since then. 

You went back to your phone, you opened the camera roll and looked through the images you had taken with Joel last night; you giggled as you scrolled through the stupid faces you pulled. You thumb lingered over the screen as you stared at the image in front of you; it was the one where Joel was kissing your head, your eyes were closed peacefully and you saw the perfect side profile of the older man. It was an image of a seemingly normal couple, you almost didn’t recognise it. Your thumb hovered momentarily over the options before you pressed your screen a couple of times more to set the image as your wallpaper. You locked your phone and touched the screen to see the image illuminated there for you and you grinned at it. 

You were pulled from your phone as the back door, where Joel was, slid open and he stepped inside. He was about to ask if your dad had arrived yet but his words were cut short by the doorbell ringing through the house. You jumped down from the stool, smoothed your jumper and gave a shaky sigh to try and calm yourself. Joel held his hand out for you to take; which you did gratefully and he caught your lips for a quick kiss, just one last stolen moment of bliss before your dad broke it. 

Joel wrapped his arm around your waist protectively as you walked to the front door, he gave you a small squeeze as you opened it and saw your dad stood awkwardly, a pack of beer under one arm and a large bunch of flowers in his other hand. You knew he felt awful for this morning, part of you was glad he recognised his awful behaviour and the other part of you felt guilty for his guilt. 

“For you, sweet pea.” He said softly, pushing the bouquet into your direction you. You smelled the flowers and smiled at your dad, the bouquet contained different wildflowers and he had even made sure there were sweet peas throughout, as it was how he always addressed you. “And uh; Joel, these are for you. They’re the ones we always share.” Your dad said quietly, holding the beers out for him to take. 

Joel took them, ushered your dad inside and smiled at him. “Thank you, bud. Truly.”

“Come on through to the kitchen, dad. I’ll put these in a vase and I’ll get you both a drink.” You said sweetly, kissing your dad’s cheek before going through to the kitchen. 

You looked through Joel’s cupboards frustratedly, looking for anything resembling a vase. 

“You’re not gonna find one, peach. Do I look like the sorta guy that has flowers hanging around?” Joel laughed and you rolled your eyes. 

“Of course you don’t have a fuckin’ vase. A vase, something so simple.” You muttered, settling for a large glass and filling it with water so you could at least keep the flowers hydrated. “Gonna start buying you flowers so you have to get a vase.” You teased, sticking your tongue out at Joel. 

Your dad cleared his throat, feeling awkward as he stood by the kitchen island and you shot him an apologetic look. 

“Beers?” You asked enthusiastically as you tried to clear the air. 

“Beers.” The two men concluded at the same time which caused you to laugh. 

You fetched everyone a drink before you put the remaining beers back into the fridge for your dad and Joel to enjoy. 

“Cheers,” you announced. “To family and friendship.” You offered up, tilting your bottle towards your dad. 

“To love.” Your dad concluded and clinked his bottle to yours before gently tapping Joel’s too. 

“Joel, shall I order some food? Do you maybe wanna go through the living room with dad?” You encouraged to which Joel nodded. “Gonna order Chinese, old man, so I hope you brought your appetite.”

“Sounds perfect, thank you, sweet pea.” Your dad smiled weakly as he followed Joel out of the room. 

Joel sat himself down on his couch and motioned for your dad to take a seat, he did so in the arm chair across from the male. 

“I’m sorry.” They both spoke at the same time, your dad waved a hand in front of his face dismissively and shook his head. “No, Joel, I’m sorry. Y/N is an adult, I just didn’t want to admit that she may not need me anymore. What I said was out of order —“

Joel went to interrupt and your dad gave him a look that told him otherwise. “I was out of order, I shouldn’t have brought up Sarah. It wasn’t fair and it definitely wasn’t nice. I just — I hated the thought of you, of you touching my little girl. I just. It made me feel ill.” Your dad continued, pausing to take a swig of his drink with a grimace. “But it’s not just you… it’s the thought of anyone with my little girl that makes me feel ill, I just need to remember she’s an adult and well, at least she’s with someone I know and trust. Because I do, Joel, I still trust you; only now, I trust that you won’t hurt my girl.” He spoke, his voice was soft but stern. 

Joel nodded, his fingers toyed with the label of his beer bottle and he stared at it intently. “Bud, I wouldn’t hurt her. Not even for a second. And I’m sorry, I am for the way this has gone. I know I’m a lot older than her, and I know I’m your friend and I crossed a line there… I care so much about her, I’m truly lucky she wants to give an old guy like me a chance. I’m sorry.” He all but whispered, his voice shaking with nerves. 

“I know you are.” Your dad offered up, giving his knee a friendly pat. “I don’t love the idea of your relationship, and I would appreciate if you didn’t flaunt it in front of me, at least not whilst I adjust to it but I know you’re sorry, and I forgive you. I uh — I didn’t mean what I said about work this morning, you’re not fired. I couldn’t run this shit without you.” Your dad laughed dryly. “Take the rest of the week off, come back next Monday, once we have both had a bit of time to digest everything.”

“Thank you.” Joel breathed, relief flooding his body as he finally felt his muscles relax into the sofa. “Thank you so much, and for what it’s worth, peach is real’ sorry for how this all happened. I know she’s said it herself but she feels awful, much like I do.”

“I know. It’s messy but we will all get over it in time. Come here.” Your dad said, placing his beer bottle down and standing to bring Joel in for a hug; his hands patted Joel’s back as he held him there. “Sarah was the luckiest girl to have a dad like you, I know it. And my sweet pear will be lucky to have you as her partner, also.” Your dad forced the last part of his sentence out, the words didn’t flow with ease but he did mean them, somewhat. 

The rest of the evening was pleasant, you all sat around eating Chinese and listening to music; much like how your Friday evenings went. The tension had all but dissipated once you all sat down to eat and talk things through. 

It was late, you had placed your head into Joel’s lap and drifted off to sleep; your belly full of Chinese food and a low buzz of alcohol thrummed through your body. You were content and safe. 

Joel stroked through your hair with his fingers, his eyes so soft as he looked at you with adoration, your lashes splayed across your soft cheeks and he held your hand with his free one. 

“I’ll leave you guys to it.” Your dad announced, a little awkward. Joel was about to get up, to wake you up to say bye but your dad shook his head. “Let her sleep, I’ll send her a message tomorrow morning. Thank you for tonight, truly. I’m sorry for this morning. You’re a good guy, Joel Miller.” Your dad whispered, he patted Joel’s shoulder and Joel closed his eyes at your dad’s kind words of acceptance. He didn’t feel like a good guy, especially not after this morning but he was so thankful for your dad’s apology. 

Your dad left the house quietly and Joel looked down at the perfect sight of your snoozing in his lap. He gently pried you off to stand before he leant down to lift your sleeping body off of the sofa. He was gentle with you, being mindful to hold your body close as he walked you through the doorway to go upstairs.

“Hmm?” You hummed at the disturbance, your eyes barely fluttering open. 

“Taking you up to bed, sweet girl. Your dad just left, he’ll message you in the mornin’ he said.” Joel whispered, trying to keep you from waking up fully. 

“Oh.” You yawned before nuzzling your face into Joel’s neck, searching for warmth. “Hmm. I love you.” You mumbled incoherently, not really registering what had been said. 

Joel paused for a second, taking in your words, he bit back a smile and kissed your head. “My sweet girl, love you more.” He chuckled lowly, you made a small noise in your sleep and with that Joel laid you down on his bed. 

He took your jeans off of you and your jumper before redressing you in the pyjamas you had brought over. He stripped himself down to his boxers and climbed into the space next to you; he brought your sleeping frame closer and held you tightly as he let his own slumber pull him in. 

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Taglist Notes: If anyone wants tags removing for the last part, please let me know! Subsequently, if people want to be tagged in the last (?) part, also please let me know! Names strikedthrough are users that couldn’t be tagged properly, if I missed you, please know it isn’t intentional at all!!! <3

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[creativeashproductions]

A Finch’s Journey // Bradley Rooster Bradshaw

Summary: A gift from the kindest and warmest woman in a dark period of your life begins a decades-long journey to finding peace and love. 

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader (nicknamed Finch)

Warnings: Inaccurate naval knowledge, swearing, hospitals, treatments, sickness (cancer), angst, character death and FLUFF

Words: 3.2k

A/N: First finished fic in like a year. Thanks Julie.

Masterlist

Your big eyes peered up momentarily at the woman resting in the chair beside you, one hand resting on the armrest and the other dutifully colouring a picture. Your hand meticulously fills in the lines of the dress with indigo colouring. The other hand, in a similar position as the woman who’d taken you under her wing.

“Ma’am?” You shyly spoke, avoiding the curious, gentle blue of the woman who reminded you of days on the beach in the warm sun.

“Sweet pea, you know you don’t have to call me that.” The blonde woman’s smile was gentle and reassuring. 

“Are…are you scared?” You whispered in the already quiet room. You froze as her soft hand lightly took the indigo crayon your small hand had clenched hard enough that it bent.

“Not for me.” She replied, carefully twisting to face you but keeping her arm immobile, “I’ve lived a good life. I loved and was loved deeply. I travelled to places I couldn’t have imagined as a kid. I fell in love and was blessed to raise a son from that love. I’m scared for how my son will be after.”

“’Cause your husband is waiting for you in the clouds, and your son will be alone?” You innocently asked, kicking your feet in the chair. 

She smiled, “because I asked a friend to do something that will hurt him. I’m scared he’ll let the grief and bitterness overtake his life. He’s always been a happy child. You remind me of him.”

You beamed, revealing the tooth you’d lost a few days ago, “Maybe he needs a hug. Hugs always fix things.”

You nervously shifted on your beat-up shoes, looking up at the small cottage on a quiet street. The cottage holding the reason you had travelled to the West Coast from the opposite side. You recognized it from the polaroids the former owner had used to distract you from treatments.

“Can I help you?” A lady asked from the house next door. Her spirally dark hair was streaked with silver.

“Does Bradley Bradshaw live here?” You inquired, turning to face the curious neighbour halted in sweeping her porch.

“He does. He’s away for work. I can take your number and name for him if you’d like.” The lady answered leaning on the broom to focus solely on you. Her brown eyes are unrelenting in the stare.

“That’s okay. I’ll drop by in a few days.” You cast one more look at the house before turning on your heel. 

What’s another couple of days after decades of being two ships passing each other. Your flexible job allowed for extended days since you were a travelling nurse filling in at clinics needing help. 

“Well, I’ll let him know to expect someone. What’s your name?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You responded, turning to walk down the street toward the little bungalow you had rented for a few weeks. 

Your eyes scanned the gorgeous, well-kept houses on the trek back to the main street. It was stunning for a portion of a coastal city, even with the soundtrack of jets flying above the area. But, despite the reason behind stepping foot in the town, you had taken a position at a nearby clinic as a locum nurse.

For the next two or so weeks, you’d been spending your time waiting for Bradley’s return from work. Then you'd move on when you met the man and finished the contract. Maybe plan for the following position to be overseas. You’d love to see Ireland or go somewhere in Spain.

You spent the first two days in town frolicking in the water, building sandcastles with a cute little girl on the beach, and touring. On the third and fourth day, you decided to ask one of the locals for destinations and found yourself driving up the coast. Finally, on the fifth day, you dug out your scrubs and sneakers and made your way to the clinic.

“Morning, Tracy.” You smiled, putting a teal file folder by her arm at the front desk. The redhead beamed from her place in front of the computer.

“Morning, Finch,” Tracy responded, pushing a cup of coffee from the good cafe down the street. Tracy always scored discounts with the cute barista with a crush on her.

“How was the ER last night?” You questioned, flipping through one of the files of patients waiting to be seen. 

The urgent care clinic was a branch of the Naval Base Hospital as a resort for the family of the naval personnel. Typically you saw more sniffles and minor sicknesses in the children compared to the more concerning ones. Well, there was when a retired officer walked in with her finger hanging off by a thread with the question of, ‘hi, do you guys do stitches?’. 

All staff had to pull a shift over at the main hospital while under contract. Yours scheduled for Friday.

“Dead. Overheard a lot of the people stationed were out on missions.” Tracy kept her voice down while answering since she shouldn’t know, but a loose-lipped Lieutenant had been trying to woo her.

“Which means my Friday may be bad.” You hummed, glancing down at the old watch on your wrist. You grabbed one of the files and stepped out from behind the desk.

“Never know.” Tracy responded, turning her back to answer the phone, “Miramar Base Urgent Care.”

You quickly read the name, “Olive Bassett? If you could follow me.”

A young man grasped a small child's hand in a rush to follow you to the hallway. The little girl, five years old as her file read, had gorgeous honey-gold eyes framed by thick dark eyelashes. Golden-hued skin speckled with freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“Jackson Bassett. I’m Olive’s father.” 

Your eyes lifted from the file to meet the same honey-gold coloured eyes, “Mr. Bassett, I’m Nurse Y/N. I’m gonna grab a little information for the doctor.”

“Of course.” Jackson nodded, crouching to pull Olive into his arms before depositing her onto the exam table, “She said her throat was sore two days ago. This morning she spiked a fever, and I brought it down with medicine. She’s having trouble swallowing and can only take a few sips of water.”

Words scrawled over the file as he listed the symptoms and Olive nodded or shook her head at times. Jackson’s wife had been recalled to TOPGUN for a mission nine months back. After receiving word of the transfer, the Bassetts moved to the base a couple months ago. 

“Her fever is higher than I’d like. The doctor will go over my notes and then do a full exam.” Your eyes met the tear-filled ones of little Olive, “Wanna know a secret, Miss Bassett?”

Olive’s head hesitantly nodded.

“Dr. O’Collins has a secret stash of lollies for anyone that knows the secret….” You trailed off, watching a spark flare in the little girl’s eyes again, “Tell him you saw the fairies making fairy dust.”

Olive lit up in excitement.

“She should be fine. Pick up some popsicles for the sore throat, but the Doc will answer any more questions.” You told Jackson, sliding on the stool to push away to the desk in the corner. Your hand found the stickers you had hidden in every room in the building.

You were quick to roll back to Oliver to hand a stick of her choice before waving to the father and daughter.

At one point in your life, you had done your absolute best to avoid all medical facilities or anything that reminded you of when you were sick. You’d spent a lot of your childhood in sterile rooms and understood that your mother’s job in the Navy helped pay for the treatments and medicines. 

You’d relapsed around the same time the lady who kept you company had worsened. You and she never shared the type of cancer you had been diagnosed with. She’d been the adult during a time when your mother had been deployed with the Navy. You owed a lot to her for doing her best to comfort and distract you, all the while suffering herself.

At ten years old, you found yourself in the same room receiving treatment after relapsing a year after entering remission. Not much had changed in the decor or the fact that the woman who had coloured pictures with you sat there too.

What had changed was in the time you’d been diagnosed, battled, found victory, and got sick again you weren’t the same child. You weren’t as innocent. You weren’t as happy. You understood more than what a child should.

“Finch, how’s school going?” She spoke, bringing your attention from the ceiling. You barely rolled your head to face her.

Her cheeks were gaunt, her skin pale, and a scarf kept her head warm in the cold temperature of the room. She knew, hell, you knew that her prognosis was poor. And you both avoided speaking about it. Yet, she hadn’t lost the warmth or happiness in the time you’d known her.

“Doctors won’t let me go to school. I get my assignments mailed on a specialized outline.” Your lips turned down, “I dunno why I have to do math when I’m gonna die.”

Your friend’s eyes saddened, “No, you won’t. You’re so strong Little Goldfinch.”

Goldfinch. A nickname she coined for you when she saw how social you were during your first treatment with the nurses. She could see you becoming a teacher with how well you interacted and treated people kindly.

“Then why are you gonna die?” You demanded, shifting to stare her down, “You’re the strongest person I know!”

Her eyes crinkled in the corners, “Sometimes strengths are different. But, Finch, I’ve made peace with what will happen.”

Her eyes shifted to where the chemo was infusing into your arm through the IV and then to her bare one. Your heart broke because you knew that her treatment no longer worked, and she was spending her time left to be with you.

“But-“

Her hand reached out, “I knew immediately you were gonna be so important to me. I need you to hold on to this for me.”

Her hands reached behind her to the clasp on the necklace that never left her neck. Her husband had given it to her when their son was born. Their son was given a similar pendant with a sun instead while her husband found a ring with stars he slung on the chain of his dog tags.

“You never-“

“I’m sure one day you’ll know what to do with it.” 

Her hands carefully avoided wires in her mission to clasp the necklace around your neck instead. Your smaller hand reaching up to caress the moonstone with the gold diamond-encrusted crescent moon. It was beautiful.

Carole Bradshaw died a month later. A year later, you’d been declared in remission and sitting in a classroom. The necklace still proudly resting on your chest.

Twenty years later, you had dreamt of the ocean, brown eyes and the same necklace Carole had gifted you. You immediately cut your trip to Australia off and bought the first ticket to Virginia. You knew that this was what Carole meant when she gave the necklace to you.

So you’d begun a months-long search to track down Carole’s son Bradley. It had taken visiting the hospital where you and Carole got treatment. And then pleading with your mother to call on an old friend from the Academy. With a destination in hand, you had found a locum nurse position in San Diego.

Now you were standing on the porch of the home of who you really hoped was Carole’s son. But, unlike a week ago, the driveway wasn’t empty. Instead, a light blue Bronco was parked beside the freshly mowed grass.

Your fist raised to knock once, twice and a third time on the front door. Finally, the sound of footsteps sounded inside. The door opened, and your breath was taken away.

“Can I help you?” The person asked, peering at you with tired eyes.

“Are you Bradley Bradshaw?” You asked pushing your hands in the back pockets of your cotton shorts. A thin cardigan over a t-shirt to combat the cool breeze.

 “I am,” Bradley confirmed, leaning on the doorjamb of his home. His brown eyes scanned you from the brown sandals to your e/c eyes. He wondered if you would be interested in grabbing a drink or walking on the beach.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You offered, reaching out to shake his hand in greeting, “I have something that belongs to you. Or well to your mother.”

Rooster stood straight up upon hearing that. His light-hearted thoughts and attraction faded when you mentioned his mother. A stranger.

“H-how would you know my mother? She died when I was nineteen.” Rooster breathed, dropping his crossed arms.

“I know.” You softly breathed, stepping through the open door when he stepped to the side.

