#the year before that i was writing about dealing with depression and anxiety and feeling constantly at war with yourself and people you love

[rosekasa]

creating for a fandom from teenage years to adulthood is so special because you can see where your subconscious was through the history of your works

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 6/x

ᰔ words. 12.6k

a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!

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“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.

Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.

You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.

You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.

Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”

“That’s it? Just nice?”

“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”

You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.

The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.

The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.

“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it. 

“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”

“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”

He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”

“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”

You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.

His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.

As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”

“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”

He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.

He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”

“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”

“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”

He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”

It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home. 

Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.

“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”

“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.

She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.

When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide. 

You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.

“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”

“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”

Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.

“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.

You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.

“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.

“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.

Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.

“Oh—” you stumble slightly.

“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.

“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”

“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.

“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”

She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.

Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.

But there’s a small part of you,

A teeny tiny part,

Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,

That actually does feel some type of way about it.

You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?

You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.

It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.

That must be the reason, right?

You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.

“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.

There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.

“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.

There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child. 

There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing. 

“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”

You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.

Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses. 

“Smells wonderful,” you comment.

“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”

You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.

“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”

“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.

When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.

“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”

“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”

After all, you had to prepare her.

“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”

It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.

“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”

Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.

“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”

It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.

“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”

The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.

Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.

“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.

“Hi,” she says back to you.

“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.

“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”

“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.

“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”

The three of you nod at him.

It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.

“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.

Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.

Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.

Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.

“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”

You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.

“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”

You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.

“Four weeks,” he says.

You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.

“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.

You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.

But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”

“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.

“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.

“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”

The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation. 

You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.

You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.

Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”

“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”

Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.

“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.

“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”

“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.

You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.

One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.

The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.

A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.

The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed. 

Sana’s room, you think to yourself. 

Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own. 

The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.

The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too. 

His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end. 

You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?

Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought. 

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side. 

West Valley High School. Class of 2007.

With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.

When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.

You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?

There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.

You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was. 

Gojo Satoru.

Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.

He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger. 

You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.

Ichiro.

Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.

Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.

Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.

“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.

You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.

“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too. 

You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.

A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.

The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005. 

It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.

Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture? 

“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room. 

You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful. 

“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see. 

His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”

 You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”

Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”

He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”

“Maybe your teenage self did.”

“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”

“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.

He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.

“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”

“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”

His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”

You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.

“And if I strangled you? What then?”

“I like that. It’s kinky.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”

“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”

You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.

He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.” 

His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.

“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.

“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”

Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.

“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”

“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”

His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you. 

“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.

His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”

The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual. 

“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”

You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.” 

“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”

You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.

“Wait,” you say, “look away.”

“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.

“Just look away for a second.”

His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.

But you stop.

And you take one more glance at the photo.

And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.

If you asked, would he tell you?

But the more pressing question is,

Why are you so scared to find out?

You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.

You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.

“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”

You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.

His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”

You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.

The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.

Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.

Everyone looks at you.

You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.

You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her. 

You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.

“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”

“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”

“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”

You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”

“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”

She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”

There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.

Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”

The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.

“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.

Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.

You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”

You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.

“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties. 

To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.

“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.

“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”

Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”

“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”

“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”

“Jun,” Sana deadpans.

“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in. 

Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair. 

“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.

Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.

Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.

Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand. 

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”

It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak. 

She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him  to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away. 

Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”

Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.

But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”

You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.

“But…” you trail off.

“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”

You blink at her in shock.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.

“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”

“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.

You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.

When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.

The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.

“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.

And then there were two.

You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use. 

“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.” 

“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”

You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.

“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.

“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.

As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you. 

You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.

Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up. 

“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.

“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”

“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.

It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.

She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.

You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”

The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”

A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.

“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”

She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.

Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”

“Aww.”

There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.

“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”

You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”

The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.” 

You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.

“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.

“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.

He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”

You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”

“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.

“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”

“Palliative?”

“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”

He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.

“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.

Carevest Capital est. 2016

Invest in a healthier you!

You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.

“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”

Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.

“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”

You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”

He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”

Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.

“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.

“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.

He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch. 

Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,

But you felt like something was wrong.

“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”

The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.

Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.

The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.

You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.

“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”

When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.

“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.

You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.

“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”

Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.

Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.

But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges. 

A woman's intuition.

That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.

Not just routine marital issues,

Or the occasional argument,

Something worse. Something dangerous.

And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.

Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,

Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,

That she needed help.

“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge. 

Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”

You blink at him. 

“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”

There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.

Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.

You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.

Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.

Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,

And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.

How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way? 

Never the hero. If anything, the villain.

“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.

You swallow hard.

“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”

He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.

“Fuck. Okay.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie

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[endereies]

ONE MORE DAY

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Contains: Mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicide, mentions of depression and anxiety, happy ending, heavy angst - sorry not sorry

Requested?: no

Author's notes: I really enjoyed writing this, especially with sad music like take care or duster playing. that shit hits.

Word Count: 3954

Dealing with mental health wasn’t a new situation in your relationship with Matt. He has had anxiety problems since he was 11 and has always been open about it, whether that was to his family or to his fans. However, that was a skill that you lacked.

Matt was always talking to you whenever he felt anxious in a situation, finding that his concerns seemed to lessen when he was around you. He had often silently latched on to your hand in a public environment as he focused on the warmth between your palms.

He confided in you after a stressful day of filming and taking pictures addressing how he particularly felt in each moment.

And you would always accept these small rants of anxious build up because you didn’t want him to feel the same way that you did.

You had internally struggled with your own anxiety for a few years, more recently symptoms of depression.

You never told Matt about any of this, not that you didn’t trust him with the information, you just didn’t want to overbear him when he had his own anxiety to manage.

You blamed yourself for selfish thoughts whenever he felt anxious at the same times as you, often relying on the same hand holding that he did to simultaneously calm you both down.

Over these years of having anxiety, you learnt what your tells were when feeling anxiety build up inside and tried to hide them whenever you could. And when you couldn’t? You’d hide in your room and cancel plans until that overbearing feeling went away.

-

This type of day had grown to be typical for you, one that consisted of a growing pit in your stomach caused by emotions you no longer felt in control of. You were left in your bed scratching at your wrists, the actions only growing harder the more you couldn’t satisfy the ‘itch’ that tore through under your skin. One left behind from previous nights.