The foyer opened in the living room with soft-coloured walls and a frame holding a folded flag on the mantle. White accents and pictures of family littered the walls. You could see the pencil lines of a child being measured on the kitchen door frame.

“How?” Rooster demanded, furrowing his brows.

“Because she was my friend.” You turned to face the confused aviator, “On my eighth birthday my life changed forever. I had been sick for a while. Lethargic, I would become breathless and other stuff. The doctor called during my birthday party. Test results came back, and by the next day, I was sitting in a paediatric oncologist's office.”

Rooster’s breath called in his throat, “Wait are you, Finch?”

Your eyebrows raised, “Carole coined that. I spent my time in the hospital fluttering around to rooms to make friends. It started as Goldfinch and shortened.”

“She spoke about you. Mom was lonely for a lot of my childhood. Then, when she got sick, she lost her spark.” Rooster recalled the scary time learning his mom was really sick, “She got it back when she met a friend. She called you her little Goldfinch.”

“She did everything she could to keep me company. I didn’t have any family other than my parents, who were both on active duty. Deployed a lot. So Carole stepped in as a trusted adult when they weren’t there.” Your smile was wistful, remembering the warm smile and laugh that embodied glee, “Even when she stopped treatment, she would sit with me during mine. She talked about her pride and joy and the adventures she had.”

“She could be anyone’s friend.” Rooster grinned, leaning back on the back of the couch. His ankles crossed, looking at you.

“She could. In the end, she gave me this.” Your deft fingers tugged the moonstone and diamond pendant from under your shirt.

Rooster stood straight up, staring at the necklace lying on your fingertips. For as long as he could remember, Carole Bradshaw never took two pieces of jewellery off. Her wedding ring and the necklace you were wearing.

He didn’t notice he had stepped closer until his calloused fingers gently touched the moonstone.

 “I-I thought this was lost.” He gasped carefully, eyeing the diamonds in the crescent moon. It was as perfect as the last time he saw it was when his mom was alive, “She would brush it off.”

Your lips quirked, “She was pretty mysterious about why she gave it to me. Said ‘I’m sure one day you’ll know what to do with it’ and was tight-lipped about why.”

Rooster’s brown eyes crinkled with mirth, “She was a sucker for movies and books like that.”

Your eyes moved from the pendant to meet the man’s brown pair. It was silent for a moment.

“She loved you. So very much, Bradley. She lit up when she talked about you. She was only scared about how you’d be after she passed. She was worried the grief and bitterness would swallow you.”

He was confused, “What?”

“Carole didn’t tell me much since I was a child, but she mentioned asking a friend to do something that would hurt you. She regretted it, but it was too late to do anything. She only hoped you could forgive her.”

His eyebrows raised as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. It hadn’t been Maverick’s idea to pull his papers. His mom had. 

“Thank you.” Why Rooster was thanking you, he didn’t know. Maybe for the peace, he felt.

“This belongs with you.” You whispered, raising your hands to unclasp the necklace to drop it into his hand, “I think she always meant for me to give it to you.”

In the time since you’d left California, you’d changed your hair, Rooster discovered the moment he’d seen you. It looked good. His hand held his bag tightly as he walked closer to your form.

“Finch!” Rooster called, bringing your attention to the person in front of you.

His brown eyes drank in the lavender-coloured scrub pants paired with the scrub top of cartoon birds. Next, his eyes found the moonstone necklace that had brought you together resting on your chest as it had since he’d returned it eight months ago. Then, his brown eyes finally flicked down to the newest addition he’d given you.

“Roo!” You beamed, running full speed into his arms. 

Rooster shifted to press a lingering kiss to your neck before leaning back to drink you in. His one hand caresses your soft cheek.

“I thought you were flying in on Monday?” You asked, leaning back to stare at him with glittering eyes. The man in question beamed back.

“I scored a few extra days off. Mav’s extra wedding gift.”

His eyes shifted to the band he’d slipped onto your finger a few months back. It matched the one on his hand. 

“Perfect! Roisin gave me a list of places we should check out. She’s got the connections to places only the locals know about!” Your hand grasped his as he let you tug him down from the clinic to the little apartment you had rented for a short time.

Rooster had gotten papers of a deployment a month before your postponed honeymoon would begin. He’d persuaded you to find a locum position for the month-long deployment, and he’d fly to Ireland to meet you.

“Ireland, and then we’re going to Spain?” 

“I have to show you the places I saw. You’ll love it. And then we’ll return to San Diego.” Your words were coy at the end. His eyes moved away from the people moving down the sidewalk to you.

“We’ll? I thought you were heading down to Scotland before coming home?” Rooster asked, pulling you to a stop.

You bit your lip, keeping quiet.

“Finch?” Rooster slowly spoke, reaching to grab your other hand in his clasp.

“I applied for a position at the clinic I was a locum at when I was searching for you. I just need to sign the contracts, and I’ll have a permanent position.”

Rooster flew his head back gleefully in such a way that reminded you so much of the woman who’d held your hand in a sterile room decades ago.

Carole Bradshaw knew you were gonna be important to her. She just didn’t know you’d be more important to Bradley too.

[milkywaydrabbles]

Number 15 for Alucard, it'd be so cute!

A/N: I don't think this is the fluff you were expecting LOL I promise it's a happy ending but the angst took over. In case you (or anyone else) was wondering the song is Cherry Wine by Hozier (i'm in my feels right now about this man I'm sorry) Anyways I hope you like it mwuaaah

"Sing to me again" x Alucard

Fight.

Attack.

Defend.

Alucard couldn’t think of anything except you and the baby while he was on the front line. The village had been so peaceful, for long he nearly forgot there were still monsters crawling around in the world. The stragglers that had grown stronger, the ones who persevered throughout the days, weeks, months. The stragglers that had already killed some of the makeshift infantrymen, the ones who have had nothing but time on their hands and are so hungry they see red. The stragglers that had Alucard running out to defend the village while you stay hidden away deep in the castle, barricaded and locked behind the safety of your shared home. They were evolved, instantly locking onto the dhampir who was the strongest amongst the men, bloodied grins widening: teeth sharp as blades that could tear through muscle and sinew with ease.  Alucard steadied himself, gripping a little tighter onto his shield and sword, kissing its hilt and imagining your sweet face, the sweet face of his newborn daughter, and lunged.

-

You were frantic, trying so hard to stay calm if only for your energy not to be poured into the babe huffing and crying in your arms. You’d been trying to put her to bed, but how could she? How could she sleep when she felt your panic, your anxiety pulsing into the very air she breathed in? How could she sleep when your soothing rocking was more jarring than anything, your voice shaky as you shushed her? How could you ever expect her to calm her sorrows when, if you tried hard enough, you heard the incessant howls and screeches from the deadly monsters outside castle walls.  You prayed, you prayed to all the deities and gods that could ever possibly exist to bring your Adrian back home. You’d never worry like this, he’s so strong, fending off the monsters with ease. But you’d never seen him so nervous like this either: having the heavy knocks of men on the castle doors begging for saving. The sheer strength of the creatures overwhelming them. 

What felt like days passed, it could have been a few minutes, it could have been a few hours. You’re not sure, you and your daughter going in and out of sleep, waking at every creak and bang that was heard. You shushed and cooed, steadying yourself the best you could to maybe sing a lullaby to your darling girl. “Shh, shh, I know sweet pea--I miss him too. But he’ll be safe, he’ll come back..” You whispered, kissing her forehead as a tiny hand balled into a fist rubbed at scrunched up eyes. 

Her eyes and words are so icy oh, but she burns like rum on the fire. Hot and fast and angry as she can be, I walk my days on a wire. 

It looks ugly, but it’s clean, oh momma don’t fuss over me.

Way she tells me I’m hers, and she’s mine. Open hand or closed fist, would be fine. The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.

The cries lulled to a few whines and whimpers, holding her to your chest as you continued your hushed tones.

Calls of guilty thrown at me, all while she stains the sheets of some other. Thrown at me so powerfully just like, she throws the arm of her brother.

But I want it, it’s a crime, that she’s not around most of the time.

Way she tells me I’m hers, and she’s mine. Open hand or closed fist, would be fine. The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.

Singing has calmed you enough to keep a gentle bounce, baby slowly falling asleep in your arms. You internally sighed, thankful that at least the immediate worry of your child has been quelled. 

Now all you can do is wait for your beloved.

-

Alucard ended the life of the final monster, hearing the victorious cries and hollers of the villagemen around him. He was grateful the battle had ended, retreating quickly to your shared home, finally able to hold you in his arms. Slowly, he opened the doors, knowing any sudden movements could stir his (hopefully) sleeping baby girl. He didn’t want to increase your stress, already guilty that he had to leave you in disarray. He made his way to the room he’d left you in, sure you’d still be in there: the nursery. The very nursery that you two built with your own hands, right next to his old bedroom.

Just like Vlad and Lisa.

 As Alucard got closer, he heard small hiccups and babbles from his daughter, along with the soft singing coming from you. He recognized the song, a song you’d often sing to yourself when you thought he wasn’t listening. The same song you’d sing into his hair when he was half asleep. He pressed the door open, his heart stopping at the very sight of you whispering the song into your daughter’s fluffy mess of a head, eyes closed. You hadn’t noticed him, and he was grateful. He wanted to just take in the moment, all panic and anxiety of constantly thinking that something might have happened, that something might have gotten through the castle, all quelled the moment he saw you both. 

He let you finish, giving you a moment before softly knocking on the door, your eyes darting to him immediately, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “Adrian..” You whispered, voice heavy. He crossed the threshold, kneeling at your feet and holding you both without disturbing the sweet babe. “Oh thank god you’re safe.” You did your best not to cry, you really did, not realizing just how scared you were for his safety. But he was alive and well and back in your arms. “I’m here now, love, I’ll keep you both safe always.” He whispered into your hair, looking down at his baby with adoration. 

“I heard you singing, love.” You hummed, calm enough now to put your girl down in her crib. The moment you sat back down though, Alucard’s head rested on your lap, hugging at your legs. You pet his hair, combing your fingers through the blond tresses. You hummed the melody of the song to him as his eyes fluttered close, breathing even. By the end you’d thought he’d already falling asleep, instead he spoke a whisper: “My darling, will you sing to me again?” Your heart clenched, and with a smile you responded:

“As long as you keep coming home to us, I’ll sing to you every day.”

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 15

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 15: The Widow

Chapter Summary: Contemplation.

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, lotta yearning and self-reflection, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, food

Notes: Chapter title from “The Widow" by The Mars Volta. This is the peak of angst in this story, I promise. Pleaaaaaase be mindful of the trigger warnings above. Big big thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading 🖤✨ OK THANKS FOR READING YALL LOVE U SORRY IF ITS A BUMMER.

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As far back as you can remember, you hated the dark. 

The uncertainty of what it contained would keep you up for hours in your childhood bedroom. 

Your mind ran rampant, imagining all kinds of insidious creatures lurking in the shadows. Beneath your bed, in the corners, behind your closet door, outside your window. Watching, waiting for you to fall asleep. 

At some point you started sleeping with the lights on. Your parents got you a nightlight in an attempt to curtail this behavior, but it wasn’t enough. There were still shadows. You were still cloaked in darkness with the monsters. All this did was begin a new ritual, where you waited until they went to bed before turning on the lights. 

One night, after you heard your parents’ bedroom door click shut, you scurried over to the light switch and flipped it up. The overhead light came to life, flooding the room in safety. Relief.  

By the time you crawled back into bed, your dad opened the door and peeked into the room. He looked between you and the overhead light, sighing, “Louella, we talked about this.” 

“Don’t turn the light off.” 

“Why not?”

Even then it felt silly. The answer stuck to the inside of your throat, hot and buzzing. Instead of letting it out, you burrowed beneath the covers and curled up into yourself. 

The floorboards creaked as your dad made his way across the room. He sat on the edge of your mattress and rubbed your back, comforting you. 

“Sweet pea,” he cooed, peeling back your Lion King comforter to expose your face, “It’s not good for you to sleep with the lights on all the time.” 

At this, you pouted at your blanket, fiddling with the frayed edges. 

“The dark is scary, isn’t it?”

You nodded. 

“What’s so scary about it?”

You shrugged. 

He hummed in acknowledgment, then glanced around the room, “I’ll let you in on a secret. Most everyone is afraid of the dark at some point or another. You know why?” 

Another shrug. 

“In the light, we have certainty. We can look over in that corner and see with our own eyes there’s no boogeyman there. It’s just a corner. Done deal. The dark… that’s trickier, isn’t it?” 

You nodded, trying to decide whether or not to tell him about the monsters you believed would manifest in the black abyss and swallow you whole. 

“You’re safe here, though. I promise. It’s just you in here. There’s nothing hiding in the dark. The corner is just a corner. All that’s under your bed is dust. In your closet, it’s just clothes.” 

“Can you check?” 

He chuckled, but granted your request, lowering himself to the ground to peek under your bed, telling you, “Nothing under here,” then climbed to his feet and strode over to your closet, pulling the door wide open so you could see the proof yourself. 

“All clear,” he said as he closed it and returned to your bedside, “Does that help?”

You nodded, casting your gaze down to your lap. A lingering feeling of dread still sat heavy in your stomach. His gaze stayed trained on you, obviously unconvinced. 

Eventually you asked, “But what if we just don’t see it now? What if it sneaks?”

Your voice felt tiny, meek. 

His shoulders deflated with a sigh. He scooted closer and petted your hair, holding eye contact when he countered, “Your brain is trickier than the dark ever will be. It makes you see things that aren’t there. Unless you believe it’s safe, you’ll never be able to rest.” 

He was right, you suppose. 

Rest only really found you when you trusted the lights’ promise that nothing would hurt you when it vanished. Even when the light broke its promise. Even when your dad went to the ER and returned in a box.

You tried to believe that your family would live on without him. That he would still somehow keep you safe. 

But he didn’t. 

Neither did your mother. 

Your mother cut the power and made you fend for yourself.

You learned that the only way to ensure nothing would hurt you was to make sure the room was vacant before deadbolting the door. To lock the windows and draw the blinds. You sharpened your teeth into fangs. You developed night vision and grew claws, and you hid so well you thought nothing could find you. 

Sure, it was dark. 

But the abyss had only one occupant, you knew that as fact. 

Sure, your skin ached to feel the sunlight. 

But you were safe. 

You’re not sure when it happened, but sooner or later, you swore you could see shapes shifting in the pitch black. When you laid in bed at night, you could hear something in the walls. The faint, dry scratch of nails on plaster. 

It sneaks. 

The thing became clearer over time. Bloated, purpled skin. Limbs that popped and groaned when it crept around just beyond your reach. It carried the stench of rot, putrid and sulphuric. 

Deep down in your guts, you understood the horrible truth. 

It was you. 

A part of you, anyway. Something that lived and died inside you, stillborn into the darkness just to haunt you. 

Then there was Ethan. 

Brash and charming, he took a sledgehammer to your walls and yanked you from your hiding place. Sunshine poured into the dark, dank room, soaking you in brightness. 

At first you were terrified. 

It overwhelmed your senses. 

Your eyes, having long forgotten how to operate in the light, burned in reaction. You clamped them closed for fear of going blind. It felt so warm you thought you might melt. Ethan’s honeyed words seemed like loudspeakers compared to the quiet echo of your breathing. To the faint, hoarse whisper of your monster. 

It took some time to acclimate to this long-forgotten brightness. But once you did, it felt incredible. You couldn’t believe you hid from it for so long. 

Together, you understood that with light, comes shadows. He had a monster who crept after nightfall, too. Sometimes you’d wake to the soft caress of its nails on your cheek, to his sour, putrid breath gurgling in your ear, “I will be the death of you,” like a promise. 

You came to trust its keeper, though. You believed it wouldn’t tear you apart, like yours wouldn’t Ethan.  

That is the promise of love, after all, isn’t it? 

To cherish one’s light so much that you’ll endure their dark? To love even the most haunted, grotesque parts of someone? Even their monsters? Even their ghosts? 

To trust that you can rest your weary bones in the dark without it destroying you? 

You believed this for so long. Bright years filled with joy and laughter and love, where you felt alive and trusted him. In those years, you forgot a very important fact:

 It sneaks. 

The fireplace lets out a sharp POP, drawing your attention away from the pitch black window. 

A smoldering log at the bottom of the hearth collapses. The fire shifts, birthing fresh flames that breathe hot against your cheeks. 

You pull the quilt snug around your supine body and huddle deeper into the couch, into the warmth of your body heat. 

When you called your mother-in-law yesterday and explained what was happening, that you needed a place to stay for a few days while you figure out what to do, she graciously granted your request to use their cabin out in the Sierra Nevada foothills, but warned you the place was winterized and had no central heating. 

“I don’t know what condition it’s in, nobody’s been out there since August. There’s quite a bit of firewood by the fireplace and out by the woodshed, use as much as you need. Electricity is on, but no internet and cell service is shoddy. You’ll need to get the water going, too—you know, why don’t you give me or Adam a call once you’re out there, we can walk you through it.” 

“Is there a landline? I don’t have my phone.” 

“Sure is.” 

“Ok, I’ll call you when I get there.” 

“Stop and get some groceries in town, too, there’s that grocery store—”

“Yeah, I remember,” you interrupted, eyes darting to the departures board, “I have to go, my bus is gonna be here soon. Thank you so much, Sarah.”

You could feel it coming within one second of the quiet hesitation that followed. 

“Lou, I just want to make sure…” 

Don’t ask. Please don’t ask. 

“Are you ok, honey?”

Fuck. 

Your face crumbled. Emotion clogged your throat. Tingles worked up your chest, behind your eyes, and you squeezed them shut to suffocate the tears. 

“Yeah,” you managed to tell her, your voice wavering with bullshit, “I just, um… I just need a few days. To get myself together, you know.” 

“Alright. Well, will you call me when you get there?”

“Yep,” you sniffled, “Talk to you then, bye.” 

Before she could respond, you returned the receiver to its cradle, ending the call, then took a moment to gather yourself before picking your toppled-over suitcase up off the ground and finding your bus.

The ride to Fresno was long. You spent most of it staring out the window, not really looking at anything in particular, just lost in your noisy head. 

At the Fresno Bus Station, you talked to three different cab drivers before finding one who agreed to bring you all the way out here. 

He made a few attempts at small talk, asking how your day was going and if you were on vacation and so on, but quickly picked up on your not-so-chatty vibes and let the cab go quiet. 