As much as anxiety wasn’t a new feeling to you, your self-harm methods were. Of course, you had known about it, and how bad it was to deal with. The addiction of the lines that changed colour the more the razor dug into the flesh, or the harshness of reality that stepped in and out of your mind. It wasn’t enough to deter you and last night you gave in once more. Wanting to feel something else consistently other than that pit that sunk more every day.

The feeling was addictive, but it grew harder to hide from people, especially Matt. The constant handholding or affection made you paranoid and so you pulled back from him. You didn’t want him to find out.

The more you pulled back, however, the more that Matt grew concerned.

You had overheard him talking to Chris and Nick about how he thought you were starting to fall out of love with him, but to you those accusations couldn’t be further from the truth. To you Matt was a break from that feeling, making you smile subconsciously on days when all you wanted to do was turn off from everything. It was selfish the amount of time you craved with him, selfish the amount of things you wouldn’t tell him, selfish the number of times you cancelled plans made in advance over something you desperately needed to control.

But as much as you loved him, and had tried to privately talk to professionals, this feeling grew way more than you had ever wanted, and it had begun to wear you and others down.

-

“Are you cancelling again, y/n? We’ve had this day planned for a week now.” Matt voice was tainted with disappointment, and it took me a while before I got the courage to respond to him.

“I’m sorry Matt, something just came up and it’s urgent.” My breathe shook after I had finished, hating the more lies I had created the last month.

“Can I at least come over tomorrow..?” As much as I didn’t want to, I felt like I needed to see him, in a hope that I would feel somewhat better.

“Yeah, course..” And with that I hung up the phone, before either of us got another chance to speak.

That night I got to writing, the mood from earlier spilling over my brain and into my tears that were evident on the paper. The words were messy but said all I needed them to. I just hoped that whoever read it, understood all I was ever silently saying to them. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough.

-

After a rough night’s sleep and a few hours in bed I dragged myself out of it and towards the shower. I sighed once my skin made contact with the water trying to relax my arm under the sting of the water pressure.

 I made sure not to spend more time than I had to in the shower, needing enough time to get dressed and get something to eat before Matt arrived.

The outfit didn’t seem like much, but it did hide a lot more. I grabbed an old hoodie and tossed it over a plain black t-shirt. The sweatpants I threw on matched my shirt and hung loosely on my hips.

Dishes has started to stack up in my sink, but I wasn’t prepared to wash them all and I was thankful that Matt never minded, as long as we were able to talk with one another. The food I picked out was just a small bowl of cereal that I have had for several days now but it was one of the only foods I was okay with eating. I felt too tired to finish the bowl and simply abandoned it next to the identical unfinished bowl over by the sink.

It wasn’t long before I heard a knock at my front door, and I instantly knew it was Matt. I gathered my mind and opened the door for him with a smile on my face.

“Hey baby, how was the ride over?” I shut the door behind him after he enters to lean on the door to take off his shoes.

“Traffic was okay, I’m just glad I get to see you again” As much as I know he meant well, his words stung a bit and made my heart drop slightly. Luckily, his back was still facing me, and he couldn’t see it happen.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you yesterday” Matt’s body faces mine once he pushes his shoes to the side and walks towards me with a meek smile displayed on his face.

“y/n, it’s okay, things come up. I get it.” He put his arm around my waist and rubs my waist lightly, just caressing the skin underneath, I pull away as quick as the touch begin and I feel his touch linger onto my skin, making my guilt apparent.

I wander around the kitchen for a moment, thinking of an excuse for leaving Matt until my eyes fall onto a selection of sodas and drinks.

“Want anything to eat or drink at all..?” my fingers trace the glass bottles slowly before landing onto the cans and picking a Pepsi.

“I’ll have a Pepsi with you, baby.” I smile as I hand him a Pepsi with my free arm and taking it back once I realise, I wasn’t watching how far my sleeve went up. I was grateful that he wasn’t paying any attention.

-

It had been an hour since Matt arrived and we had settled on watching a film, one that Matt had picked out several times before, but we never got bored of it. My duvet covers were shifted around to place both Matt and I underneath for comfort, but I took it as an opportunity for Matt to get close to me without being consumed with paranoia.

His fingers tangled in my hair and gently rubbing my scalp nearly nulled me to sleep. I felt safe enough to relax my body for the first time in over a week and my body ached after being tense for so long.

The feeling of his fingers stroking my hair brought me back to my childhood, one where I felt safely vulnerable in front of my mother who allowed me to watch cartoons while she braided my hair. Moments like these took away from the stress of those previous weeks.

“Do you want me to brush your hair, pretty girl?” I look up at him and weakly nod, feeling a little tired from him stroking my hair.

I have always loved when he plays with my hair and it became a token of affection after long days, and often I would return the favour whenever he asked.

He nods at me with a slight hum for a response before his body shifts under the covers. I sit up and lean off of his chest so that he can leave the bed. I take his place in the bed soon after just so that I can retain the warmth he left behind.

I notice him walking over to my desk and resting his wrists against the top of my chair as support while he scans it for my brush. I don’t pay any attention to it until he moves a drawer, not being able to locate it.

“Baby? It might be in the spare room; I was tidying there in there a while ago.” I try not to mumble within the tiredness I felt and offer him a small smile which he reciprocates.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a second then, want to pause the film?” I only nod in response, looking on the pillows for the remote to pause the show and once it does, Matt disappears to the hallway.

Matt’s Pov:

The spare room door was already open, and I simply pushed it open to glance into the room, the door was immediately put to a halt when it hit a box behind it. Luckily, I had enough of a gap to go through but I was met with more boxes and random items everywhere. This was so unusual for me to see in y/n’s house; she was persistent over how the house had looked and presented itself.

I stand among the clutter before focusing on what I entered the room for, yet once again it wasn’t obvious to me.

The boxes seemed to be filled with clothes and the items were old art projects I had seen her buy for fun, so I crossed those areas off as places to look.