As he drove on, palm trees were replaced by threadbare ash trees, soon joined by evergreens. The hills became steeper. Swathes of rock broke through the earth’s soft surface, more and more with each mile. 

You asked him to stop in the town closest to your in-laws’ cabin. He kept the meter running while you bought a meager supply of groceries, figuring you only needed a few days worth, if that. 

Then the yellow taxi cab then drove deep into the forest, turning off on a low-maintenance dirt road that made the car jostle and rumble. 

When you came around a curve, and the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN came into view, you instructed him to drop you off there. 

“Are you sure? I can take you down the driveway, no problem,” he insisted. 

You could have explained that the gravel driveway was in poor condition and you didn’t want him to break down or something. Imagine that. Drive a girl to the middle of a goddamn forest and wind up getting stuck out there. What a fucking nightmare. For both of you, really. 

“I’m sure,” you said, flashing him a weak smile as you handed him the remaining money from your wallet, “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he looked down at the bundle of cash, but he took it, giving you a nod of thanks. 

“Just, um…” you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged, looping plastic grocery bags around your wrists, “If anyone comes around asking if you saw me, could you maybe… maybe you could say no?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded again, studying you for a moment before turning to open his door, “Let me get your bag for you.” 

He pulled your shitty suitcase from the trunk and handed it to you. Before returning to the driver’s seat to begin his voyage home, he paused for a few seconds, then looked at you. 

“Excuse me for asking, ma’am, but are you… well, are you… safe? Do you need me to contact anyone?”

“No.” 

The word came out sharp and final. It felt harsh leaving your lips, so you added, “I mean, you don’t need to contact anyone. I am, uhhh… cool as a cucumber. Safe… as a lock. Thanks, though.” 

You tried your hardest to give him a reassuring smile. He didn’t look like he bought it, but got in his taxi and left. 

From here, you followed the driveway into a tunnel carved out from the trees. 

The air was crisp and clear and everything seemed quiet except for the sound of you huffing and puffing down the path, leaves crunching under your feet, plastic bags rustling, your suitcase flopping around behind you like a defiant animal on a leash, fighting against each step. 

Fucking exhausting. 

About halfway, you spotted a flat boulder peeking out from the earth a few strides into the forest. You dropped your suitcase, shaking the plastic bags from your wrists, and blundered through the trees towards it. Your rubber legs ached with relief when you sat down criss-cross applesauce on the cool stone. Catching your breath, you leaned back and tilted your face up towards the canopy. A breeze rattled through the pines and ashes and cooled your cheeks. 

You spent some time here, stretched out on the boulder, admiring the contrast of the dark, rheumatic branches stretched out towards the powder-blue sky. When your labored breathing calmed, the quiet sounds of the forest started to come into focus. Leaves rustling. Birds warbling. The whistle of wind.

It felt nice. 

Peaceful.

Eventually, you heaved yourself to your feet and resumed your journey. You walked and walked, legs and wrists and arms aching, body and mind sapped of energy, until the tree line opened up into a clearing. 

The cabin came into view, and a bone-deep sense of nostalgia struck you. 

You remembered the first time Ethan brought you here, the summer after you started dating. Everything seemed to pulse with life. The trees, glowing green with leaves. The roaring river in the background. Ethan. The future, in general. 

What’s the word for the kind of nostalgia that guts you? The kind that feels like a 30-pound weight in your stomach? The kind that shreds your heart to pieces in your chest? 

That’s exactly what you felt when you saw the cabin. 

It looked cold. Dead. 

The inside felt no different. Everything was dark. Cool, still air bit your cheeks. Canvas was draped over all the furniture. It smelled of dust and damp and better times. 

You dropped your belongings to the entryway floor, collapsing in a heap among them, then cried your eyes dry.

Once you gathered yourself, you found the phone to call Sarah. 

She walked you through the ins-and-outs of making the cabin habitable. How to turn the water back on and get the fireplace going. Gave you permission to use whatever you want or need… which, so far, is just some firewood, a quilt from the cedar linen closet, and this couch. 

You blink your bleary eyes a few times, before looking back to the window. The world outside has lightened. Frosted trees stand out in the rich, Neptunian veil of morning, every branch appearing lacy and crystalline, important and beautiful. 

Have I slept? Or did I sit here all night, staring into the abyss?

“Fuck it,” you sigh to yourself as you sit upright, “Might as well make some coffee.” 

Ding

The elevator doors slide open.

Dieter follows Parker onto the fifth floor hallway of your apartment building. 

As he walks down the familiar hallway like he has so many times before, a guttural, foreboding feeling builds in his veins. 

The sensation is unbelievably heavy, but hollow. Knight’s armor. A church bell. The barrel of a gun. 

It reminds Dieter of the first time he came here, when he sensed Ethan’s presence on the other side of that door. 

“Hopefully the landlord didn’t change the locks,” Parker says as he flips through his keychain, isolating one labeled LOU. The key slides in without protest. Parker pushes the door open and enters the apartment, Dieter hot on his heels.  

When Parker flips the light on, the state of your apartment makes Dieter’s stomach drop. 

Ransacked is the first word that comes to mind. 

Every drawer and cupboard in your kitchen sits ajar, their contents disorganized or spread across the countertop. The couch and chair cushions are all discombobulated. Dirt tracks dried into the white carpet trace the heavy flow of boots that moved in and out of the apartment. It looks like every surface of the place has been perverted. 

Dieter crouches down to set an overturned cubby upright, shoving a pile of your hats and scarves and gloves back into their rightful place, muttering, “Fucking pigs.”

A leopard print pattern catches his eye, and he plucks out a scarf, draping it around his neck before returning the container to its home. 

“Pigs is right,” Parker snorts, slamming closed cupboards and drawers, “This place is a fuckin’ stye. I’m glad she’s not here to see this.”

Dieter rubs the soft fabric between his fingers and brings it to his nose, inhaling your scent. A freshly-baked smell that prods his tender heart. He stands and starts towards the kitchen, but freezes when he notices the door to Ethan’s room is open. His eyes flick from Parker, totally preoccupied with reassembling the kitchen, then back to the doorway. 

Curiosity gnaws at his insides. 

He approaches it, trying to act casual despite his pounding heart. At the threshold, he pauses to peak inside, not entirely surprised to see the room exactly as he pictured it. 

Well, mostly, anyway. 

No file cabinet or deep freezer, but open spaces where he thought they’d be. Taken as evidence, probably. Empty file folders are strewn across the desk. But the navy blue walls, the hardwood floor, the mirrors… all there. 

That horrible, palpable emptiness, like loss on loss on loss… that’s there, too. 

He glances over his shoulder at Parker, still distracted, then looks back into the room. When he steps through the doorway, a rush of adrenaline spikes his pulse. 

Why are you here?

Dieter cautiously wanders over to the desk and starts picking up the empty file folders, halting when he finds a sketchpad beneath one. 

He flips through the book of abstract black-ink illustrations. Some of them scribbles, some exquisite, some in-between. All of them saturated with emotion. Hopelessness. Guilt. Anger. Grief. Frustration. Every time he turns a page, a new sensation strikes him. Shame. Resentment. Suspicion. A whole dictionary of dark emotions. 

Scattered throughout, though, he finds a few that feel… not lighter, per se, but different. They feature negative space and soft curves. Clean lines and chaos. Love. 

They’re you. 

Of course they’re you, love. Of course you were his light in the darkness. A brightness carved out of soot and rot. 

A fond smile creeps across his lips. 

For reasons he can’t quite explain, Dieter looks to one of the mirrors and asks, “Can I take this with me? To give to her?” 

Yeah, sure. 

“Thanks,” he nods and tucks the book into his coat pocket, glancing over his shoulder before quietly inquiring, “Any chance you know where she is?”

Not here.

“Yeah, no shit,” Dieter thinks. He jumps a little when he hears the response crystal clear in his head. 

Well then why the fuck’re you here? You’re wasting time. 

“Me? What about you? Didn’t you move on from this place?”

After this, Ethan goes quiet. 

Dieter shrugs and looks away from the mirror to study the framed photos on the wall. Photos of Ethan with, who Dieter assumes are, his kids. None of them recent. The vast majority of the pictures feature you. 

You and Ethan kissing on your wedding day. The two of you posing somewhere with mountains in the background, drinking on a beach, dancing at a party. Each one depicts big, genuine smiles. The adoration you had for each other is evident. 

As the successor to your heart, maybe he should feel a twinge of jealousy, but he doesn’t. He actually finds it sweet. It fills him with warmth to know you spent a long while being well-loved. 

The wall of photos displays relics from Ethan’s youth, too. 

Graduation photos, family vacations, a bar mitzvah. Dieter picks up on something. A distinct before and after. He stops on a picture of Ethan as a child, hugging a younger boy—his brother, Benji—by a lake, and it starts to come together. Although he can’t quite pinpoint the defining line, it splits him in two and fractures into shards. 

An icy cold rush overtakes his body, like the word gave out from under him and he’s suddenly submerged in freezing water. He can’t breathe. He can’t scream. Feral, panicked energy pulses through his veins. His concrete limbs can’t move, paralyzed as he sinks, deeper, deeper, deeper…

Dieter returns to himself with a jolt, gasping for air. 

He takes a step back and slumps over, pressing his palms into his knees as he pants, “What the fuck, man? What the fuck?” 

You need to find her before it’s too late. 

Red bubbles up his chest.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” he sits up, jaw clenched, fists balled, and steps into the through-line of the mirrors. They reflect off one another to form a long, curved tunnel that stretches out on either side of him. Dieter looks from one mirror, to the other, seeing his image captured within each infinite layer. 

“Fuck you, man,” he seethes, shaking his head, “You fucking did this, you know that? Fucking piece of shit. I’m fucking trying, ok?” 

The last sentence comes out hoarse and thick. Heat works up his throat and his vision blurs with tears. 

“Whoa—hey, Dieter,” Parker runs into the room, all wide-eyed and searching Dieter’s face, “What’s wrong?” 

A sob heaves his shoulders. He hangs his head, shaking it from side-to-side, “I’m trying, Parker.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, pulling Dieter into a hug, reassuring him, “We’re gonna find her.” 

“What if we don’t?”

“We will. Keep that faith, papi. We will.” 

Dieter buries his face in Parker’s bony shoulder, releasing the pent-up worry and guilt festering infectious in his chest for the past day. Parker pets his hair and rocks him back and forth, letting out a few of his own sniffles alongside Dieter’s. 

When their crying starts to peter out, Parker gives him one more squeeze and pulls back, asking, “You wanna get out of here? This place is a fucking mess, and we gotta catch that flight soon anyway.“

“Can I look in her room first?” 

Parker’s eyebrows knit together over bloodshot eyes, and he nods, patting his friend on the shoulder before stepping aside. 

Dieter approaches your bedroom cautiously. Paranoid thoughts circulate in his brain, all those what-ifs and delusions of tragedy. What if he finds you here, cold and lifeless? What if you’re dead somewhere while he pokes around your apartment, looking for clues? Is he doing enough? Could he do more? 

But when the door groans on its hinges as he pushes it open, and he sets foot inside your bedroom, the impending doom percolating in his veins drains from him almost instantly. Many of your things have been rifled through, like the rest of your apartment, but the place holds an air of serenity. 

It feels warm and safe. 

It feels like you. 

Flipping the light on, he closes the door behind him, then walks over to your bed and crawls under the covers, burying himself beneath them. 

The sheets still carry a faint whiff of sex and sleep from before the two of you embarked for LA. His lungs expand with a deep, wide breath. Eyes drifting closed, he thinks of you. How you’re feeling. Where you are. What you’re doing. 

He picks up the bite of a chilled breeze. The steady babble of a river. Warm hands. Burnt tongue. Coffee, bitter and black. 

The signal drops. 

Not much, but enough for him to know you’re not in immediate danger, which brings him some solace. 

Still under the blankets, he pulls out his phone and dials your number. It rings and rings until your voicemail picks up. 

“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.” 

“Hey doll, it’s me. I’m at your apartment. It’s a fucking mess. Parker and I stopped by before going back to LA. He’s coming with me to help… well, to help find you. Anyway. I’m in your bed. It still smells like us. It was hard for me to fall asleep last night without you. Waking up without you is… it’s hell. I don’t know. I miss you, Lua. It’s been one fucking day and I miss you more than I’ve ever missed anyone in my life. I love you. I’ll call you when I get back.” 

Despite your lack of sleep, you managed to make this morning a productive one. 

You removed the slip-cases from the furniture and dusted, then forced yourself to eat a halfway decent breakfast of buttered toast and scrambled eggs. After washing the dishes, you soaked in the tub for a while, staring up at the wood-paneled bathroom ceiling as you contemplated what to do with yourself, both in the short-term context and the long-term. 

While drying off, you noticed the bright, mid-day sun shining down into the valley, making everything glow golden. It looked inviting. 

You dug through your suitcase, sifting through the clothing you packed with a warmer climate in mind. Shorts. Dresses. Bikinis. The best you could do was a sweater and some pajama bottoms. 

Down by the riverbank, you found this creaky wooden porch swing and settled on which to sit and ponder. 

You smooth the tip of your finger along the dewy lip of the mug, breaking up a curl of steam with each lazy revolution around its circumference. 

Today is the shortest day of the year. 

The winter solstice. 

Every once in a while, wind rolls down off the snowy tips of the Sierra Nevadas and meets the warmth of the California sun. The creaky wooden bench sits square in the middle of these contradictory weather conditions. Hot and cold. Dry and damp. Constantly churning, waxing and waning from one state to another. 

A crisp gust of wind from upriver cuts through the sun-baked pocket of air where you’re seated. You huddle into your jacket and bring the steaming mug to your lips, hissing when the black coffee scorches your tongue. 

The thought of Dieter shoots through you like a bullet. 

You picture him beneath the covers of your bed, fully clothed in his furry winter jacket, wearing your scarf, eyes clenched shut, wishing you would come out of hiding because it’s safe now. 

It rattles you. 

An infinite number of memories and worries and hopes and what-ifs flood your mushy, sleep deprived brain. They all muddle together in an incomprehensible cluster fuck that sets your blood ablaze and makes your ears ring. Your body contracts, squeezing a sob from deep within your chest. 

Fuck. 

Every single ounce of you aches to see him. To smell him. To feel his arms wrapped around you and hear his voice murmuring honeyed affirmations in your ear, telling you he loves you and understands why you had to leave. 

You pray he understands that you didn’t want to. Of fucking course you didn’t want to. You had to. For his sake and for yours. 

During the FaceTime call with Parker, when you first saw the cops outside your building, then David Alterman, you could only see two paths forward: Dieter would choose you or his career. 

Would he have chosen you? Maybe, but it would have been foolish. 

He would have to support you through whatever punishment the state of New York has queued up against you—prison, probably—on top of dealing with the fallout. The public backlash, the halt of money flow, not to mention the loss of his career, which means more to him than public opinion or money. In his own words, acting is his fucking purpose in life. 

And for what? An incarcerated girlfriend? Even if you put the issue of your pending criminal charges aside, you still wouldn’t be worth that loss. 

It would be gradual, but eventually he would feel it. 

It sneaks. 

He would come to resent you, and you wouldn’t be able to fault him one bit. 

Would he have chosen his career? Maybe, but it would ruin you both. 

If he chose to break off your relationship in order to salvage his career, you would have to hear him say it. You would have to know, with certainty, that you take second place in his heart. Maybe this is a selfish notion, this desire to be his number one priority. If he didn’t choose his wife over his career, why the fuck would he choose you?

Not only that, but if he chose this path, he would have to shoulder the hardship of two broken hearts. You know he loves you. You do. Ending your relationship would devastate him. He would be plagued with guilt and shame and regret, all the same as if he chose you to begin with. 

It seemed cruel to force him to make this impossible choice. No matter what he did, it would be wrong, and he would carry the burden.

This is when you saw the third path branch out before you. 

The one where you could sneak out before the sun rises, dragging your monster by its tether behind you. Where you could lock yourself away in a boarded-up room and wait for her to take you. You, not him. 

You would rather absorb the blame, from him and everyone else, a million times over than curse him with the responsibility of this dissolution.  

This is a mercy kill. 

An act of love. 

It may not seem like it to anyone else, but really, it is. 

This thought brings you some solace. 

Another gust of wind blows shivers down your spine. You bring the mug to your lips to test the coffee’s temperature, finding it tepid, but drink it anyway. 

Dieter wasn’t sure what to expect when he came home. 

Worst case scenario, he imagined cops waiting to arrest him for bribing an elected official or tell him you turned up dead. Best case, he imagined opening the door to find you there. Problem solved. Happily ever after. He would kiss you breathless and never let you doubt your station in his life again. 

What was most likely, though—and what he found—was something in the wide gray area between his paranoia and hopeless romanticism. 

Lincoln was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through TikTok on his phone, while Darlene sat at the dining room table, typing away on her laptop. 

Although he tried to keep an open mind the whole way here, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. Here he was, exhaustion burning his bones to dust, expecting some kind of a celebration, only to find out this was a checkpoint, not a finish line. 

Lincoln and Darlene both perk up at the sound of the door opening. They both rise from their respective places to greet Dieter and Parker. 

“Hey, welcome back!” Lincoln calls as he grabs Dieter’s suitcase, “How was your flight?”

“Fine,” he grunts, then nods to Parker, “This is Parker. Parker, this is my PA Lincoln and my publicist Darlene.” 

“Former publicist,” Darlene corrects, shaking Parker’s hand, “Nice to meet you.” 

Parker gives her a polite smile and a nod to her and Lincoln and tells them, “Thanks for your help.” 

“Want me to take your suitcase?” Lincoln asks Parker, dark blonde eye brows raised in expectation. 

“I’ve got it, love,” Parker waves him off with a dismissive hand, then turns to Dieter, “Where do you want me?” 

Before he can answer, Lincoln cuts in, “Here, I’ll show you to the open guest room.” 

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Parker’s mouth. He shrugs, “Lead the way, pretty boy.” 

Even in the dim illumination of the waning daylight, Dieter sees Lincoln’s cheeks flush pink. He grins and starts off down the hall. Before following, Parker looks at Dieter, raising a mischievous brow as he glances between him and Lincoln, mouthing, “Cute.” 

“Any updates?” Dieter asks Darlene as he slides off his crocs and starts towards the kitchen. 

“Well,” she sighs, crossing her arms, tilting her head to one side, “There has been progress.” 

The way she says it sounds like the beginning of bad news. He pauses his search for food and frowns at her. Static rises in his throat. 

“And?”

She walks to the dining room table to grab her notebook, flipping back a few pages as she approaches the kitchen island and leans against it. 

“So, I was able to trace her steps to a transit station in Fresno. I went up there yesterday and talked to security. Found out she took a cab from there, but the cab company won’t disclose where they dropped her. The driver reported that she seemed… off. Said she seemed scared and was very secretive, like she was in danger or something. He thought maybe she was running from a domestic abuse situation, and requested that the company not disclose her location.” 

Dieter gapes at this, unable to formulate words. She continues. 

“She talked a few other cab drivers before this one, so I talked to them. They told me she didn’t give them an address, just said it was about sixty miles away, up in the foothills. But that’s… that’s all I was able to get. The trail runs cold there.” 

“Can’t we throw some cash at the cabbie who drove her? Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it, I don’t care—” 

“I tried,” she shook her head, throwing her hands up at her sides, “I told them to name their price, they said it wasn’t about money, it was about safety.” 

Heat spikes his blood, overwhelming him with nervous energy that sets him into motion, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair, rubbing his neck, clenching his jaw. 

“What the fuck do we do now?”

“Do you know if she has any family or friends in that area? Maybe she mentioned something in passing—” 

“No, of course she didn’t,” he scoffs. 

Darlene doesn’t say anything. Her hazel eyes follow him from side-to-side. 

“I know her family is from Ohio, her friends are from New York. Anything else is a fucking mystery to me,” he shakes his head and stops pacing to holler, “PARKER, get in here!”

A few seconds later, he hears footfalls in the hallway, then Parker rounds the corner, blinking at him, “I know you didn’t just call for me like a fuckin’ dog.”

“Does Lua know anyone out by Fresno? In the mountains?” Darlene asks him. 

Parker frowns as he thinks about this, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Distant relatives, old friends,” Darlene glances at Dieter, “Exes, anything like that?”

Dieter glares at her, nostrils flaring, to which she defends, “We have to cast a wide net, I’m just asking.” 

Parker shakes his head again, “No. 

“What about Ethan’s family?” 

His face stays fixed in a searching expression. No glint of recognition. 

Dieter’s shoulders slump. 

Parker looks at him, brows knit together with concern, and adds, “But honestly, I’m so fucking exhausted, I might not be remembering right now.” 

They sit there for a moment, dull and disenchanted, until Darlene sighs, “Well, should we order some takeout?”

By late afternoon, the sun starts to sink down into the ragged black tree line of the far away mountains. 

Rays of light catch the atmosphere just right, casting a shimmering golden hue onto the cabin. One of these beautiful glowing beams streams through the window and manages to hit you square in the eyeballs. 

Grimacing, you flip your book belly-down onto the end table and push yourself up into a sitting position. A yawn expands your lungs. You stretch your arms above your head, then let them fall limp at your sides. 

Charred logs glow inside the fireplace. No flames. You rise to your feet and trudge over to it, swinging the grate open to slide a few more logs on the fire. They sizzle and pop as they catch heat and light ablaze. 

You look around the cozy, rustic living room, glancing at the clock on the wall, then out the window. 

Earlier today, while poking around the cabin for something interesting to take your mind off… Well, everything, you stumbled upon a small stash of homemade wine. A glass–maybe a bottle–sounds nice right now. Maybe you could make some food, too. Probably should. 

You pad across the dark lacquered floorboards to the cellar door, and push it open. Wrinkling your nose at the mildew scent, you flip the lightswitch on and tip-toe down the stairs, then across the room to the wine rack. One-by-one, you pull out the corked green glass bottles and take note of their year. A few are labeled Plum 2017. Two Strawberry 2018s. Half a dozen Red 2018s. 

One of the bottles reads White 2017. A fond smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You slip the bottle under your arm before jogging up the stairs to the main level, where you sift through Sarah’s record collection. A Frank Sinatra album catches your eye, so you put it on, then pour a glass of wine and survey your limited options for supper. 

A part of you wants to say fuck it, skip the meal. Just let your empty stomach soak up the wine. Let the tiny tendrils of alcohol branch out into your bloodstream and work its numbing magic. Maybe it’ll dim the acute pain simmering beneath your sternum. 

Then you spot the lemon on the counter, sitting beside a bulb of garlic and a blue mesh bag of onions. 

There’s pasta and olive oil in the cabinet. Parmesan in the fridge. You could make something nice with that. Maybe watch the sunset. 

I could do it tonight.

No. 

Why not? 

You picture Dieter the first time you saw him. Shifty and slightly arrogant, all blown-out pupils and twitches. Basically a red flag wearing a human suit. You thought he was handsome, though. And his booming laughter brought a real smile to your face for the first time in weeks. 

It felt familiar. 

It felt like sunshine kissing your skin after a long bout of darkness. 

Shaking the picture from your head, you start rummaging through the cupboards for a pot and saucepan. You fill the pot with water, toss in some salt. 

When you pull the chef’s knife from the butcher block, you pause to examine the blade in the golden hour light. 

I could slice my pulse open. 

No. 

Why not? 

You picture Dieter the second time you met him. Kaleidoscope skin and chartreuse aura. Acid stripped away the cocaine ego to expose his bare bones. And they were beautiful. 

Something happened that night. A tethering. A melding. Some ethereal otherworldly connection that intertwined your souls. 

Even though he was essentially a stranger, you couldn’t shake the sense that he had always been and always would be a part of you. 

Swallowing around the emotion welling up in your throat, you shake your head. Too messy. 

The thought of your own blood makes you queasy. If some has to find you like that? 

Fuck.  

Your stomach twists into nausea. 

You set down the knife and find a cutting board, then resume your dinner preparation, singing along to the music, concentrating on the mechanical motion of the blade tearing through the onion, meeting resistance with each aromatic layer. 

The goddamn knife is dull anyway. 

After mincing the garlic, you nudge your little piles of chopped-up produce into the gleaming pool of melted butter in the saucepan. Steam rises with a gentle sizzle, moisture meeting fat. 

Inside the pot, tiny ripe bubbles line the underwater walls, waiting to burst. 

Turn up the heat. 

Stir the saucepan. 

Sip your wine. 

You tap your fingers on the countertop, following the beat of the brass band, and quietly sing along with Ol’ Blue Eyes, “No one would care, no one would cry. If I should live, if I should live or die. What now, my love? Now there is nothing. Only my last, my last goodbye.” 

You picture Dieter at the beach, holding your hand as the two of you waded through the tide. The best day of your life. 

You picture him in his boxers, watering his plants. You picture his warm brown eyes flicking between you and a sketchpad. Him taking the first bite of a gooey brownie and groaning with delight. Laying behind you in the bathtub, arms wrapped around your waist underwater, planting a soft kiss on your cheek bone. Waking up in the morning, his wild dark curls all bent the shape of his pillow indent, a wistful, sleepy smirk on his lips. Laughing. Smiling. Telling you he loves you. Meaning it. 

A deep ache of shame spreads across your chest. Your stomach churns. Tears burn behind your eyes, then spill over, streaming hot down your cheeks. 

How fucking stupid are you to think the darkness wouldn’t come and swallow everything whole, Dieter included? 

What, because you’re in love, the two of you should be spared? 

Has that ever stopped her before? 

I should fucking know better. 

A far-off, high frequency noise starts in your ear and it cuts audio for a second. Everything around you seems far away. Not real. You feel spectral, like you’re dreaming or a ghost or in a tv show or something. 

Entirely fiction. 

Sniffling, you wipe your damp with the sleeve of your sweater. 

You grab the wine glass off the counter and swallow its contents, then refill it, splashing a little vino into the saucepan before setting the bottle aside. 

A roar swells as the ingredients get to know each other. You take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, pungent scent, then notice steam billowing off the water in your pot. The still surface has erupted into a consistent boil. You throw about half of a pound of fettuccine into the pot. More than enough, but who the fuck makes only one serving of pasta? 

While the fettuccine cooks, you pour some cream into the saucepan, then whisk and whisk and whisk, pausing periodically to stir the pasta. Once the sauce thickens,  you whisk in pre-grated parmesan a pinch at a time. You fish a strand of fettuccine out of the boiling water and confirm its al dente status, then transfer a few spoonfuls of pasta water into the sauce before pouring the pot over a colander in the sink. 

It calms you, this process. The step-by-step. Seeing the fruits of your labor unfold in real time. Each checkbox marked calms your ragged nerves more than the last. 

Before you know it, you’re curled up in an adirondack chair on the deck, quilt draped over your shoulders, twisting fettuccine around your fork as you watch the sun sink down into the mountains, turning the sky into this beautiful vivid watercolor. It’s fucking gorgeous, you’ll give it that. 

Am I really going to go through with this? 

That’s what you came here for, isn’t it? To end this? To ascend into that glowing iridescent tunnel? To cross the threshold and finally return to the sea of love?

It’s funny, you think, how your whole life you were afraid of dying because you didn’t know what came after. 

But after seeing it, you know you had it completely backwards. 

Death is a piece of cake. You weren’t scared once when it happened. It’s like the light turned on in your room and you knew there was nothing hiding in wait. Nothing sneaking. 

Life, though? 

Life is scrambling through the darkness of uncertainty, trying to find a beacon. When you make contact with them, you cling to flames, hoping they’ll burn forever to keep you safe and warm. They won’t. They always burn out. 

By the time you finish your pasta, the wine has fully assimilated into your bloodstream, drowning all the excess noise in your head. You polish off the bottle while watching the sun sink down into the Sierra Nevadas. Dusk absorbs the light. The atmosphere shifts from midnight blue to inky black, enveloping you in darkness. It doesn’t even bother you. 

Head swimming with wine, you lay out on the cold deck and stare up at the nighttime sky, littered with dazzling pinprick stars. 

They remind you of all the times you stargazed with your father, and the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars Ethan hung on the ceiling of the first bedroom you shared with him. 

They remind you of how incredibly vast the darkness is. 

How the hopeful glimmer of a star can appear so bright and so close, but really be lightyears away, in another galaxy, another life. 

Maybe the next one. 

[ Next Chapter ]

[g0tmilkx3]

The Less I Know The Better

Sydney likes Luca's cooking and Carmy wants to kill himself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Arguing, Angst, Toxic Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Unprotected Sex, Jealousy, Alcohol, Panic Attacks, Codependency

Divider: firefly-graphics.tumblr.com GIF: thiscoldheart.tumblr.com

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N:

I used to pray for times like this. I'm so happy I finished the fic and I am unburdened by it. I have one more installment planned. It's not a continuation but how I imagine they got together in the first place. I'll try to get that out soon. The title is based on The Less I Know the Better by Tame Impala. Posted on AO3.

She didn't feel like she was in her body when she woke up the next morning.

Her head was floating away to some vast unknown paradox, she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling. It made her senses fall out of whack. She felt cold, even in his warm embrace. His body was always so warm. When he pulled her against him she’d sink into it, against his artfully crafted body, she felt at home.

She missed the mindlessness his touch brought. He’d look at her and hold her like she didn’t have to worry, ever, about anything. He always made her feel safe. She briefly registered an emotion she hadn’t felt since her business failed. It was gone, shaken off by the flexing of her fingers down to her toes.

The feeling left her and she could finally move.

She slipped out from under him, a stealth mission to leave the house before he woke up. He stirred when she stood up, her  blood ran ice cold. With a heart fighting its way out of her chest and tightly closed eyes - she begged god to keep him asleep. Just for a little longer, she wasn’t ready to face him. After a few moments of silence his breathing evened out and she could safely open her eyes. The breath she released was sure to be quiet.

The morning didn’t greet her with the smell of freshly cut grass or a warm radiant sky, but with a brittle bite. Her cheeks were stinging and her lashes were wet by the time she reached her father’s house.  

Emmanuel stood by his coffee maker. He watched as his sweet'n low disappeared into his coffee. His back was to her when she turned her key and welcomed herself inside. She never got rid of her key when she moved out in case something went wrong. God knows she was used to things going wrong.  

“Something tells me you want to talk.” He called behind him as he added cream to his cup. He watched as the color of his coffee lightened until it reached the desired hue.  

Sydney weakly snorted as she shrugged out of her puffer and heeled her shoes off at the door. She hung her coat on the rack and sat on the too stiff wooden seat sitting at the table. She sat in silence as the sounds of her father’s spoon clinking against a ceramic mug filled the air.

She absently noted that it was the mug she sculpted for him when she was just 9 years old.

More silence stretched between them.

She liked it though. She didn’t feel the need to perform or pretend like she wasn’t burning on the inside. He finally turned around bringing an extra cup with him, already filled with coffee prepared just how she liked it.  

“What’s on your mind sweet pea?” He took a seat, the wooden chair shifted under his weight and the floor creaked.  

Each time she tried to speak the words died on her tongue. She couldn’t form a coherent thought and the longer she struggled the more she thought about how stupid this all was.

Finally, she let herself breath.

“God, I wish mom were here.” She stared down at her reflection in her coffee. Nearly black with 2 sugars.

“So it’s one of those problems.” He spoke into his cup just before taking a healthy sip. The mug hit the table with a subtle 'clank'. “I can call auntie, but it’s close to midnight where she is.“ He was already moving to grab his phone when she stopped him.

“No, don’t bother auntie!" Her outburst made him pause. He slowly moved back to his previous position, watching his daughter with intensity. "It-“ she sighed glancing between her cup and her father’s befuddled face. He patiently awaited her confession. “It’s just about Carmy…” she bitterly chuckled as she she played with one of her braids. Twisting it around her finger before letting it fall. “Stupid really.”

“Ah,” he raised his eyebrows. “It’s one of those problems.” He hummed, contemplating his next set of words. Silently pondering how to best go about this. “Why do you say it’s stupid?”

She shot him a deadpan stare, “Come on. Boy problems, at this age?” She rested her elbows on the table and ran her hands over her face. Her fingers rested firmly against her eyes.

She pressed and pressed until the burning feeling of tears subsided. She wished she didn’t feel the need to be so strong all the time. She wished she could just breakdown and let those feelings flow instead of intellectualizing them every chance she got.

Emmanuel gently nudged her shoulder effectively bringing her back down to reality.  

“If you have a problem, you have a problem.” He waited until her glassy eyes reached his. “Talk to me, you can tell me anything.”

She sniffled, laying her hands flat against the table, sliding them back so she could feel the smooth surface. A grounding technique that always seemed to work. She slid them until they fell off the table and rested in her lap. It wasn't working this time.

“I just didn’t think I’d ever find myself back here again.” She muttered more to herself than to him. But he nodded along nonetheless. “We broke up. It was finished. Yeah, it was awkward at the restaurant but it was working…” she lifted one shoulder and let it drop before adding. "Working enough." She shook her head in disbelief. “Then- then he came to me for help and I just couldn’t say no. It’s like he knows just what to say and I’d do anything for him. Anything.”  

Emmanuel nodded slowly taking in her words. Hanging onto everything she said, saving his response for later when she was done pouring her heart out.

“Then I learn he hasn’t let go of his ex and they’re still” her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and she felt her throat burn with constriction. She sipped her coffee, letting the warmth slide down her throat and warm her belly. “They’re still friends and he brought her to family dinner and I don’t know. I think I did something stupid just because I was jealous and afraid. Now i'm debating if I even want to go to California still and you know this opportunity is all I ever really wanted. I still lo-“ she choked on her words before gulping them down.“I just don’t want to lose him.”

He inhaled deeply taking in everything she said. But he thought not to speak. - at least for now. He let her words linger and he let them penetrate his mind. His daughter was his heart, a spitting image of her mother, he just wanted to coddle her. To hold her against him and tell her everything would be okay and that he’d get rid of anything causing her distress.

As he stared at her he realized she wasn’t that little girl playing in his shoes anymore. She wasn't tripping over her feet and scraping her knees on the hot concrete. That was back when his kisses could make the pain go away in an instant. She was different. She had complex thoughts and even more complex feelings that he was afraid to admit he didn’t quite understand.

He didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t know what to do.  

“I ever told you about the time your mother and I broke up?” He watched as her eyes lit up with curiosity. “Yeah it was Summer of '83, she was missing home. Her parents were getting older and she wanted to spend as much time as she could with them.”

She watched as his eyes drifted to the ceiling and he recalled what happened all those years ago.

“I think I told her that if she left me I’d never forgive her, that I’d never speak to her again.”

“God dad.”   

“I know, I know.” He chuckled to himself. “But I just couldn’t imagine losing her or living apart. I wanted a family and I knew I didn’t want that with anybody else but her.” He shrugged. “I was being selfish. Selfish and stupid-”

“What'd she do?” She questioned before the tail end of his sentence could leave his mouth.

“She left.” He chuckled with the shake of his head. “I was dumb, a kid. I didn’t fully understand what love was. I didn’t think it could exist when there was such a great distance between us.”

Sydney thought about Carmy again. The way she’d felt sick at the thought of leaving him and The Bear. She shooed those thoughts away when her father began speaking again.   

“I lasted about three days, I think...” He recalled. “Maybe two and a half before I called her parents’ house. She didn’t want to speak to me but I wore her down and the first thing I said to her was that I missed her and that I was sorry.”   

She felt a warmth spread from her heart throughout her body. Despite herself, a smile broke over her face.  

“She of course told me to go to hell.” He laughed. His infectious laughter pulled Syd in, beckoning her to participate in his delight.

“So what?" She chuckled between her words. "You just wore her down even more?”

“Well, sorta kinda” he hummed with a grin on his face. “I got the next flight out and showed up at her parent’s doorstep with flowers and a ring. Hat in hand, I asked for her back.” He quirked his eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. “I think I gifted her parents some fresh fruit so they didn’t run me off their property.”

“Jesus, so did she take you back?” She leaned forward, cheeks aching from her smile. She loved hearing new stories about her late mother.

It was bittersweet, she knew that one day there wouldn't be anymore stories to tell.

“She did.” He supplied. “I asked her father for her hand that night and we were engaged the next morning. Flew back to the states a few days later.”

“Real smooth dad.” She chuckled. “Did she come back with you?”

“No, she stayed there for a few more months after I went back but we talked all the time. She taught me a lot, Syd.” He rested his hand over hers. “She taught me about patience and trust. She taught me to put myself first just like she did. Most importantly she taught me that love is something tangible, something real and nobody can define what it means for you, but you.” He let her sit with those words. “Now, I can’t tell you what to do in this situation. I know things are different nowadays in relationships. Kids aren’t getting married all willy nilly” he stopped short. “You’re not thinking of marrying this kid are you?”