I had been in this room before, yet it seemed so unrecognisable from the other places in the house I had been so used to over the years of knowing y/n. But the large white bookcase was still a standout against the dark blue walls. They didn’t seem as scattered as the rest of the room and so finding the brush became an easier task. Bright blue stood out against the white and I walked towards it to grab it, but I noticed a small stack of papers laid next to it. All folded sporadically with names scribbled all over them. It shouldn’t have peaked my interest but I had never known y/n to journal or write to people, so curiosity got the better of me. The top where names of family members, ones that even I knew well, but once I got through family members, I saw my name in a section next to Nick’s and Chris’s.

It stayed shut in my hand for me moment, my eyes not even deterring to place the pile back onto the shelf. The handwriting seemed rushed and scribbled and it only made me question these actions more. I shouldn’t have looked at the paper and I had already felt guilty for it, before it even happened.

I shouldn’t have opened it.

I started to read the letter to myself, and I sat on the spare bed on the small section that wasn’t already covered with the boxes and my heart sank.

Matt, I am so sorry for doing this, to you or anyone else. I’m still not sure about what I might do but I know that you’d want closure if I did. It’ll make itself clear. And I hope the main point you get from this is that this was never your fault.

I’ve just been feeling so shitty for weeks, maybe months at this point and honestly? I don’t see myself getting any fucking better.

Everything is stressing me out every day and it’s limiting everything I do, I can’t go outside often without someone there to ease my anxiety, nor can I even walk freely in my own home without any fear of being watched by people, and I’m rotting.

You were actually the only help I really had, not that you ever knew it.

I wanted us to last a bit longer than this, our three-year anniversary is in a few months but I’ll be lucky to not do this all by September.

I’ve planned a few things for you, love. I’ve saved all my money aside and sold things you would have trouble doing yourself. I didn’t want that burden on you. I wore several hoodies for you to have and slowly given things to you that I know you adore. That necklace you got me a year ago? The one of the gold star with the thin chain? I saved it for you, you were the wish I got from the stars I lay under in my childhood and I never want you to forget that.

I know this is selfish and I’ve done every way to rid of this feeling, good and bad. I’ve talked to people, talked to people who have gone through similar things and even talked to you about what helps you. I even started to harm myself. ‘Stupid’, I know. It only made me hide from you. Everything, from you.

My love, I’m sorry for this last burden on you, but after today you can rest happily without the castaway feeling I’ve shone on you the past few months.

I love you forever, y/n.

Y/n’ Pov:

“Shit, shit, shit” the words come out stuttered and repeat as I fling the covers from over my waist, realizing my errors.

Matt was taking a longer time than usual and when I looked at my phone, I realised it had nearly been ten minutes. I started to be confused and wondered what could’ve delayed him for so long. I mentally scan the spare room while I shift so that I can sit on the edge of the bed. I remember the boxes that were scattered and the things that were a mess compared to the other sections of my house. Was that a call for his curiosity? That’s when it hit me. The notes that I had left on the bookshelf was obvious and open for anyone to see. I started to panic.

I instantly flung the rest of the duvet off of me and slide off the mattress, muttering cuss words under my breath. I approached the spare room with a heavy chest and opened the door to meet Matt who was sat down on the bed with one hand holding his hair and the other gripping onto a slip of paper that I immediately recognised. His tears had dampened the paper similar to how mine did whilst writing, filled with heartbreak and torment.

It takes him a second to calm down enough and acknowledge that I had ran into the room, both of us with lingering heavy chests.

“Wha-” His voice escaped his lips in a raspy stutter.

“What the fuck is this?” He asked more firmly, some sort of emotion, thick in his voice. Though I couldn’t pull apart whether it was anger or betrayal, could’ve been both.

I tried to response but all that I was able to communicate were small stutters. My palms became sweaty, and the anxious feeling grew in my stomach on the brink of physical pain.

“y/n, tell me this isn’t what I fucking think it is.” His tone remained harsh and cold, but his tears made it sound brittle.

I didn’t want to say anything in fear of how Matt would react, but my silence answered his question for him.

“You have this all planned, don’t you?” His voice was unwavering making me shrink back into the corner by the door I entered prior.

“Don’t you.” I jolt when his voice becomes flat, making the only distinguishable teller of his emotions the tears that continued to fall past his cheeks.

My head nods in response, the small action making Matt take another shaky breath and face me dead on. He sucks in a harsh breath before facing me and speaking again.

“What’s going on.. wha- wh-..” His voice trails off with a break in his voice, making me internally wince.

“It’s nothing I just..needed an expel of stress..” My voice is monotonous but its shaking through the lies that we both know aren’t true. I just needed time to gather what I wanted to say to him.

“This is more than nothing, talk to me y/n.” When he stands up, I suddenly feel like a rabbit under a predatory stare and with my back against the wall, I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to. He notices a fearful expression in my eyes and creates distance between us, giving me a chance to step forward which I reluctantly took.

I was conflicted between the fear of how he felt towards me and the comfort I found in him, it was tearing me up inside and he could tell my thoughts were scattered. His own thoughts followed.

“Why didn’t you tell me a- any of this.” His words were swallowed harshly, and more tears threatened to spill over and I felt so guilty.

“You have your own shit to deal with. I couldn’t bore you with mine.” I look off to the side with a flat expression overtaken with so many emotions that I had started to shut down.

“Bore me? Baby this is your wellbeing we are talking about. Y-“ He takes a moment to regain his composure again “You could never bore me, especially with something as serious as this” He looks down at the paper, now slightly crumbled from the tight grip Matt had and the tears that fell.

“Is all of this true y/n, I mean the..self-harm”

I take a deep breath and exhale quickly when I nod my head and say yes with a whimper. My palm subconsciously rubs the fabric over my wrist, and I start to shake my hands with the raw shame of what I had done.

“I need you to know something, okay?” I meet his gaze which was full of compassion and for the first time in this conversation, I felt a little safer.

“I’m not mad at you”.

And with that my body practically collapses onto his and I hold his body tight. My arms wrapped around his waist and gripped the fabric while I choked out sobs into his chest. His own hands lay on my back, one holding the paper and the other rubbing the bottom of my neck back and forth. My heart simply broke with the pure kindness Matt still showed for me.

He broke down above me, hearing small sniffles when he lay his head on top of mine. He held most of my weight with his body and he lowered me on the ground and sat next to me, letting my legs rest under the pressure.