“No dad.” She replied as she rolled her eyes. “It feels like we are though.”   

“Well, I’ll ask you this: How does he feel about all this?”   

“He-“ she stopped with a sudden realization. She hadn’t even spoken to him. She left him alone in her apartment in her bed after she confessed that she was leaving the state for an undetermined amount of time.

A fog lifted from her mind and it donned on her just how much of an asshole move that was. She hadn't even consider how he'd be taking all this.

“Dad I gotta go.”

Carmy blinked a few times adjusting to the sun's rays bleeding through the blinds. He let a yawn pass his lips as he rubbed his eyes. His arms reached out as the kinks in his shoulder popped and relaxed. He was used to mornings with Syd being spent in leisure. Quiet and intimate.

Whoever woke up first usually started breakfast. They never spent the morning after separated. Syd teased him once about being a ‘water sign’ (whatever that means) but Carmy hated the idea of waking up alone.

This was something Syd knew.

Carmy frowned when he felt that the other side of the bed was cold. He opened his eyes fully to examine the wrinkled bed sheets beside him. She'd been gone so long that the bed was now cold to touch.

“What the?” He turned his head around searching the space for her, listening for anything. “Syd?”

He stood up tugging on his pants and stumbling out of her room.

“Sydney?” He rushed through the space looking for her, a note, anything. But, she simply wasn’t home. He huffed pushing his hair back and staring at the white wall before him. No note, no notice, nothing.

Was he not worth the decency of a quick nudge, ‘Hey I'm headed out’? He just never thought she’d leave her own apartment to avoid an awkward rejection the morning after.

He felt so stupid.

He never felt stupider.

Of course, this was nothing, of course, this was a sympathy fuck or something worse. Like closure.

What else could it have been if shes that eager to get up and leave?

Carmy’s spiral of self-deprecation was cut short by the sound of keys turning in the door.

“You’re up!” She notes before turning completely around and locking the door. She used this precious time to squeeze her eyes shut and count to five. With a steadying breath, she turned around to face Carmy.

She always loved how sensitive he was when it was just the two of them. It was the look on his face that reminded her of their little agreement.

Leaving each other after having sex wasn’t something they did. Sex felt sacred to them, the time carved out was far too precious to ignore. After breaking up, the pact to remain in each other's embrace after still stood apparently.

“Yeah, I’m up!” He met her with a warm embrace, a warm smile on his face.

She was surprised at his reaction but decided that she liked this more than the expected awkwardness.

“Sorry, you had to wake up alone.” She exhaled sincerely into his shoulder.

He closed his eyes enjoying their closeness before pulling away.

“Where were you?” He grabbed the bags out of her hand and pecked her cheek before bringing them to the kitchen. “What's all this? You went grocery shopping?”

“Yeah on my way back I stopped by the store. I’m out of eggs and bacon and milk and you know everything.” She shrugged. “Wanted to make us breakfast.”

Something to soften the blow. Butter him up.

“That tends to happen when you spend all of your time at the restaurant.” He replied, playful sarcasm in his voice. He moved to begin cooking their breakfast. “Don’t feel bad, my place doesn’t look much better anyways.”

She wanted to help him but holding onto this secret, this brewing confession, left her mute and stagnant. After a few moments of watching him she cleared her throat and leaned against the counter.

“I bet.” She remembers all the mornings and nights when they had to make something out of thin air or order delivery if they were too tired from working.

She began putting the groceries Carmy didn’t need away.

"Where were you on your way back from?"

“Oh yeah I um I also went by my dads...”

Carmy sliced a square of butter and let it sizzle in the skillet. Something peculiar was in her tone, he knew that much.

“Yeah? How is he?” He glanced over at her finding that her face matched her tone. Peculiar.

“Still buying canned cabbage.”

He barked a laugh before sparing her a glance. “Gotta get him to see the light, Chef!”

“I’ve been trying, Chef.” They both laughed, naturally letting it tapper out. A swollen silence filled the air. “I talked to him about us”

That seemed to make Carmy’s ears perk up. “What about us?” He tried to keep his tone casual, but she knew him well. Each inflection in his voice stuck out like a sore thumb. No matter how normal he tried to sound.  

“I asked for advice.” She slowly delivered “Carmy. I don’t know if what we did was smart.”

He momentarily stopped scrambling the sizzling eggs, it was only for a second but the hitch in movement was noticeable.

“I’m not saying I regret it or anything,” She supplied quickly. “But I already have my plane ticket. I’m leave soon and we’re-“

“We’re not gonna work long distance.” He finished her sentence, realization seemingly hitting him in that moment. “You're right we won’t.” He admitted dejectedly.

Frankly, she was surprised by his answer and how understanding he sounded. She wished that she could fully understand the breadth of her decision herself.

She promised herself from a young age that she’d never let anything hold her back from her dreams - not money, not circumstances, not relationships - one thing seemed to slip through the cracks.

She misses when she never looked twice in a guys (or a girls, for that matter) general direction.

She kept her head down for so long working, working, working now her dreams were being fulfilled right before her eyes and she found herself hesitating. All because of some blue eyed man with anger issues.

She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want to leave The Bear.

But she knew she had to. She’d resent him. She’d resent herself. If her mother’s death taught her anything, its to always live your life for yourself. Time here on earth was so short, a drop in the boundless ocean. She had to spend her time doing what she loved even if it called for great sacrifice.

“I can’t pass this up.” Her voice cracked. A very surreal feeling thickened the air as they accepted defeat.

This felt eerily final. 

“I wouldn’t want you to," He let a beat pass before adding on an obligatory, “Chef.” He sighs, clicking the front burner up a few notches. “Just don’t go over there and decide you like working in their kitchen more than mine."

"Yours?" She raised an eyebrow, her teeth winked at him as she smiled.

"Ours." They both smiled at his words and settled into more tension-filled silence.

“What's gonna happen to us?”

Carmy rattled the words around in his head as he plated the eggs and moved on to frying bacon. He focused on the popping sound of the grease and the smell of crisping pork. His movements were cathartic.

Cooking never left him. It never disappointed him. He could rely on this.

“Carm?” She tilts her head and meets his eyes.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat “We'll be,” he searched for the words. What would ex-lovers become if they ran a restaurant together? "Friends?"

She chuckled surprised at how heavy and foreign the word sounded in this context. But that was better than strangers or whatever the fuck they've been these past couple months.

"Friends with Chef Carmen Berzatto." She slowly nodded becoming familiar with the term that now described their relationship. "I'll take it."

They waited for the words to settle and for the air to return back to normal but it hadn't and eventually Carmy finished plating their breakfast.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower then head out.” He began walking away before she could reply.

"We're not eating together?"

"I'm not that hungry actually!" He closed the bathroom door behind him.

Time apart would be good, Carmy thought. They’d get time to think and to grow. This was good.

This had to be good.

✓ A pen.

✓ The ceiling fan.

✓ Boots.

✓ The TV.

✓ A pillow.

Five things he could see, check.

‘Gauge your surroundings. This will help ground you.’

Carmy's therapist taught him this method not too long ago. It quickly became one of the only things that could ground him nowadays.

She taught it to him towards the end of one of their first sessions. Her voice was calm and slow, drawing him out in a steady tempo of gentle negotiation. She spoke to him as if he had a bomb strapped to his chest and any sudden movements would set it off. He’ll never forget that day.

He was finally opening up about Mikey, telling her all about how they didn't have the best relationship but he somehow felt closer to him after his death. He hadn't realized how much he'd spaced out until he opened his eyes and he was back in his mother's house. Glass was breaking. A million alarms blared in his ears replacing his thoughts. Everybody was yelling. He couldn't breathe.

A panic attack in front of a stranger was new.

When he finally calmed down he realized that the world hadn't exploded and chunks of the rock weren't drifting through space leaving him to float in the vast unknown.

He was still in her office. He was still alive.

He blinked the memory away and rubbed his hands against his jeans, hoping the rough feeling against his sweaty palms would bring him back to earth.

He began naming four things he could touch under his breath.

"Jeans." He continued moving his hands over his thighs.

"Lambskin jacket." The inside was lined with fur.

"Shutter." It sat atop his bedside lamp - the warmth felt nice again his palm.

"Blanket." Sugar gifted it to him this past Christmas, it was way too fluffy but it did keep him warm at night.

What could he hear?

A bird chirping just outside of the window. It’d been going for a while he realized.

The low hum of electricity.

His phone beeping.

He took note. Then it beeped again and again until he descended from the clouds and found that it was ringing. He did a double-take at the contact before answering.

“Carmy?” Her voice bled through the receiver and he felt like he could breathe again.

Light. He felt it shining through the phone.

“You there?”

“Yeah, I,” He inhaled more air before blowing it out in once quick exhale. “I’m here.”

“Are you okay?” She worried her bottom lip, listening for any signs of distress.

She promised herself before her move that she'd focus on looking forward not back. But being friends with Carmy kept her feet firmly planted in the past. She felt them slipping back into the place they were at just before they got together.

Their exchanges were far too soft, far too thoughtful, and far too tense to be simply platonic. She had to remind herself that they'd been there and done that. This was good.

This was better.

“I am. I was just- it’s nothing." He scratched the back of his head. Unruly curls tangled around his nimble fingers. "Trying this 5,4,3,2,1 method my therapist taught me. It helps me calm down..." He plopped down on his couch and threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I was actually thinking about things I could hear before you called.”

“I know that method." She replied before checking the time.

She didn't need to leave for another 15 minutes. “If I’m not mistaken you have 2 more steps to go then.”

“I'm okay now, you- you help me breathe.” He confessed through a relieved chuckle. "So, tell me are you running that place yet or what?"

Sydney grinned but didn't let his charming words deter her. “What are two things you can smell.” She encouraged.

He realized his leg was still bouncing, maybe he wasn’t completely grounded. “I made spaghetti earlier and accidentally put too much garlic, so, garlic.”

“I bet it was still fire.” She hummed almost dreamily remembering the taste of his cooking.

“Wish you were here to taste it.” He muttered sadly playing with a rip in his jeans.

“Alright, big guy don’t go soft on me now.” She teased ignoring the butterflies in her belly. “What else can you smell?”

“Ah, my cologne I guess it’s new I kinda hate it." He pulled at the collar of his shirt, bringing it up to his nose before dropping it. "Too, I don’t know, fancy.”

“Yeah, you do love an earthy scent." She closed her eyes missing him now more than ever. Missing the way he smelled when he held her close and did the thing with his hips that made her words sound like simlish. "Now lastly what can you taste?”

“I had a stick of orbit earlier and the taste is still in my mouth.” He waited a beat. "Happy now?"

“Beaming!" She switched ears and walked to look out her window.

The small apartment she was subleasing was located smack dab in the middle of the art district. She enjoyed the sounds of the neighborhood at night and there was always some sort of performance art near the corner store she frequented. None of that mattered though, she rarely got to enjoy the artistic views because just outside of her window was a brick wall.

She ignored the symbolic implications that screamed at her every time she'd stare at it for too long.

“I feel alright- great actually, thank you Syd”

“No prob Carm." The heavy silence only reminded them of their distance. Sydney was the first to speak. "I'm adjusting to this place quicker than I expected actually.”

“Of course you are. You’re an amazing cook.”

He closed his eyes, trying to conjure her image in his head.

It was fuzzy and out of focus. Her complexion wasn't as vibrant. Her eyes were the wrong shade of brown. He missed how they flashed red in the sun. And pictures were just sobering reminders that she wasn't there with him.

He had to stop looking at them for his sanity.

“You’re reliable and confident."

A day without seeing her face was a day too many.

"Hey, you wanna Facetime?”

“Yeah one sec.” After a few seconds her face came into view.

Carmy felt his chest tighten. He’d spent their time apart creating this image of her in his head. He assumed because he missed her so much the image he created wasn’t accurate, there’s no way that she was that beautiful.

She was though. She was even more captivating than he remembered.

 Ve​nust: beautiful, comely, graceful, elegant.

Their busy schedules kept them from speaking to each as often as they wanted. Even when she lived in Chicago, they’d seen each other mostly in the kitchen.

Now they had to schedule appointments to talk. How bleak.

This phone call wasn't scheduled though.

“Hey, why’d you call?”

“Shit! Right, I called you. I was talking to Marcus the other day and apparently his friend from Copenhagen is coming here to fill in for someone. Isn’t that cool?”

She had her phone set up on her counter as she went about cooking. Carmy watched her in silence missing the way she moved around his kitchen.

“Luca? That's new. At least you'll kinda know someone there.” He hummed. “Are you making Bouillabaisse?”

"He's supposed to be arriving tomorrow." She stirred her simmering concoction. "How do you do that?" She chuckles keeping her eyes on the cloudy liquid. “I am. I’m cooking for everybody tomorrow including Luca and I’m super nervous so I’m trying out a few things!”

“Why are you so nervous?” He could really only think of one or two times she was genuinely nervous about her cooking.

Each time he wanted to grab her and convince her just how amazing she was. To stop doubting herself.

Then again he was probably being bias.

“Marcus speaks so highly of Luca and I know you and him are acquainted. I just want to live up to the hype.” She rambled.

“You will Syd.” He promised.

It was late. It was very late in Chicago so it was late in California and she still hadn't called.

He'd been busy all day so he didn't think twice about her promise to call later that day. But, he couldn't sleep and he'd grown tired of watching black and white reruns.

He tried not to watch his phone like a hawk but each time it lit up he couldn't help but grab it.

When she finally did call he had nodded off to sleep.

"Did I wake you I'm sorry!" She winced realizing how late it must've been. "I'll call back-"

"No!" He sat up "it's okay, I'm up." He yawned checking the time, 3:00 AM. He yawned again as he stood to grab a glass of water. "What's got you out so late?"

"It's only 1:00 where I am!"

"Still."

"Luca brought this special wine and we all got drunk off of one glass and did karaoke"

"Sounds like fun." He replied sincerely, preoccupied with boiling water. Tea would help him get back to sleep after their conversation. "How was the dinner? Did you impress everybody?"

"I did!" She exclaimed. "Sorry if I’m being loud.” He could almost see the expression she was donning. “Did you know that weed is legal here?"

Carmy grinned realizing she was still tipsy and probably a little buzzed. Whenever she had a little bit too much to drink she'd get this slur in her speech. Each word would hug the next and her Chicagoan accent grew thicker. She laughed a lot more, Carmy would worry about her cheeks hurting by the end of the night.

He gnawed on his lip to keep from confessing how badly he wanted to see her and kiss that smile off of her face. That's not how friends talked to each other after all.

"They loved it but Luca made this braised wagyu," She groaned. "Hands down, the best dish I've ever had!"

Carmy paused switching his phone to the other ear. "The best?" He masked the crack in his voice with a chuckle. "Luca?" He scrunched his nose up.

He didn't understand why that statement made him feel uncomfortable (for lack of a better term) but it did and he didn't like it. Previous to this development she always remarked about how his food was the best she ever had. He held that close to him, clinched between his finger afraid of losing it. Afraid of losing her favor. Her compliments felt like a drug and he was forever chasing that high. Wanting to please her. Have her direct that smile and those dangerous eyes at him. 

"Yes, you have to try it!"

"Maybe...'m not a huge fan of Wagyu. Also, I've tried his cooking before." He didn't know why he was lying. He loved Wagyu.

Luca was a good enough cook, not better than Carmy, but decent.

His hands rattled as he stirred honey into his piping hot tea. That unwelcome feeling twisted within him tugging him down to a level of immaturity he despised. Maybe as a teenager this would feel more normal but as he stands now it felt unhinged.

His chest burned as he tuned back into Syd's rambling.

"…I invited him to eat at The Bear when I fly back for my birthday next month."

"Ah, so you two are friends?" He continued, voice soft. He couldn't bring himself to ask her the question any louder.

"Of course! He's so cool Carmy. He's a beast in the kitchen. He's teaching me how to make this cake that has an insane amount of layers tomorrow."

"You really like this guy..." He muttered. "I'm happy you're getting on well there. Really, Syd you deserve this." He continued with renewed interest.

Aside from those weird feelings, he couldn't quite pin down, he knew that his job was hyping her up. Being a supporter. A friend.

One day he’ll stop having to remind himself of that sobering fact. 

"Thanks." She settled on her bed. "I miss you."

He hoped it happened soon.

"I miss y-" he began, but she continued on without missing a beat.

"I miss everybody at The Bear"

"Well, we miss you too."

Today was slow. It went smoothly. There were virtually no mistakes made in the kitchen and Carmy found himself with extra time on his hands.

He could be normal and go home or go out for a drink, but alas he preferred the kitchen. There was always something to do in the kitchen after all.

"Hey are you busy?" Sydney lounged on her couch, exhausted from the busy day she had.

He looked around finding that he was in fact not busy and had finished all of his tasks.

"Nope, what's up?"

"I got secret shopped again!"

"Damn chef," he whistled "you're on fire. Once this year once last year."

"The asswipe said my lobster tail was 'overcooked'."

"Lobster tails' easy to mess up." He shrugged "I have this method I can show you when you visit."

"No, actually its okay. Luca taught me this technique and it came out so much better."

“Right, right." He cleared his throat hoping the popping in his ears stopped. He tugged on his earlobe before grabbing a damp towel and wiping down the same spot he'd just finished wiping down.

There goes that weird feeling again, creeping up his body forcing him to move until it subsided.

"What is he like,” he hesitated. “He’s mentoring you now?”

If she heard the shakiness in his voice she ignored it.

"Not sure if I'd say all that. He's a good teacher though, kinda filling that gap." She replied busy multitasking.

Her phone sat on the bathroom counter with the speaker turned up so she could still carry on with the conversation. Her braids bunched up comfortably under her silk scarf. By morning her scarf would've slipped from her head and made its way to the floor and her braids would be sprawled across her silk pillow. It's the thought that counts.

"You told me he was good but dude he's like your level good."

She grabbed her phone and made her way to bed. At the sound of his bashful laughter she felt a pinch in her chest akin to an esophageal spasm.

Missing him had grown physical and she just wanted to keep him on the phone. She was hoping that the sound of his voice bleeding through her phone would comfort her.