“I’d never, ever be mad at you for this, I just wish you came to me to talk about this. Any of it” Some words were mistakenly for others through the tears that ran down his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, i-“

“Hey hey.. look at me.” My eyes try and focus on Matt, but they stutter and shut tight, releasing the tears that blocked my vision. My throat starts to feel tighter and restricts my breathing slightly.

“Don’t apologise, jus- just talk to me.. what’s happened baby”.

I use a free hand to wipe my face and the breathes that I take in are shaky but are enough to relax my body.

“My anxiety just keeps flaring up, to the point where it’s almost constant and in any situation. Its why I’m cancelling so much on you. I keep feeling so guilty whenever I mess up and so after everything built up, I started to- to self-harm and I just kept getting worse. I didn’t want to bother you when you had your own anxiety to cope with” words spill from my mouth in some sort of word vomit, but it was the only way to say what I needed without feeling so overwhelmed.

I had started to scratch at my wrists gently and I didn’t notice until Matt took my hand in his and caressed the skin lightly, his touch allowing me to ground myself.

“Is this why you shut people out?”

“Yeah..it’s why I’ve been cancelling and distant.” I lay my head down onto his, seeking comfort from his touch.

“What can I do?” Calmness starts to rise through his words, getting rid of most the emotion that tore us down a few moments prior.

“What?”

“I want to help you, you don’t deserve this, baby.” The grip on my palm moves to my arm and shoulder and rubs it while pulling me slightly closer.

“You being here is enough. I was so scared to tell anyone about this, I was so paranoid that they would shut me out. But-“ my eyes welled up again but this time it wasn’t for anxiety. I wasn’t shaking anymore, and my throat eased up the pressure, finally letting me take my first stable breath.

“I’ll never leave, I’m always here to listen and talk when you, literally anything you want.”

My hand raises to hug him tighter, but my shirt gets caught on the skin of my scars and makes me wince and pull back.

“Hey, you alright y/n?” he sits up and hold my hand that pulled away from him and grabs the end of the fabric.

“Mhm just pulled some skin I- I’m fine.”

He looks between the hand he holds and my own gaze asking for permission but before he does anything, I pull the shirt back up towards my elbow. I hear a faint gasp from Matt followed by a shaky exhale, realizing the real damage caused by my mental health.

“Let’s bandage this up, yeah?” he stands up beside me and holds his hand before me to help me up, which I oblige.

-

I look at my arm again and my mind clears from my issues. The severity of my actions caused by my own hands. The person I once admired simply was torn through the skin and it was hard for me to look away. I only did when Matt placed his hand on my chin and made me face him, seeing how long I was staring for.

“M’sorry..” a tight-lipped smile crosses his face before he pulls me in for a hug and rubs my back in a soothing way. Falling into a quiet atmosphere.

“I love you, Matt”.

“I love you more, kid.”

We stay in silence for a bit, only breaking it to sniffle from our tears or to adjust ourselves onto one another.

I was finally feeling the peace I craved for months, and I was happy it was with Matt.

© ENDEREIES 2024

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[theetherealbloom]

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM

Chapter One: I Know He's Crazy, But He's The One I Want

Summary: After harboring a crush on your dad's charming best friend, Joel Miller, you graduate college only to be confused by something he supposedly said to you, but then he and his daughter Sarah, reluctantly move away due to his work. Six months later, Joel returns to town, and you're desperate to confirm if his words were real. Both you and your dad eagerly await his arrival but for entirely different reasons. As feelings intensify, you realize that falling for him might not be temporary after all.

Paring: Dbf!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, AGE-GAP Romance, Reader is Early twenties and Joel is in his late 30s to early 40s, Secret Romance, Sneaking around, FLUFF, SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, Heavy Make Out Session, Kissing, Barely any plot, Relationship, Swearing, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Flattery, Awkward, Virgin reader, inexperienced reader, slightly Self Deprecating, Suggestive Content,

Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: Happy “The Tortured Poets Department” release! I couldn’t help but shriek with joy when I heard But Daddy I Love Him. Literally, dad best friend Joel Miller coded. I would like to thank @wheresarizona for dealing with my spam in her messages from me as I was yapping about the new album and gushing over her writing; she’s literally one of the best writers ever. That is a fact and I will die on that hill.

This fic is heavily inspired by all of the dad's best friend books and dbf!Joel Miller fics I have read over the years. It is with great honor (and a lot of fucking fear) to present to you this Frankenstein of all of my fav tropes!

Heads up, I’m actually dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift

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As you walk past the neighboring house, you observe the real estate agent meticulously placing the 'SOLD' banner onto the weathered for sale sign. A strange sense of satisfaction washes over you, knowing that someone has finally purchased the property.

Entering your home, you release a sigh of relief as the familiar comfort washes over you. With a casual toss, your keys and bag find their place on the hallway table. The urge to call out to your dad bubbles up, but it freezes in your throat when you're met with an unexpected sound drifting from his home office.

Your heart quickens as you peek inside, only to find your dad's best friend, Joel Miller, lounging on the plush brown lazy boy. His deep, resonant voice fills the room, sending shivers down your spine even before you lay eyes on him.

Clutching the doorframe for support, you fight to steady your nerves. With trembling fingers, you manage to force a smile onto your lips, though it feels strained. "Hey, Dad. Hey… Joel," you manage to squeak, the mere sound of his name stirring a flurry of emotions within you.

The room feels stiflingly quiet as you wait for a response, the weight of Joel's gaze almost tangible. You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as his intense eyes meet yours. His attention feels almost palpable, his gaze lingering on you in a way that sends a rush of warmth through your body. With a low, almost imperceptible grunt of acknowledgment, Joel's gaze finally breaks away, leaving you breathless in his wake.

You try to avert your gaze out of sheer habit, but it's futile, like trying not to be drawn to the most captivating, exquisite sight in existence.

God, it's as if he's been carved from pure perfection, each time you lay eyes on him.

That same intense, brooding look he wore the day of your college graduation, late last year, still grips you. And it seems Joel's gaze has the same effect on your dad, eliciting a familiar reaction. With a quick double-take, your dad shoots a glance at his best friend before swiveling in his seat.

"Hey there, sweetheart, just catching up with Joel. He dropped by for a surprise visit," your dad starts, but he halts mid-sentence, noticing your undeniable reaction. Concern etches his features as he addresses you. "Honey?" he prompts, his voice laced with worry, as you struggle to find your voice for the umpteenth time in mere seconds.

Joel's gaze narrows, his jaw clenching as his intense scrutiny roams over you, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

As you cling to the doorframe, you can't help but notice the subtle movement of Joel's prominent Adam's apple, betraying his own unease.

Breaking the tension, your dad's nervous chuckle pierces the silence, attributing my apparent moodiness to your usual banter. He turns back to Joel, commenting on his friend's expression.

"What's going on with you two?" he quips, his tone shifting from light-hearted to serious in an instant. "Feels like there's some dirty secret between you," your dad adds, the jest evaporating from his voice. Yet, Joel remains unfazed by your dad's observation, his gaze still locked onto you as a faint smile curves his lips.

His lips curl into a smirk, accentuating the charming dimple that appears in his slightly scruffy beard whenever he smiles—a sight that never fails to tug at your heartstrings.

But as your dad's suspicion lingers in the air, Joel's demeanor shifts, yet you still struggle to connect the dots regarding why he's been giving you that look since graduation.

That day was meant to mark a pivotal moment in your life, celebrating the culmination of years of hard work in college. Yet, Joel's presence, the way he gazed at you, and the unexpected intensity of his hug during the congratulations... It's forever etched in your memory for reasons beyond the academic achievement.

And at the center of it all is one word: Joel.

He's a towering figure, a mix of solid muscle and the comforting softness of his belly. In the moment, you brushed off his tight embrace after receiving your diploma as merely the enthusiasm of the occasion.

But as you felt his whole body pressing right into yours during that hug, you knew it wasn’t your regular type of embrace.

“I’m so proud of you, darlin’,” he whispered in your ear. And though you didn’t catch his next words as clearly, you're certain he said something else that day. “…You feel so fuckin’ good….”

At least, that's what you've been convincing yourself he said. You recall gazing up into those big brown eyes, the same intense look he's giving you now, and wondering the same thing. How could an older, dangerously attractive man like Joel be even remotely interested in someone like you? Apart from being your dad’s best friend, he's more than twice your age and lives on the other side of the country with his daughter, Sarah.

You can almost picture the scandalized gasps of the single older women and ex-wives in your town, clutching their pearls and whispering, "What a mess," if you and Joel ever got together; if he was even remotely interested in you like that.

But you've replayed that scene in your mind every day since, and no matter how hard you try, there's just no denying your secret crush on him.

It all started long before college, your feelings for Joel simmering beneath the surface. Back then, you couldn't quite grasp what it was you felt for him. All you knew was that it felt right, and that feeling remains unchanged. Despite the nerves and shyness that being around him brings, there's another undeniable effect he has on you.

Like the overwhelming desire to sink back and beg him to indulge in things that his best friend's daughter probably shouldn't be fantasizing about. It's been a while since you last saw Joel, but he still exudes the same charm and looks even more handsome and fit than before, thanks to his job in construction as a contractor.

And when you receive that same look from him today, when your dad even jokes about his suspicions, you know Joel remembers that day too. The intensity in his eyes mirrors the moment he pulled you close, a memory etched as your most cherished moment so far.

"Well, I reckon’ my presence here might come as a bit of a surprise," Joel rasps, his gaze locked with yours as he emits a low chuckle for your dad's benefit. Unnoticed by your dad, Joel shoots you a sly wink, and you watch as your dad's tension melts away. He's relieved to know he wasn't imagining things, and undoubtedly thrilled once he hears Joel's news. "I'm moving here, right next door with Sarah. Tommy should be dropping her off here tomorrow," he announces with enthusiasm, but you feel the pit of your stomach drop.

Joel... here? For good? Oh, fuck.

Your dad erupts into loud whoops, raising both hands in the air. "It's about time, buddy! I knew you were keeping something from me," he adds, turning to you once again. "You were aware of this?" he asks, furrowing his brow with a hint of confusion. 

"You knew Joel and Sarah were coming to town, didn’t you?" Dad repeats, finally grinning like a child at the news. Smiling like a dad who's pushed aside any notion of his best friend showing interest in his only daughter. And you catch a sly grin on Joel’s face as he comes to your rescue. "Oh, I mentioned I might pay a visit. Buttercup here wasn't aware of the specifics or that Sarah and I would be relocatin’ back here," he explains to your dad.

But when Joel smoothly fibs to your dad, insinuating that you were aware of his impending move back to town, even though it caught you completely off guard, he seals an instant and secret pact between the two of you with a single glance. His deep brown eyes wink at you, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. You realize you're in deeper trouble than you initially thought. And strangely enough, it's the kind of trouble you welcome with open arms.

In that fleeting moment, a silent understanding passes between you and Joel. With just a wink from him, your chest flutters with excitement, and a wave of anticipation rushes through you, leaving you feeling unexpectedly aroused at the prospect of having him nearby all the time. You're fully committed now, Joel's lie to his best friend serving as a shield for both of you, deflecting attention away from the undeniable tension between you.

"Sarah called last week," you fabricate, deciding to play along with Joel's deception. "As we were chatting, Joel mentioned something about visiting. It must've slipped my mind to mention it to you," you explain to your dad, hoping he'll buy into the white lie. Joel's low growl of contentment as he leans back, causing the leather chair to creak, reassures you that he approves of your little ruse.

Your dad's elation at the news of his best friend's return to their quaint little town is palpable, enough to overshadow any scolding he might have had for your omission about Sarah and Joel's supposed call.

But the truth remains: Sarah never called, and Joel's mysterious behavior is raising more questions than answers.

A surprise visit is one thing, but the intensity of Joel's gaze? The way he makes you feel? It's enough to give your long-standing crush on him a serious run for its money.

"But damn, Sarah will be here tomorrow?" your dad groans before chuckling. "A bit more notice would've been nice, but hell, it'll be good to see you, buddy."

"Listen, I've got something I can't postpone tomorrow. Maybe my daughter here could accompany you to pick up Sarah from the airport?" your dad suggests, turning his attention towards you.