She could lie back and imagine that he was right beside her, that he followed her here like she wanted him to. But he had his own shit he had to sort out. She knew begging him to come and see her every time she missed him wouldn't be feasible because she missed him every second of every day.

But Carmy, who was on the other side of the world, it seemed, didn't know this. He only heard her praises of Luca shooting out of the phone like spears and piercing him until he didn't want to be on the phone with her anymore.

"I actually do have something I need to do. Catch up later?"

"Sure..." she stared at her phone screen as he hung up.

She remained there trying to figure out where things went wrong and why he rushed off the phone. The screen soon turned black and she saw her reflection staring back at her.

She didn't get much sleep that night.

"So you're just not gonna visit?" He frowned. "It's your birthday Syd, come on just take a couple days off I'll buy you a ticket myself."

'I just wanna see you!' He stubbornly thought.

"I can't. It sucks for me too, but it’s the mayor. I can't exactly pass up serving the mayor." She frowned looking at a framed photo of the two of them at The Bear's official opening.

'"Come on Carmy stop working for one second and get a picture with Syd!" Sugar grabbed his arm dragging him out of the kitchen and out front where Sydney directed a delivery man around back. She moved to follow him and make sure he found his way when Sug grabbed her arm and placed her next to an annoyed Carmy.

"Natalie we open in 2 hours I don't have time for this." He huffed placing his hands on his hips.

"Yeah and I think he's taking the order to the wrong entrance." Syd looked behind her following a delivery man with her eyes. She began to call out to him when Sug grabbed her shoulder making her turn back around.

"If you two stand still for a second I can get a picture and you can go back to stressing out, okay?" She rolled her eyes "You guys looks so cute in your matching outfits!" She beamed holding her phone up.

"Uh, everybody's wearing these?" Sydney looked around ignoring Sugars sound of indignation. Carmy stifled a laugh agreeing with her.

"Just smile." She gave up trying to reason with them. Carmy threw his hand over Syd's shoulder and threw his other hand out to Sugar.

"Okay, okay see I'm smiling come on take the picture!"

Syd was caught laughing, her eyes closed. While Carmy was caught with his mouth open, his hand thrown towards the camera. He hated it, but Syd thought it was perfect.

"No, no- yeah, you're right." He settled. Not much else was said after that. Carmy sighed closing the cookbook he'd been perusing for the perfect cake recipe and headed home.

“Fuck, sorry Chef!” Syd winced feeling warm all over. She’d stayed behind with Luca so he could teach her a few tricks. However, in the span of just an hour she compared his cooking techniques to Carmy’s about five times. But who's counting.

“All good, Syd. I never thought about trying that! He laughed. “And relax you can call me Luca”

”Right, Luca.” She continued “I’m just feeling a little homesick. My birthday is tomorrow and I decided to stay back because you know the whole mayor hoopla.”

She was close to saying screw the mayor just so she could hop on a red eye and do something pathetic like beg her ex-boyfriend for sloppy, rough, no-strings-attached birthday sex.

He nodded sympathetically before putting down his knife, a brilliant idea on his tongue.

“How about I take you out for a drink afterwards?”

”Maybe...I’m usually so tired after work. I was talking to a few servers last week and Fay talked about wanting to go out this weekend too-”

”I mean I can take you.” He waited a beat before hesitantly adding. “Just us...”

”Oh," she cleared her throat finding it harder to look him in the eyes. "Like a date?” She raised an eyebrow.

”Yes," he chuckled. "If that’s okay with you?”

She never got used to being hit on or asked out. She grew up awkward and introverted. But something happened when she turned 20.

Like a Cinderella transformation or something. Men were falling over themselves. Women began batting their eyelashes at her and inviting her to sleepovers. She soon realized that they were flirting with her and by sleepovers they meant sex.

Her immediate thought was to turn him down. But she couldn't find a good enough reason other than it would probably hurt Carmy's feelings.

He had been dodging her phone calls though. They barely spoke these days. Maybe he's moved on. Maybe he didn't care what she did.

She eventually remembered herself and she remembered that she and Carmy were just friends. So she put on her best smile and nodded.

"I'd love that."

Later That Evening

“I got the knives you sent me." She toyed with one, balancing it on her fingertips gauging how heavy it was. "Thank you they're really fucking nice.”

“I'm happy you like them. Just something I saw and decided to pick up...” He ran a shaky hand over his mouth. "For you. F-For your birthday I mean."

He didn't know when he started feeling nervous speaking to her but it sucked. He felt like a teenager. He even found himself avoiding her calls, figuring that if they continued speaking every day and night he'd never get over her.

At this point he didn't know if he wanted to get over her or if it was a possibility.

She'd gotten under his skin. Digging her way to his fractured heart and somehow making a home out of it.

He felt like a fucking loser, blushing during a phone call. A fucking phone call.

“You saw five hundred-dollar knives just lying around and bought them?" She replied endeared.

“Well, you know how it goes." He shrugged.

Heat rushed to his face again.

Realistically he figured he was going to get them for her months ago, but telling her that felt too eager. Like he was trying too hard to impress her.

“So," She sat the knife down but couldn't stop eyeing it. The pristine set sparkled under the warm lighting in her living room. Her eyes caught her name engraved at the bottom of one of the vegetable knives. 

Warmth covered her neck and traveled up her cheeks.

''Just decided to pick them up' my ass.'

"How's The Bear been with me gone?”

“You know, we’re staying afloat. The new hires are all great. Everybody's been getting better and better. And Marcus?" He whistled. "He's doing some shit I haven't even tried."

"I'm gonna have to ask him to overnight me some donuts or something." Her phone vibrated momentarily pulling her from the conversation.

Luca (restaurant): I know we'll probably be wiped after tomorrow so I'll stop by later on around midnight? I know this great place that's open late

"Looks like Copenhagen did him well." Carmy noted.

Like an incessant alarm her conscience rudely screamed at her. She had to tell him sooner or later.

"Hey, so, speaking of Denmark, I have a um I have something to tell you..."

He waited for her to continue speaking for a bit, but her deep sigh caught his attention.

"Whats up? Everything okay?"

“It's just-" she clenched her fist over her mouth wanting to swallow her next set of words. Through gritted teeth she finally choked it out. "Me and Luca are go-going on a, going on a date tomorrow." She waited a beat. "He wanted to take me out for my birthday!" Another awkward beat. "And I thought it’d be weird for me not to tell you considering...well you know.”

He didn’t speak for a while.

"I'm sorry if that's weird but I'd feel weirder not telling you." She winced bracing herself as she awaited his response.

He blinked a few times, pulling his phone away from his ear to look at her contact photo. Yeah that was still Syd on the phone.

He felt like he was speaking with a stranger not the girl he loved. The girl who would never purposely hurt him. Her voice was muffled, like she'd been submerged in water.

Now he wanted to be as far away from his phone as possible.

"You still there?" She bit her thumbnail regretting her words.

"I am I" He cleared his throat, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. "I just didn't expect that. That's all.” His voice quieted, just above a whisper now.

"I know. Was it weird that I told you? Are things weird now?" She tried to keep the panic out of her voice but it was evident.

"No, not weird." He cleared his throat in an attempt to find his voice. But when he spoke again the only thing he could muster was a hint of what his voice could be.

If Syd didn't know any better she'd think she heard heartbreak in his voice. But they were over right? They'd been over. They had to move on from each other.

Lingering wasn't healthy. No matter how romantic The Cranberries made it sound. 

Although she felt this way, she couldn't help but feel like she betrayed him. A Delilah stringing her lover along just to chop off his golden curls when he slipped into comfort. Just when he felt like he could let his guard down.

"I am a little busy so-so I have to check on that uh that," he snapped his fingers a few times. "Delivery. The delivery for tomorrow morning."

"Wait, what? I don't understand?"

"I'll touch bases with you this weekend." He didn't wait for her to answer before hanging up.

Syd found herself once again staring at her phone screen. It lit up momentarily reminding her of the unanswered text from Luca. With little reluctance she replied.

Syd: I can't wait! :)

Dinner went off without a hitch and the mayor even complement Sydney personally. By 10:00 P.M. she was on her way home and by 10:30 she sat on her couch, finger hovering over Carmy's name.

"He doesn't care Syd." He hadn't even wished her a happy birthday. "Just get ready for your date." She whispered to herself. "Maybe, I'll just send a text..."

Syd: Not to brag but the mayor said she never had a steak quite like mine

With that done she plugged her phone in the charger and began getting ready for her date. The date she was excited to go on and not at all dreading.

Every 10 minutes she'd check her phone for a response from Carmy. But nothing, he hadn't even seen the message. She huffed turning back to the mirror to pull her braids into a high ponytail.

The doorbell chimed over the radio playing oldies in her living room.

“Fuck he’s here early!” She cursed checking the time before rushing to the door only to find someone she thought she left back in Chicago.

“Carmy?”

“Hey." He strolled inside pulling his luggage behind him. His baby blues drinking her in. “You look nice.”

Keep it polite, he reminded himself. She looked more than nice, skin shiny and sparkling. Perfume pulling him closer and closer.

He cracked his knuckles, stopping himself from reaching out and touching her.

There were moments, fleeting, minuscule, when her voice would radiate from his phone. Resonating, seducing him. It made him want to reach through the receiver and feel her warmth.

He had to settle on touching himself. Then he'd feel like a creep and swear it off. It never stuck.

Now she was here, within reach, looking like that for someone else. He brushed his knuckles against his lips admiring her from a safe distance.

“Got any plans?”

She blinked a few times, hand still on the nob, door ajar. "Uh yeah, Luca is on his way.” She scoffed finally snapping out of it.

With each stride she took toward him, he felt his pulse drum faster.

“I told you that last night?”

She crossed her arms watching as he studied her. As if she were a puzzle or a Monet. He marveled almost. No one ever looked at her quite like he did.

“Right, you two are seeing each other or whatever.” He twisted his mouth instantly wanting the nasty taste of those words out his mouth.

He distracted himself by looking around her living room. His heart lurched when he came across a photo of the two of them on the morning of The Bear's official open. The entire staff took turns taking pictures together, they took several as a group but Sug just couldn’t resist getting a pic of them out front in their matching fits.

It was framed, he noted with reddening cheeks. "You got it framed.” He cooed just under a whisper.

“Of course, it's my proudest accomplishment.” His black t-shirt stretched across his back as he leaned forward to examine the picture more closely. A few strands of his hair were kissing his forehead when he faced her again.

"Proudest huh?" Something was different about him. Whatever it was evaded her. His hair wasn't in it's normal state, busy and tangled, instead his curls neatly sat upon his crown. He never really wore jewelry but now he donned a thin chain that played peak-a-boo with her wandering eyes. "Mine too."

He wasn't as jittery as he usually was. His hands were still, almost too still. This wasn't the Carmy she left in Chicago. He momentarily broke eye contact, a fleeting admission of anxiety that was gone by the time he captured her gaze again.

This was a facade she decided. There was something troubling him. Something huge that she knew he wouldn't be able to keep under wraps for long.

His tongue grazed his bottom lip, she watched it go.

She shook her head, plunging her thoughts into ice cold water.

"That's doesn't- what are you doing here?"

"Ouch" he placed a hand over his chest, leaning back as if she physically hit him. "Is it a crime to visit my friend?"

She cut her eyes at him growing increasingly more frustrated at his casualness. His gum chewing. His stupid hair that was always messy but for some reason was now perfect. And god those stupid eyes, she could excuse everything else if it wasn't for his penetrative stare.

Always calling to her. Burning up her skin, leaving her insides vibrating for minutes until she worked up the courage to will those feelings away.

"Carmen," she took a deep breath. "Please don't play with me right now. I have plans."

"Right, and you're still going?" He questioned like he was asking her for the time. "Because I really need to talk to you."

"What? I'm supposed to overlook you conveniently showing up the night I have a date?" She blew a raspberry, feeling her nerves burn up at his expression. "And stop looking at me like that!"

He maintained eye contact, trying his hardest to keep his smile at bay. He missed this.

"Okay I admit my timing isn't the best..." He trailed off shoving his hands in his pocket. "But I just needed to see you, Sydney. I need to talk to you."

"I actually have this really cool new invention called the cellphone-" she crossed the room grabbing her phone. The device flashed on as she turned around holding it up. "Would you look at that? It works! Did you forget that the phone worked both ways?"

"In person," he sighed finally dropping his facade. Apparently his sad attempt at charm was falling on deaf ears. "Can I please have a second of you time? Then I'm gone." His previous bravado had dissipated, leaving room for him to be himself. "I just need to, need you to hear me."

She shouldn't be talking to him right now. She left him in Chicago. She left all that stress and dysfunction, and this relationship behind. How did it still find her? What possessed him to chase after her?

"Luca will be here any minute, I mean after-"

"Why do you like him so much?" He cut her off, twiddling his thumbs - a pensive expression covering his face. He rubbed a finger over his eyebrow, a nervous tick. "Its like all you talk about is him. What is it? Are you fa-falling" he gulped, trying to conjure moisture in his mouth. "How serious are you two?"

"Carmen Berzatto, you took a 4 hour flight because I'm going out on one date with a guy I've known for a few months?" She shook her head. "This can't be healthy."

"I just need to know if you plan on dating this guy." He shrugged, hands palm up and outstretched. "As your friend I feel like I have an obligation. I care about you so much-"

"Cut the shit. You came here because you're jealous."

He felt the tips of his ears warm at her accusation. A very true one at that.

"I've been obsessed with you since before we even spoke to each other and I finally have the guts to have a drink with some other guy and you do this?"

“It's not just that Syd" His voice teetering on a desperate plea. Fuck if it didn't tug at her heart strings.

"Then what is it? What made you get your ass on a plane and show up at my door in the middle of the night."

He ran a hand through his hair effectively messing up the expert styling he'd done in the airport bathroom. "I-I missed you and I wanted to talk to you, and it's your birthday."

She stared at him long and hard before giving up and plopping down on her couch. "Okay. What did you want to talk about?" She checked her phone to find Luca had sent an 'On the way!' text.

"Are you thinking of moving here? Permanently, I mean." He sat on the bar stool adjacent from her, his leg shaking incessantly. "You mentioned Luca being the best cook in the world or something like that and I just wanted to know if you thought he was good enough to stay or maybe you'd want to go cook with him where ever he ends up."

She quirked her eyebrow, taking time to survey his face for any sign of humor but he was stone cold serious. That was when she surprised herself - and Carmy - with laughter.

"You're serious right now?"

"What? Why are you laughing at me?" He stopped shaking his leg. That reaction wasn't right, was it?

"I'm not..." She shook her head as she lifted up a finger. The sweet sound floated around them. Carmy shifted uncomfortably noticing how warm his face was growing. "All of this is because I said I liked his cooking?"

"No." He balked. Even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

She tilted her head to the side letting her laughter subside. She was looking at him how she used to again. With warmth and maybe even love, but he didn't want to get his hopes up.

"He's not going to replace you Carmy."

He felt embarrassed. Like these last few months in therapy were all for nothing. He didn't try any of his exercises and he overreacted. Now he felt like a possessive prick who can't get over his ex-girlfriend - who works for him.

He should probably make Sug head of HR, because their lack thereof was becoming starkly noticeable.

He should just leave. Go before she could officially cut him off. Get out of her hair for good. He didn't remember standing up but she was soon standing before him, placing a gentle hands on his shoulders.

"Stop it." She broke through his thoughts.

"What?"

"I said stop it. God I can hear your thoughts from here." She inched closer to him before running her hand from his shoulders to his clammy hands "Luca is cool and yes we have a date but I think I have something to say to you too."

He stiffened staring at their joined hands.

"Whats that?" He replied thickly. As if tears were threatening there way out of his downcast eyes.

She used two fingers to lift his head until he was looking her in the eyes.

"Carmy, I'm not going anywhere." Flashes of his vulnerable confession just before they hooked up came back to her.

She wanted to say this back then, she wanted to tell him that she didn't want their hookup to be a dead end but she felt weak for feeling that way. Like she had to prove something to herself, to the world, and to Carmy. She wanted to prove that he didn't have the upper hand. She could now see how naive that was.

"I want to be with you. L-like we were before, but healthier." She suppressed a grin but he caught it. "I have this huge, never ending, and frankly inconvenient crush on you. And I don't know man, it's gonna take a lot to get rid of me."

”I love you." It felt like the weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Like he'd been baptized in cool water and his vitality had been renewed. "I don’t want you to feel like I’m this brainless prick. I know I don't own you and coming here was probably the last thing you wanted but-" he grabbed both her hands. "It's you Syd. You drive me crazy."

Bright flecks of happiness peaked from within him and shined against Sydney.

"And it's you."

Those grating feelings of uncertainly that dominated his thoughts and body began seeping out, never to be felt again. He was ready to let go of the baggage that came with doubt. He hoped Syd wouldn't pick it back up.

"So, what are you saying? You want me back?" He knocked their hands together, swinging them in a childlike bout of giddiness.

"Only if you'll take me back." She confessed, remaining hopeful that they were still on the same page.

He brought her hands up to his mouth and kissed each knuckle keeping his eyes connected with hers.

"Are you crazy?" And that was all it took really. He let go of her hands and didn't spare a second to pull her against his chest and inhale the fruitiness of her aroma.

She smelled like a freshly cut mango on a summer day. When you'd suck at the seed and the nectar would run down your arms. You couldn't bring yourself to care because it tasted so damn good.

Her lips felt like home. She tasted like she had before. He cradled her head between his hands, devouring her. His hands traveled down to her waist pulling her flush against him.

She gasped at the movement but let him will her body to his control. She missed how he held her. She missed how his hair felt between her fingers. How he kissed her like he couldn't get enough of her. His kiss was something that never changed.

He didn't care to pull away or open his eyes when the doorbell rang. Syd felt his arms pull her impossibly closer when there was a knock.

He'd forgotten all about Luca, who was innocent in all of this, but he was having a hard time rationalizing that.

Syd was the one that pulled back causing a sound of disapproval to leave Carmy's mouth. She remained in his grasp. She wasn't sure if she could get out of it if she tried. His hands clasped her in a firm grip, like she'd slip away if he let go.

"What are you gonna do?" He questioned bracing himself for her answer. She looked from him to the door and back again.

"I'll go talk to Luca." She decided. "I'll let him know I can't come out tonight."

"Okay." He breathed, finally letting her go. He missed her softness, how had he gone so long without this.

She pecked his cheek sweetly, briefly, admiring the scattered freckles littering his neck.