Somewhere behind you, a strange sound escapes—it's you, emitting a sort of mewling noise that you know Joel catches, his smile widening in response.

"Sounds perfect," he agrees before you even have a chance to process it.

"Sweetie?" your dad asks, his tone sheepish now that he's volunteered you without asking if you were available.

You can only watch as the room seems to spin around you, nodding in agreement. "Yeah... sure, I don't have any tutoring sessions tomorrow."

"Perfect!" your dad sighs with relief, promising Joel they'll catch up later. "But I really need to get back to the shop. Are you alright here with her to help you settle into your new house with whatever you brought? The rest of your stuff hasn't arrived yet."

"Yeah, we'll be just fine," Joel assures in his trademark baritone, locking eyes with you.

You were so fixated on Joel's presence that you hadn't noticed the bags by the side of the home office.

"Sweetie? You sure you're okay to help? You look kind of..." your dad starts, but you take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before replying, "Yeah, I'll be fine. We'll be fine. I can help."

"Alright then," your dad grabs his car keys, ready to leave the home office. He gives you both a final glance, kissing the top of your head. "I'll be back for dinner. Have fun, you two!"

You and Joel remain frozen in place, him on one side of the room and you by the doorway, both listening to your dad's fading footsteps and the rumble of his truck as he drives away.

You’re so fucked.

It's been six long months since you last saw each other, and for Joel, it's felt like an eternity. The day of your graduation marked the first time he laid eyes on you in over three years, and it was as if he was seeing you for the very first time.

You've grown into a remarkable adult, and Joel couldn't help but feel the overwhelming need to be there, not only for his buddy, your dad, but also for his sweet Buttercup. Witnessing his little girl all grown up and ready to embark on her journey into the world with her diploma was a moment he'll never forget. He'd never seen his best friend prouder, yet his gaze lingered on you for entirely different reasons.

Reasons and desires that had never crossed Joel's mind until that day. He couldn't resist pulling you close, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his.

What was he thinking? Surely, everyone could see the effect you had on him.

But Joel wasn't thinking, he was acting on instinct. He was claiming what he knew belonged to him. Telling you he was proud of you was one thing, but he's still unsure if you heard what else he said about how good you felt in his arms.

Yet, he doesn't regret it. Because it was true then, and it remains true now. He just wishes he knew if you felt the same way. If you felt it in the same way he did. But how could you possibly feel the same way about him as he has about you these past six months?

Joel couldn't deny that there were many reasons why the relationship between you was complicated. For one, there was the age difference - you were more than half his age. Apart from having the kind of body he could grip, suck and fuck for a lifetime, additionally, you were his best friend's daughter, a bond that ran deep and could not be ignored.

That day, Joel took a risk, blurring the lines and potentially jeopardizing not just his friendship with your dad, but also the bond he shared with you by being so affectionate.

Surprisingly, you didn't seem to mind his gestures, and Joel was convinced that your dad hadn't even noticed. Despite the undeniable attraction he felt towards you, a feeling that lingered and intensified with every thought of you, Joel couldn't shake the worry that his actions might have caused a rift.

As days turned into weeks without any word from your dad, Joel's mind raced with doubts. He couldn't help but question if you had confided in your father about his behavior. Perhaps your dad had sensed Joel's infatuation with you, leading to a silence that spoke volumes.

Intrusive thoughts plagued Joel, wondering if you had been uncomfortable with his displays of affection. The fear that you might have someone else in your life to hold onto gnawed at him, leaving him restless and anxious about the potential consequences of his actions.

Joel and your dad used to share conversations daily, a bond that time and life's demands have gradually weakened, particularly with Sarah still navigating middle school. They both acknowledge the need to reconnect more often, yet something always seems to intervene.

But Joel's decision to visit your father in person wasn't impulsive; it was a deliberate choice, driven by a desire to stay for good this time.

No more fleeting visits. This time, it's permanent.

And it's all because of you.

Since your graduation day, you've occupied Joel's thoughts relentlessly. It's more than just an obsession; you're the sole focus of his mind, consuming his every waking moment.

You are the only thing he can fucking think about.

Joel would never dare voice his thoughts to your dad, not just because of his feelings, but also because your father had a history of using his fists to settle matters. If he even suspected a fraction of what Joel's mind was consumed with regarding his daughter... Well, Joel would never be allowed in your home, with your dad likely ensuring Joel carried a permanent reminder of his displeasure.

Despite his reluctance to keep secrets from his lifelong friend, Joel's motivation to act stems from a burning need that is beyond his mere desire to reunite with you.

He doesn't just want to see you again; he craves it with a fervor that borders on desperation. And the only way to satisfy this yearning is to summon the courage to ask for more.

Reconnecting with your dad was pleasant, but the sight of you, standing in the doorway of the home office, unleashes a torrent of emotions within Joel. It's as though he's been trapped in a deep freeze for the past six months, and your mere presence ignites a firestorm within him.

Every curve of your silhouette, every strand of hair framing your face, fuels Joel's desire until it simmers beyond control, all for you.

As you watched him, his gaze never wavered from your presence, taking in the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. He was grateful for the chair that supported him, as he felt the insanely hard erection you gave him.

Your natural grace and beauty had left him breathless, and he struggled to maintain his composure.

All from just being yourself. All without you even trying to do anything. 

You really are just fucking perfect in every way.

You're now an adult, poised to embrace all the challenges and pleasures that adulthood entails. The mere thought sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through you once more, evoking memories of his touch on that unforgettable graduation day.

The intoxicating blend of his woodsy cologne, the creak of his well-worn leather jacket, and the soft fabric of his grey tee shirt against your skin linger in your mind, igniting a longing for more.

The sensation that floods Joel as he lays eyes on you in person after so long defies description.

It takes all his willpower to resist the impulse to stride over and scoop you up, succumbing to the overwhelming desire to claim you as his own and to drag you into your bedroom. But he restrains himself, clinging to the last shreds of his resolve, waiting for any sign from you that you're ready for his embrace.

When your gaze meets his, he witnesses the hitch in your breath, and he can't help but murmur, "Come here, sweetheart." Your response is like a magnetic pull, drawing you into his strong, steadfast arms. As you melt into his embrace, he's struck by the sense of finally being home. You are his home now.

Joel inhales the sweet fragrance of your hair, longing to whisper countless sentiments into your perfect little ear nestled so close to his mouth.

But all he can muster, without risking scaring you away, is a simple declaration in his southern drawl, "I missed you, my little buttercup."

You bury your face into his checkered flannel, your words muffled against his shirt as you confess, "I missed you too, Joel."

Your body instinctively gravitates towards his, fueled by both necessity and reflex. The memory of his last embrace has haunted your thoughts for the past six months, and as his massive, comforting arms envelop you once more, it feels as though you're picking up right where you left off. He feels even better than you remembered, and the mingling scents of his cologne and freshly laundered clothes stir a desire within you to cling to him forever.

Reluctantly, he releases you from the hug, clearing his throat as you take a small step back, managing to squeak out, “Do you want a cup of coffee before you get settled in your new house? You look kinda tired.”

“Sure,” Joel nods, and you sense him hovering behind you as you descend the staircase and enter the kitchen. You can feel his eyes tracing your movements from behind.

You busy yourself preparing the coffee as Joel sets his things down, knowing it'll provide the perfect opportunity to sit down and have a proper conversation.

As Joel takes a seat at the table, his gaze remains fixed on your curves as you move around the kitchen. In that moment, he realizes there's no way he can stay in this house for more than an hour, without confessing his feelings to you.

“You got a boyfriend?”

The sudden question nearly causes you to spill hot water all over your hand, and you freeze, feeling a slight tremble coursing through you.

“Well?” Joel's deep voice sends shivers down your spine, as if you're caught in the midst of the most exhilarating earthquake imaginable. Your mouth hangs open, unsure of how to respond.

“Boyfriend or not?” he repeats, his tone commanding. “Not,” you answer instantly, not minding the question one bit, especially when you see its effect on Joel.

“Good. Perfect,” he rumbles in a low tone.

Turning back to the kitchen counter, the clinking of ceramic cups fills the room, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as the heat spreads throughout your body and to the tips of your ears.

“Cream and sugar?” you ask, turning your head just long enough to inquire.

The sight of your body shifting under your clothes already ignites fantasies in Joel's mind, imagining all the ways he could pleasure you, even right there on your dad's kitchen floor if you desired.

“Joel?” you prompt, breaking him out of his daydream.

“Uh… Sure. Cream and sugar,” he echoes, noticing your continued blush and slight trembling as you prepare the cups. As you approach him with the coffee, the sudden sound of your dad's voice startles you, causing you to drop one cup, which shatters on the floor.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" he asks, concern etched on his face as he rushes to the sink to run cold water over the affected area.

"I'm fine, Dad. Really," you reply, trying to hide your embarrassment.

"I thought you were gone," you add, unable to keep the annoyance out of your voice.

"I just forgot something. I came back to get it," your father explains, his eyes darting nervously between you and Joel.

Your father's gaze is fixed on Joel, his eyes narrowing as he takes in Joel's obvious concern for you. Anyone could see the way Joel feels about you, and your father's disapproval is palpable.

But you're not a child anymore, and you're tired of your father's disapproval. "Dad, I'm fine. You just startled me, that's all. Why do you always have to sneak up on me like that?" you ask, trying to keep the anger out of your voice.

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but the words don't come. He sighs and shakes his head, gathering the pieces of the broken cup and tossing them in the trash on his way out. The sound of his car speeding away speaks volumes.

"Maybe I should go," Joel suggests, but you wave off his concern.

"Don't worry about my dad. He's been weird ever since I graduated from college," you say, dismissing his concerns.

But Joel knows that your father's suspicions go back further than just this morning. He moves to help you clean up the mess on the floor, ignoring the broken glass and coffee spill. Gently, he takes your hand in his, wincing at the stinging and burn.

"Let's get this under some cold water," he says, leading you to the sink. You lean back against him as he guides your hand under the icy flow, your body yielding to his touch.

"Feel better?" he asks, his voice low and soothing. You nod, leaning into him as the cold water soothes your burn.

Joel's heart races as he holds you, feeling your warmth against him. He knows that your father doesn't approve of him, but he can't help how he feels. He's fallen for you, hard, and he's not going to let your father's disapproval get in the way.

"It feels better now," you whisper, your breath sending shivers down Joel's spine. He moves closer to you, feeling the pressure of your back against his aching cock.

"I can't help but notice how your body is responding to mine," Joel says, his voice low and husky.

"Should we start over?" he asks, leaning down so his mouth is close to your ear.

"You mean with the coffee?" you ask, playing coy. But your body is telling a different story.

"I mean starting over without your dad around," Joel clarifies, moving his hand to stroke the back of your neck.

You turn to face him, looking up into his deep brown eyes. "Just stay," you say, biting your lip.

Joel nods, his hands resting on your hips. "I'm not going anywhere, darlin'," he promises. "I'll be right next door, whenever you need me."

You stand there, close enough to kiss, but Joel holds back. He wants to savor this moment, to make it last.

"I meant what I said that day you graduated," Joel whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "You feel so fucking good."

His words send a jolt of electricity through your body. You feel his arousal pressing against your back, and he grips your hips, pulling you closer.

You plead with Joel to stay, not just because of how the morning has unfolded but because deep down, you need him by your side.

The words you long to say to Joel linger on the tip of your tongue, but the rush of emotions leaves you speechless. Your heart races as you grapple with the intensity of your feelings, unsure of how to express them.

As you run your hand under the cold water, trying to steady your nerves, you suggest preparing the spare room as a distraction. Anything to divert your thoughts and feelings that are swirling inside you.

The tension between you and Joel crackles in the air, the unspoken desire palpable. His longing mirrors your own, creating a charged atmosphere that leaves you both on edge.

"Is your hand goin' to be okay?" Joel's voice is laced with concern as he looks at you, and you nod in response.

"It's just a minor burn from the coffee," you murmur, trying to focus on the task.

"Shall I make us more coffee?" Joel offers, already cleaning up the mess on the floor. But your attention is drawn to the undeniable presence pressing against your back, sending a rush of sensations through you.

Your heart races as you realize the extent of Joel's desire, his arousal evident in every inch of his being.