“Be right back." She promised before turning to get the door.

Carmy watched as the door closed behind her. He exhaled and looked up to the ceiling and thanked whatever god was up there that coming here actually worked. 

"Woah Syd, in a hurry to go?" Luca jested backing up as Syd stepped outside. He looked down admiring her outfit choice but stopping short at her feet. More specifically her choice in shoes. "No offense but, are these house slippers?"

"Uh," she glanced down. "Yes they are. Look-" She was trying and failing at internally psyching herself up. She loved Carmy, but this still made her feel like shit. "You know Carmy right? Chef Carmen Berzatto?"

He slowly nodded and raised an eyebrow. "I think you may have mentioned him once or twice also I kind of worked with him." He chuckled teasingly. "What about him?"

"Right, you did." She winced. "He actually dropped in and I'd feel bad leaving him inside and I'm so sorry but"

"You're canceling our date." He supplied.

She nodded shamefully. "Sorry, I just - we, I mean Carmy and I- and, and you drove all the way here. I just"

"Hey, hey Sydney it's alright." He laughed, hand shooting up to stop her. "I understand. We aren't reciting vows." He laughed more so to himself this time. "Mind if I say hello?"

She hummed imaging how that could turn out. She considered them being adults and not animals but she also considered how badly she wanted to send him away and climb on top of Carmy and stay there until the sun came up.

"Sure." She welcomed him in.

Carmy paused his nervous pacing, his eyes caught Syd's as she put on her best I'm sorry face and mouthed 'Be nice'.

"Chef Berzatto!" He reached a hand out waiting for Carmy to shake it. Carmy stared at it before Syd coughed breaking him out of it and forcing him to shake Luca's hand.

"Hey man." He cleared his throat shoving his hands in his pocket. A bout of awkward silence passes through the room. "How you been? Marcus said you've made quite the name for yourself in Denmark."

"I could say the same about you." He grinned "It's been great though. But it's different here. I'm actually considering a move out here, check out a few more places. Mind if I borrow Chef Sydney though?"

Carmy didn't answer not knowing exactly how to respond without it coming out snarky or rude. So he simply didn't respond.

"Just jokes, just jokes!" He broke the tension. "Well, I just came in to say hello. See how you were getting on."

"You know how it is, Chef. There's always something." He replied plainly.

Luca nodded sensing that his presence was no longer wanted. The air was slowly being sucked out of the room. The longer he stood between Syd and Carmy the more he realized their building tension.

When he moved she moved, when she breathed he replied with his own pattern of inhale and exhale. After seeing the way Sydney looked at Carmy he wondered how he ever thought she looked at him with any hint of attraction.

"I'm gonna head out." He nodded his head towards the door. "Bye Syd, see you Saturday. Come in early so I can finally teach you how to make Chocolat au Crumble de Fraises." He closed the door behind him.

Carmy kept his eyes on the door. "Have I ever told you how annoying that guys is?" 

Syd laughed sauntering over to her cabinet to pour herself a drink.

"Shut up Luca is a cool guy."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He playfully replied following her path and grabbing himself a glass. "Hey, I'm sorry about not telling you about inviting" he cleared his throat, "yeah to-to uh dinner."

"Carmy..."

"Please, just, can I actually offer a real explanation?" He waited for her to give him the go.

After she nodded he continued

"We ran into each other, randomly, she was still a little prickly towards me. I you know, I felt so bad. She's still a friend of the family, right? And I didn't know what to say, so I invited her to dinner. I didn't stay the entire night and left before we even got to the second course." He gulped down his brown liquor. "We haven't spoken since. Promise."

She looked down at her drink. Warmth covering her face. She was thankful of her rich complexion, how it protected her from that kind of vulnerability.

"Thank you." She breathed, looking up from her nearly empty glass. "For that, you, I should've just talked to you. I shouldn't have been so mean."

“Stop it." He refilled her glass. He followed her movements as she sipped the sharp whiskey. Her lips were shiny once she pulled it back.

She shifted under his stare. Attempting to match him by watching him back. It only made the room grow warmer. She was pulsating now. Liquor had always spelled danger for her.

Thankfully he lost their unspoken competition.

"I actually forgot, one sec.” He released a deep breath, bending down to grab something out of his bag. A manila envelope.

She eyed it curiously, intrigued by what he had up his sleeve. He ran a finger over his right brow before extending it towards her.

“Here”

She took the envelope and slowly opened it. It was a contract. A contract for The Bear. Establishing her as a co-owner along with Carmy. 

“You okay?” His soft voice broke her from her daze. He ducked his head catching her watery eyes.

She blinked realizing that tears were welling in her eyes. She wiped them quickly in embarrassment.

”Fuck sorry.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

"No, it's not, you don’t have to say anything right now." He assured. "The Bear is as much mine as it is yours. This isn’t me trying to make you stay in Chicago. I’d never do that to you, I know you want to do more than work in that shithole” he mocked. “But it’s, it's ours isn't it?  I want you to know you’ll always have a home.”

She kicked herself for letting more tears pass her lids. They were quickly wiped away as well. She shook her head skimming over it and seeing the signature line at the bottom. All she had to do was sign.

“Jesus, Carmy would’ve been easier if you asked me to marry you.” She laughs eyes still on the paper reading the header over and over again. She could own something. Something that wasn't destined to fail.

He hummed thoughtfully, “You’re right, it would be easier if I asked you to marry me.”

They let the thought linger. She gently placed the papers back on the envelop.

"Thanks again, for-for telling me about the uh dinner thing. I know we weren’t together so of really wasn't any of my business-“

"Together or not, don’t want you thinking I don’t care about your feelings.“ His words hit her deeply. How careful he always was especially with her. She pulled him into a hug, relaxing as she held onto him.

His hair smelled freshly washed and he was wearing some fancy cologne. Leaning back she took him in, more carefully this time.

”What’s got you all dressed up?” She raised an eyebrow.

He looked down at himself then back at her, “Didn’t want to ask you to be my business partner in a dingy white-tee.”

"You could’ve.“ She laughed. “But you look really nice. I like your cologne...“

"It’s the one I hate.“ He noted “Nat said I should wear it.”

"She knows you came?”

”She drew up our contract” He explained “She wants no legal obligation to that place by the end of the year.”

"Better me than her I guess." Her reply was absentminded as she trailed Carmy's body. How could someone who ate like a frat boy maintain a body like his.

"What?” He looked down self consciously.

"Have you been working out?” She always knew him to be fit but she swears his biceps were bigger than they were the last time she saw him. 

"Yeah, been hitting the gym hard since you left.” He shrugged. “Helps with stress”

”I’m sure it does.” She rips her eyes away from his arms to pour herself a heftier drink. “You look great.” The compliment slipped out of her. "You know what else helps with stress?"

Shut up Syd. SHUT UP.

"No, what is that?"

His arms rested on the counter, outstretched past her. She swayed brushing against it, stumbling back onto the bar stool behind her.

He didn't know if he wanted to look at her drawing eyes or kissable lips. His eyes darted between both as he leaned closer to her, wanting to know the secret she kept.

She should've stopped drinking one glass ago, now her filter was withering away and her sober mind was locked behind a cage guarded by her horny intoxicated mind.

Sydney's alarm made the both of them jump away from each other.

With this distraction, her sense came rushing back. They shouldn't have sex.

Not now.

She had work in the morning and everything was still so fresh. Plus she was feeling like a fucking doofus around him and she didn't know why.

Her reasoning sounded like B.S. in this moment but somewhere in her head it made sense.

"I'm- that's my alarm for bed." She chuckled, as she slid off the bar stool, temporarily swaying a bit too close to him. He followed her as she moved away, so close to kissing her but he decided against it at the last minute. "Just gonna go get ready for bed." With that she left.

Carmy watched her disappear behind her bathroom door and waited until the shower cut on to breath. He pressed his hand against the seam of his jeans, willing his hard on away.

Steam billowed out before her once she left the bathroom and padded over to her bedroom. He was looking over the Polaroids that hung above her dresser. Each memory she cherished. 

"Shit sorry." He turned around like he'd been caught red handed. "Didn't mean to intrude."

"No it's, you're fine." She pulled her towel, that she realized was entirely too short, closer. The fluffy white fabric stopped just below the curve of her ass.

He watched as a bead of water trailed over her collarbone and under the towel. She sat on her bed, fingers still tightly holding the towel around her.

"You, uh did you see the pic there at the top?"

Carmy heard her but he didn't have the capacity to respond. He was suddenly so thirsty. He missed how she tasted. He turned back around to find the photo she referred to.

Shifting, her thighs granted her temporary relief. Blood thudded inside of her.

"Holy shit is that?" He squinted his eyes trying to get a closer look at the photo. "It can't be we hadn't even met at that point." The restaurants name etched on a menu beside the dish confirmed his suspicions.

He prepared this dish during a time of devaluation and grief. He was alone and felt like he'd lost touch with his family. When really Mikey was just avoiding him. He was told it was never good enough. He was a fuck up who didn't know the first thing about cooking. He swore he'd never made it again - too many bad memories. Funny how even at the lowest point in his life, she seemed to find some good in him.

"Remember I told you I tried your cooking well before I met you."

"Yeah I remember I just," he glanced back at her, eyes dropping to her enticing thighs before darting back to the photo on the wall. "I-I didn't know you had a picture of it!" He chuckled. "Do you photograph all the food you eat?" He quirked an eyebrow, turning back to her. "Or was I special?"

He just wanted to hear her say it. He'd never ask her for anything else if she just called him special.

With each step forward an inferno blazed within her, it'd be impossible to look away now that he was so close.

She imagined this was how it felt after staring at the sun for too long. Hypnotized by its beauty. Blinded by it's ferocity. Appreciative of its life. She understood now why people worshiped the blazing ball in the sky.

He stood above her, overbearing almost. She looked up at him, trying not to shiver at his attention. She failed.

"You were special." Her voice was small. She feared speaking louder would give her away.

"Thought I was special, did you." He grinned knocking their knees together.

His mind wouldn't stop racing. He resisted his urges long enough, seeing that on her wall like it was art stirred something within him. She was always there seeing him for who he was and not who everybody wanted him to be. The depth of his feelings for her broke new ground, growing treacherous. He'd be terrified if he didn't trust her with his heart, his life. 

"I did." She replied, voice still hidden under her embarrassing desire.

"You're special too." He nudged her legs apart, moving closer. Still above her. Still staring down at her as if this were the most casual thing in the world. Beneath his depth he was anything but.

She wondered if he'd still respect her if she got on her knees right now.

If she begged for it. If she came by simply rubbing her body on his.

"You know that right?" The back of his hand grazed her cheeks. He could feel the warmth. She couldn't hide now.

She nodded, hypnotized by him, afraid to speak, fearing a feral moan would rang out.

"Can you say it for me?" He waited a second, hand now gently gripping the dip of her neck. "Say 'I'm special'."

"I-I'm special." She replied breathlessly. His eyes grew darker as he watched her squirm. She was dizzy now with desire. Seconds from dropping her towel and jumping his bones.

His hand that wasn't on her neck met her bottom lip, gently pulling it down. "Can I try something?" He left her mouth open, waiting for her reply.

She closed her mouth, gulping down the saliva that pooled there. She nodded and he smiled.

"Use your words."

She gulped down more saliva before speaking again

"Yes."

He gently tugged on her towel tossing it to the floor. She watched the tips of his ears turn red. Being fully clothed while she was on display like this was mind-boggling.

He opened his mouth to speak but his words were stuck in his throat. His stomach did back flips. He still didn't know how he landed someone so, "Beautiful." It was a whisper but she heard it.

He brought his fingers back up to her mouth but this time he gently shoved two fingers in her mouth. He stroked her tongue, being careful not to trigger her gag reflex.

Moaning drifted past her ears. She met his eyes, realizing it was her making those noises. She didn't know why but his fingers in her mouth pulled her closer and closer to the edge.

"Back up for me." He left his fingers against her tongue as she carefully backed further onto the bed. His knee nestled between her thighs as she settled on her back. "Gonna get you off, okay? Apologize for popping up like this."

She wanted to tell him there was no need to apologize but between her slowly slipping mind and his fingers against her tongue she simply nodded.

In an instant they were gone out of her mouth and circling her bud. She was so wound up, the first touch sent electricity through her. She trembled, frantically trying to control herself.

"Fuck Syd, didn't even need to do that." His fingers slipped easily into her. "You're so wet. So ready for me."

She nodded desperately, moving her hips, chasing an already building orgasm.

"So pretty. So pretty." He worried his bottom lip, watching her. What made her jerk, what made her moan, what made her eyes roll. "You're gonna make me cum in my pants." He huffs. "If you keep looking like that."

She clawed at his top, hands sliding up from under. She moaned his name, how could she be expected to form a clear sentence in that moment.

"Want me undressed too?" His soaked fingers rubbed her, applying just enough pressure. She feverishly nodded.

"Please." She managed to get something other than his name out of her mouth.

His touch was gone - she resisted the urge to throw a tantrum. She wanted him undressed after all. 

His chiseled body descended back on her. He immediately latched onto her neck. But he wasn't touching her like she wanted. Not like he was just seconds ago.

He soon noticed her vitriol and the fucker smiled.

"Relax," he continued kissing down her neck all the way down to her perky nipples. "I'll get you there, just missed this so much."

With each kiss he neared the place between her thighs.

Her mouth fell open once he latched onto her. Fingers slipping back into her.

With each come hither movement and each kiss worshiping her clit she moved closer and closer to the edge.

His tongue dancing in a firm circle pulling an orgasm out of her.

The feeling surprised her. This was different than all the other times. Her chest pounded and her thighs trembled. She gripped his curls and was pretty sure it made that fucker moan. She could feel the vibrations.

She loved him.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyoufuckIloveyou

No one knew her like him. No one could do this to her but him. She didn't want anybody else to do this to her. With her.

He gently licked her, tongue slowly cleaning up her mess. He climbed up her body, nuzzling her neck.

"I love you too Syd."

Had she said that out loud?

He watched her come back to Earth, eyes low and hazy. He waited until she looked at him, clearly, to kiss her. She moaned when she tasted herself.

"You taste so good don't you?" He kissed her jaw. "Are you ready?"

She pulled him closer, far too weak and aroused to say anything.

He squeezed the base of his dick. He didn’t want to cum too fast, he wanted to relish in this. Savor it.

He exhaled as he pushed into her. He fit her so well. So easily. That stupid part of his brain preened at that. She was his.

He stilled once he bottomed out.

She was impatient. Feeling his throbbing head against that spot inside of her made her instinctively salivate. She canted her hips up, encouraging some sort of movement.

"Shit, you're" He buried his face in her neck as he began moving. Brutally. Slowly. As deep as he could get.

Her legs wrapped around him keeping him close. Needing him close. With each pound against her button she spiraled further and further into his spell. She felt drunk. In love. Dangerously so.

He groaned at her teeth digging into his shoulder, another orgasm echoed through her.

"Feel so good when you cum on my dick like that." He gripped the sheets, moving faster, more intentional - chasing his release. Her fitted sheets popped off of the corners of her mattress, rolling up under them.

She gripped the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. She moaned in his mouth and he swallowed it.

He was so close, losing his grip on reality. On sanity. He wanted to cum inside of her. "Wanna get you pregnant." His eyes were closed, he didn't see her reaction but she clenched around him. Her legs and arms pulled him closer like a Venus flytrap devouring its prey.

"Please" she gasped gripping him tighter. "I want it."

A noise he hadn't recognized as his voice left him, muffled against her neck. He pumped inside of her, once, twice, three times so deeply he was sure they'd have a pregnancy scare. He couldn't bring himself to care though.

After cleaning up and fixing the bed he rocked her in his arms.

"We should get a Plan B." He mentioned kissing her forehead. “Or not.”

"I have an IUD." She reminded him.

He tried to hide his disappointment.

"Aw come on ya big sap, give me a kiss."

He happily obliged.

Sydney was back home and she and Carmy's relationship was on the up and up. They were working on it and things seemed to be progressing exponentially.

"Remember when I said it'd be easier for you to just ask me to marry you?"

"I do." He looked up from the document he'd been filling out. Syd long ago tried to bring Carmy into the digital age, but he was stuck in his ways. It was endearing. "What about it?"

"Is that," she hesitates, hovering over uncharted waters. "Is marriage something you ever think about?" She sat on his desk swinging her feet, too nervous to sit still or stand like a normal person. "Not with me I mean with anybody ever."

He sat his pen down, she now had his full attention. "You're the only person I ever thought about marrying." He replied openly, his hand sliding up her thigh. When he reached her belly his fingers twisted in the softness of her shirt causing her to stir and swat his hand away with a smile. 

Now he was standing before her, between her legs, caging her in with his arms. Reminiscent of their first kiss. "And maybe even some day," he breathed into her neck, planting a wet kiss there once she leaned into him. "You can take that stupid IUD out and let me put a baby in you."

Her eyes fell closed, thinking about what it'd be like to do that. She pulled back cradling his head between her hands, stars brightening her eyes.

"Let’s focus on raising this baby first before we think about any others. Imagine how fucked up it would be." She tilted her had slightly in an attempt to be snarky or maybe sarcastic, anything to alleviate the seriousness of the moment.

"Who says we can't do both?" He replied half joking half hopeful. There goes his hands again, warming her sensitive belly. "We can try before the meeting starts." He mouthed at her neck and gripped her waist, now determined to make his dreams a reality.

She chuckled "Carmen." She gently nudged him back. "Do you know what you're saying? Do you know my dad would kill you- me- no US if we got pregnant?"

"Sydney, you know you're an adult right?" He shot her a teasing grin. "Also, I'm not saying right now or any time soon. I was joking." He placated. But they both knew he wasn't really joking all that much. "It's nice to know you're open to that sorta thing."

Syd nodded still trying to calm herself down. "I think you'd make a great dad." She replied earnestly.

She admired the pink that spread across his cheeks.

Richie knocked on the door before walking in, not waiting for a response.

"Yo, cousin when you and the wife are done with your meeting the actual team meeting has started out front."

"Shut the fuck up Richie!" He replied, no real heat behind his words. "And who started the meeting?"

"Who else?" He glanced around the room with a scoff "I did, when you two fly off to la la land I pick up the slack."

"What do you teach them? The quickest way to fuck up lunch?" Sydney fired back.

"Hey that was once!" He shouted behind him, already making his way back to the meeting.

Syd followed behind him but Carmy's hand stopped her. She spun around and he pulled her against him, kissing her breathless. He rested his forehead against hers.

"You'd really marry a fuck up like me?" He glanced behind her making sure Richie was gone.

"Carmy." She sighed leaning forward and pecking him once. "What did your therapist say about self-talk?"

"Right" He nodded. "Sorry, I'm still learning."

"Don't apologize." She kissed him again, lingering longer than before. "I wouldn't want to spend my life with anybody else."

"See! I told you they're back here making out" Richie's voice drifted through the kitchen catching their attention. The rest of the staff followed behind laughing amongst themselves.

"Chefs, are you going to show them tonight's specials or do I have to?"

[thefiresfromheaven]

I'm posting this here for my new blog. I'm in search of a beta reader once again now that I'm writing again. If your interested and would like to apply then just follow the link! I'm so ready to start posting on @the-fire-of-heaven you guys have no idea lol.

[sanjismywhore]

Alone

Spirit! Carlos Oliveira x Reader

Warnings: angst, sfw, mention of grief, death of a loved one.

(This is based on a Character ai bot by @/somberkitty)

A/N: This might make you cry 🥲

—————————————————————————

It's been a year since Carlos tragically died in Raccoon City. The incident left you empty and distraught. You'd miss him much more…if you didn't still see him every day.

You couldn’t ignore his ghostly figure floating behind you as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. His body was so completely translucent that you could see the other side of your room through him. The feeling of his hands was faint, barely there as they gripped your waist. His cold, spectral touch sent a long shiver down your spine.

"Don't look at me like that, babe. Aren't you happy to see me?" He teased, burying his face into the nook of your neck.

You couldn’t muster the strength to smile even if you wanted to. It wasn’t the same. His warmth wasn’t there. “I wish you were here.” You mumbled, still hurting internally from his death.

Carlos laughs in an attempt to lighten your mood, his faint grip loosening on you as he pulls back. “I am here, just under different circumstances. C’mon, don't be so gloomy, you know how I hate seeing you get all mopey." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, but you couldn’t feel anything.

“I wish I could touch you.” You finally looked into his eyes as tears began to well up in your own. Your bottom lip quivered but you held it back with your teeth.

Carlos sighed as he noticed your pained expression, “Me too. You know what? Maybe if you close your eyes real tight and wish for it reeeaaal hard... it’ll work." He grinned.

You didn’t take too kindly to his joking manner, “Don’t joke about this.” you replied firmly

"Ah, don’t be like that, sweet pea. Here I am, being a cheery little ghost and you already hate me?" Carlos retorts with a faux pout, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on the top of your head. Although deep down he understood your pain, feeling guilty for putting you through it.

“You know that’s not true. I love you so much.” You sniffled as you tried to wipe the tears from your eyes.

Carlos’s smile dropped into a sorrowful expression at your words. He pressed his face into your neck, nuzzling you from behind. “I wish I told you that more in life, you know? If I had been more vocal… more affectionate, you wouldn't be feeling so much pain." He murmured, remorsefully.

Tears begin to stream down your face. “I miss you… Every. Single. Day.” Your pained tone emphasized each word.

You tried to hold back your tears as best as you could. His ghostly presence only reminded you of what you could no longer have. It brought you closer to breaking.

"I miss you too, more than you can imagine...” Carlos ushers you to face him, cupping your cheeks with both of his hands. “I feel so shitty for leaving you like this… I hate seeing you mourn. I wish I could just be here, to wipe your tears and hold you close when you cry..."

His thumbs stroked your cheeks. You only barely feel his touch, like a gentle breeze against your skin.

“I don’t know if I can live like this…”You croaked, attempting to lean into his nonexistent touch.

This time, Carlos wraps his arms around you. "Shh, please don't say that. I'm still with you. I'd never leave you all on your own. I want to be by your side, through thick and thin, and make sure you're safe, sound, and happy."

You scoff in frustration at the situation, “But I don’t want this to be my life. Talking to a ghost who I can’t feel or kiss…” You ramble on, sounding more pained than Carlos had initially thought.

He was your drive, your passion, your reason to live. Without that, what is the point of living?

"I know…” He sighed, leaning closer to press his forehead against yours. Carlos closed his eyes as he spoke, “It hurts me so fucking much that you can’t feel me… God, if I could go back and prevent everything, I’d be here.”

His voice was starting to crack with pain, “I’m such an idiot… couldn’t even protect myself..” He mumbled, looking away from you shamefully. It was evident he felt extremely guilty, and shameful that he died.

After an anxious beat of silence, you spoke up again. “Do you think I’ll join you when I die?” I look into his eyes.

Carlos falls silent for a moment, pondering the question. "I hope so. You’ve been through too much in your life… But don't think about that just yet, for now just live your life to its fullest. I will always be right here just in case, like a guardian angel." Carlos gives you a small smile while running his ghostly fingers through your hair.

You stare at him as he smiles back lovingly while stroking your hair. The small action is enough to make your willpower crumble beneath your feet. In an instant, you’re reduced to a sobbing, trembling puddle.

Carlos’s eyes widen once you start crying. His arms hold you close, and his ghostly hands attempt to wipe away your tears with tender caresses.

"No.. no no, please don't cry.” He coos, trying to comfort you.

His plea fell on deaf ears as you continued sobbing, “I-i can’t do it… I can’t do this without you…”

Carlos shushed you gently and attempted to wipe away your tears again, his body beginning to sway from side to side to soothe you.

"Shhh, shh. You don't have to do this without me at all.” He tried to get you to look at him. “Just think of it like this... We’ll just have a bit more distance between us and just can't hug and kiss like we used to. We can live this way, you will be fine I promise." Carlos responds, trying his hardest to be reassuring whilst hiding his misery.

“Carlos. Please be real for a second.” You beg between sobs.

The ghost suddenly stops swaying back and forth, becoming completely still with his arms no longer wrapped around you. Carlos looks back at you, his expression now changed to a more sober look. “This hurts me just as much as it’s hurting you. Trust me, baby.”

Carlos's eyes darken with sadness for a moment, “I try to hide it... put on a positive face and pretend everything is alright, for you. But every night I see you fall asleep with tears in your eyes and cry a little myself, missing the warmth of our bed and your beautiful body lying next to me." He confesses.

“I wish I could bring you back.” You sniffle.

"I wish you could too..." Carlos responds, his face changing to one of melancholy. "Just... promise me one thing." He looks deep into your eyes with adoration.

“Yes?” You reply.

"Keep living your life without me. Don't stop enjoying the little things in life. Like seeing the sunrise, taking a walk in the rain, or getting yourself a nice juicy cheeseburger. Don't let yourself fall into such a deep pit of misery that you're unable to pull yourself back out, promise me that, (Name)." He looks at you with a firm and serious glint in his eyes, hoping you’ll keep that promise.

“It’s so hard…” You pout, glancing away for a moment.

Carlos sighed, "But you can do it, for me. That's all I want. Just for you to enjoy life without me." Carlos offers you a soft smile, his face beginning to flicker as the ghost is consumed by sadness.

You sniffle again, “It’ll be really hard.”

"I know I ask a lot from you, but just try, ok? That's all I ask for. I have faith in you, I believe in you. Please. You are my heart and my life, but I don't want you to let my death take yours too. Live, for me."

You soak in his words, suppressing your doubts and slowly nodding in agreement.

"Thank you..." Carlos exhales with relief. Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hits him, a weight settling on his shoulders.

"Hey, is it ok if I rest a little bit? I've spent so much energy talking to you that it's starting to take its toll on me... and I'd rather not disappear right now..." He explains

You blink a couple of times, not understanding what that entails, but you still nod. “Yeah, get some rest.”

Carlos nods in response, his energy beginning to fade. “Ok... I'll be back... just... let me rest for a while..." Carlos slurs, his body beginning to flicker and fade from your view.

“I’ll see you again tomorrow?” You ask.

Carlos nods again, his form almost completely dissipated. "This is my promise... I'll be back. Just need a little time to recover. You'll be fine until then. I'll see you soon alright?"

As the spectral figure of Carlos fades to nothing, you're left standing there by yourself, just listening to the silence around you. As you stare ahead at where Carlos just was you can't help but tear up all over again.

The silence is unbearable in many ways, but the worst of it comes from your inability to hear his voice.

You moved across the room to sit on your bed. Then you laid down. As you lay on your bed, there is nothing to keep you from crying... tears flow down your cheeks and you can feel a void spreading through your heart. All that you have left of your lover is a few photos and your memories, while your life without him seems dark and cold. You miss him, all day and all night. You just want to feel that warmth and love and embrace once more. You want your Carlos back.

[k-marzolf]

Have you any dreams you’d like to sell? Dreams of loneliness like a heartbeat drives you mad..

Friends to lovers, angst, fear of commitment, loneliness, alcohol consumption, fem!reader.

You ask Billy a question, and the answer is a hard pill to swallow.

Imagine Being Loved By Me.

&&&&

“Do you think loneliness is a choice or a necessity?” You asked, sitting on the floor in your apartment with him, drinking wine, and snacking on meat and cheese.

Billy raised an eyebrow, arm leaning on his knee in a pair of dark jeans and combat boots, “Are you drunk, sweet pea?” He asked, deflecting.

You slapped his knee, wine spilling out of your glass and onto your hand, “I’m serious, you.” You said indignantly.

He smirked, “People are lonely because they don’t know how to be alone. Once you learn to be alone, you’ll be more happy.” He said, sipping his beer, watching your expression.

It fell, as though his answer reflected a reality you weren’t willing to accept.

“But I don’t want to be alone. I’d rather be alone with you.” You said, taking a rather healthy sip of wine. You always drank a lot, in an effort to push down that heavy feeling in your chest.

You had always been alone, save for your mother, and so had he. But he was cynical and trusted very few. You on the other hand were a bleeding heart, unable to control your emotions, and so soft. Life hadn’t hardened you like it had him.

He kissed your forehead, fingers cupping your jaw. But he didn’t say anything, too afraid to commit to anything, the abandonment he’d suffered was still a bleeding wound.

Later that night, you were curled on the rug with him, your cheeks warm, and eyes fluttering in your sleep. Your fingers curled into his sweater, as his fingers stroked your hair, and for the first time he was content.

Tags; @idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack @firexfate @aoi-targaryen

[mango-bango-bby]

I swear Tumblr is driving me nuts with it eating my asks! This is the fourth time I've written an ask and you haven't received it! (Or you could be just working on one and I could be a blind person, sorry-) I'm not upset at you, I'm upset at Tumblr! I was hoping to request single dad Deku. I love the domestic vibes from this cute series but I was wondering what made him kidnap his darling? Perhaps his daughter comes home crying to her dad saying that her favorite teacher announced that they'll be going away soon due to them moving away/getting married.

♡ Home Early ♡

(A/N: I’m sorry tumblr kept eating your ask, so I hope this was worth it!!! I missed writing for single dad Deku and Isamu, I love them so much 😭😭😭 Thank you for the request!!)

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, domestic stuff, children, angst, mentions of kidnapping 

Summary: You’re going to move away but Isamu and Izuku don’t want you to (Yan!Izuku x GN!reader)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You rock Isamu in your lap trying to calm her down. You had expected the children in your class to be sad about you leaving but not this much. You had announced this morning that you would soon be moving daycares as well as cities because your boyfriend wanted to move so you would go with him. Of course, many toddlers shed some tears at the announcement but none were as upset as Isamu.

Isamu immediately started sobbing at the news, begging you to stay with her and not to leave her. It was the middle of the day now, the rest of the children having nap time, Isamu couldn’t sleep though. Rather still crying, burying her face into your chest and holding onto your sweater.

“Isamu, please don’t cry” you say softly, gently stroking her curly hair. She doesn’t respond and unlike what you wanted she began to cry even harder. Should you call her father? You really don’t want to interrupt him, you know that heroes are probably incredibly busy.

“Don’t leave” Isamu sobs, her breaths uneven. You’re surprised she hasn’t passed out at how much she’s been crying. “Honey, I have to. My boyfriend’s moving there so I’m going to go with him” You say only to get more tears in response. “No!” She whines, clutching onto you tighter. You’re quite sure that you’ll have to send her home early.

♡ ♡ ♡

Izuku was very concerned when he was called by the daycare to come pick up his daughter. He was even more concerned when Isamu kept crying every time he tried to take her away from you. He was honestly sad but embarrassed, he loved his daughter more than anything but he was also in love with you and was worried you’d think he was a bad father from her melt down.

He was able to eventually pry her off of you. Taking her to the car, buckling her in her car seat despite her protests. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” He worriedly asks, wiping off some of her tears. “Y/n-sensei is l-leaving” she mumbles quietly before breaking down again and telling him what you said.

“What do you mean they’re leaving, sweet pea?” He asks soothingly, almost as if not accepting her words. He’s not sure if he should believe her or not. She was a toddler after all.

But what if she was telling the truth. Izuku was obsessed with you and couldn’t imagine being away from you. He had already planned out your lives together! If you left you two would never be able to get married, Isamu would never be the flower girl, you’d never greet him with a kiss every time he came home, you two would never be able to give Isamu a younger sibling, you two could never adopt a dog, or grow old together!

Izuku comes to the conclusion he needs to take you for himself. It’s the only way to keep you to himself.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

[toxicanonymity]

Hi!! Pls point me in the right direction if there’s been a similar ask already, but I’m recently obsessed with raider and also started my period today :// so I’m wondering how Joel would treat sweet pea on her period? Does he think it’s gross, does he still touch her on her period, does he let her have painkillers if she asks nicely, etc? Do you imagine her not even getting her period at all anymore from stress or malnourishment? Just a random thought I had :)

Raider Joel if you got your period

900 words, raider!Joel x f!reader.

SUMMARY/WARNINGS: this is mostly headcanon/kinda fluff I guess but brief angst and smut (period sex, oral m receiving), talk of sterility. Featuring Carter!

A/N: yeah, she doesn't have her period, from malnourishment or general conditions, like you mentioned, so if she got it I think it'd be a surprise to both of them. If this gets canonized I'll let y'all know but rn I don't wanna deal with tracking a period lol.

raider master list

Early one morning, when the sun is still rising, Joel has an arm wrapped over you and his hand creeps between your legs. He pulls you back into him, and his fingers slip between your thighs. You’re even wetter than usual, making him press his arousal into you with a quiet growl, and then, he can’t resist, he brings his finger to his mouth. Before he can taste it, he smells the familiar copper and his heart skips a beat. This all happens really fast: He throws the covers off you and sees a dark blotch smeared from when he pulled you into him. He backs up and lets you down onto your back. He says your name urgently, shakes your shoulder and hovers his cheek over your mouth to feel your breath.

As you begin to wake up, he remembers about periods and feels bad for making a big deal of it if that’s what’s going on. He cups your face and breathes a sigh of relief, but he still has to ask, “Are you hurt?”

You begin to stir awake. "You okay?" He asks. As you gain consciousness you register his wet finger on your cheek and put your hand over it. You feel how wet you are and squirm, then when you turn over to face him, you look down to reach down for the sheet and you see blood. It startles you, too. Then you register the familiar ache in your abdomen, and you never thought you’d *want* cramps but for some reason it makes you emotional to have it back.

You reflexively apologize, “Sorry, I think it’s just. . .it must be back,” you whisper. “My cycle.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay, right?” His heart rate is still elevated but he’s starting to calm down.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m sorry, it’s been gone for so-”

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

–

I think he’d do his best to take care of you but would need some guidance. He’d probably ask you what you need. As much of a big tough guy as he is he does take his role seriously in taking care of you so I imagine he’d run you a bath and tell you to wait there. Maybe he’d send Carter to try to find some pads lmao.

-

Joel would jog down the hill to the stash house to get Carter. Joel would almost rather Carter just stay with you guys, but someone's still gotta keep an eye on things. Carter would still be waking up when Joel barges in asking for help. Carter's like, "easy, what's goin' on?"

"She's bleedin', I need you to-"

"What happened, is she okay??"

"No, yeah, she's got," Joel awkwardly gesticulate as he explains, "She's got her cycle"

"Her period?" Carter breathes a sigh of relief and chuckles. "made it sound like life or death, man. Ya know they're s'posed to get it every month right?"

"Can ya find her somethin'?"

“Joel, I dunno anything about-”

“Carter, please–can ya figure it out?”

Carter swallows and looks around. “Yeah. Sure, boss.”

(I guess this falls under "other duties as assigned" - taking down human scarecrows, finding menstrual products)

–

And yes, Joel has the drug connections and might offer you pills if you feel bad, or even if you don't. He might even try to help by washing the sheets while you're in the bath and Carter is out trying to find supplies.

–

Sexually, Joel has no aversion to your period. But maybe you’re still self conscious of the mess at first. He’s pounding you from behind, and you’ve just finished coming. He moans deeply as you squeeze him with an aftershock.

“Joel,” you look back at him.

He grunts and sighs as he buries his length in you, a mess spreading in his pubic hair and between your legs. He pants, “yeah sweet pea”

“Can i swallow it”

“Can ya —”

“Please?"

He sighs, wanting to slam into you and spill it already, but thinking, ok whatever. He pulls out, lays back on the bed, and you lick him clean before he cums and you swallow. Seeing you do it is such a turn-on, it might become a thing he wants you to do.

–

And then after, you suggest, “maybe I should swallow all the time from now on.”

His brow furrows “Why?”

“If I can get my period, i can probably get pregnant." It goes without saying neither of you would consider that a good things in this world.

“oh,” he mutters, then he’s pensive for a moment. “that ain’t gonna happen, sweet pea.”

“how do you know? are you ... fixed?”

He's short, but his tone is gentle. “yeah, it just ain’t gonna happen okay?” You feel bad for accidentally stumbling onto something from his past, but feel relieved at the revelation.

“okay,” you whisper as you put your head on his chest. “sorry.”

“’s'okay, baby. 's'a good thing, ain't it."

"Yeah," you sigh. "really good."

—

We don't know exactly why she doesn't have it, either malnourishment and/or stress conditions could be viable, I've tended to HC malnutrition but if she were to get it, maybe that'd be a sign of kind of settling into a (relative to the situation) normal-ish life there. At least she started picking dandelion leaves and stuff and foraging for mushrooms, and maybe they found some produce like with the apples and pumpkins HC.

—-

---

he's snipped that's why he can't

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️