"I'm not tired," Joel says, his voice low and intimate as he picks up the broken pieces of the mug.

"And I meant what I said earlier," he adds, his tone dropping to a husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

The intensity of the moment overwhelms you, making it hard to focus on anything else. You should feel embarrassed, and remind him of boundaries, but the magnetic pull between you is undeniable.

"What did you mean?" you ask, a hint of defiance in your voice, craving his words like a drug.

His lips curl into a knowing smile as he repeats his earlier statement, his gaze lingering on you suggestively.

"You feel so good," Joel says, his words sending a surge of heat through you, your cheeks flushing with desire.

"Is that why you came back?" you inquire, emboldened by the charged atmosphere between you.

"What do you think?" Joel replies, closing the distance between you, the space crackling with unspoken promises and desires.

You feel trapped, torn between your desires and the weight of your past.

Your hands tremble as you press them against Joel's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. You slide your fingers down, curling around a button on his flannel shirt.

"My dad, for Sarah," you croak, your voice barely above a whisper. Joel takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling beneath your touch.

"I didn't come back to town just to see your dad," he says, his voice low and steady. "But I don't want to make you uncomfortable either."

He pauses, taking another deep breath before he continues. "What I mean is, what I'm tryin’ to ask you, is could you have feelings for an older man? A man like me, maybe?"

His eyes bore into yours, a half-smile playing at the corners of his lips. You know what he's asking, and your heart races at the thought of giving in to your desires.

"I want to hear it from your lips," he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine.

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "I like you a lot, Joel," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. "But?" he prompts, giving you an out if you need it.

You look up at Joel, your eyes pleading with him to make the decision for you. But there's no hesitation in his gaze. He leans in, pressing his warm lips against your hand, and you feel a jolt of electricity shoot through your body.

"Does it feel like this?" he asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, unable to find the words to describe the heat that's building inside you.

"Do you really want me, darlin'?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. You moan, unable to contain your desire any longer.

"Yes," you gasp, your voice barely audible. "Yes, I want you."

Joel growls, a low, primal sound that sends shivers down your spine. He presses your hand against his stiff erection, and you can feel the heat and hardness of him through his jeans.

You trace the outline of his cock with your fingers, forgetting all about the burn on your hand, the hot coffee, and even your dad and his house. All that matters is the feel of Joel's body against yours, the heat and hardness of him that you've longed for since graduation day.

"Then come here," he growls, leaning down further and taking your face in his palm. You shudder one last breath of uncertainty before the warmth of his mouth over yours means neither of you will ever have to ask that question again.

Joel's lips are soft and tender, but his kiss is urgent and demanding. You feel yourself melting into him, your body responding to his touch with a hunger you've never felt before.

His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour, as if he's been waiting for this moment for years. You respond in kind, your hands tugging at his flannel shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

The heat between you builds, until you're both panting and gasping for breath. Joel's hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that make you dizzy with desire.

Joel can't help himself as he lifts you up and sets you down on the kitchen counter, your legs wrapped around him as he devours your mouth with his own. His hands roam your body, feeling the curves and contours of your figure as if for the first time.

You respond eagerly, your hands tangled in his hair as you deepen the kiss. Joel's touch sends waves of pleasure through your body, and you can feel yourself growing wet with desire.

Joel's hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that make you gasp with pleasure. You arch your back, pressing yourself against him as you feel his hardness against your thigh.

He makes you purr and moan, fulfilling every fantasy you've ever had. Your hands move down to his throbbing cock, gripping and squeezing him through his denim, but you both know this is just the beginning.

Joel has already crossed the line he set for himself, unable to resist the pull between you. He wants more than just a physical connection; he wants all of you, your heart, your soul, your everything.

He envisions a future with you, a life where you're by his side, where you're free to be yourself, to indulge in every desire and dream. He wants to give you a home, a place where you can be truly happy, where the two of you can explore each other endlessly.

As you catch your breath, Joel eases his hold on you, sensing the need for a moment of clarity. Your smile and the flush in your cheeks speak volumes, reassuring him that you're on the same page.

"Holy shit," you exclaim, breathless and exhilarated. Your hands rest on his chest, feeling the strength and warmth of him beneath your touch.

Joel exhales slowly, realizing he may have moved too quickly for you. "Too much, darlin'?" he asks with a chuckle, relieved when you giggle and nod in agreement.

But he sees the worry in your eyes, the need for understanding and space. You grip his flannel, pulling him close for a quick kiss, your words a mix of desire and uncertainty.

"I want this... I want you, Joel. I do," you confess, your voice filled with longing and hesitation.

"Just... not right now, not like this," you trail off, and Joel finishes your sentence, understanding the need for time and space to process everything.

He lifts you off the counter, noting how light you feel in his arms. He watches you pace the kitchen, a mix of emotions playing across your face. He settles on a stool, giving you the space you need to sort through your thoughts.

"I didn't think you were leading me on, and I didn't mean to be so forward," Joel says, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Take your time, process everythin’ darlin’.”

Joel's phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he knows it's your father. He takes a deep breath and answers the call, trying to sound casual. You've stopped pacing but still look dazed, as if you're trying to process what just happened between us.

"Hey, man," Joel greets, hearing your father's voice from his car, still on his way to the office.

"Joel, I'm sorry for how I acted earlier. I guess I'm the one who needs a nap, but I can't afford the time right now," he says, sounding sincere.

Your father has always been honest and upfront, and Joel feels a mix of pride and guilt as he listens to his apology. He knows that your dad will be upset once he finds out about the two of you, but until then, Joel thinks it's best to keep your secret a little longer.

"You don't have to apologize, buddy," Joel says, trying to reassure him. "When do you finish work today?" he asks, already thinking about the time they have left alone together.

More time to take things slow? Joel isn't sure. He wants to savor every moment with you, but he also can't wait to explore every inch of your body.

As your father continues to talk, Joel watches you, his mind filled with thoughts of the two of you together. He knows that things will get complicated soon, but for now, he's happy to be in your presence, to feel your warmth and energy.

"Yeah, I'll see you then," Joel says, ending the call and turning to you. "Are you okay?" he asks, taking a step closer to you.

You nod, still looking dazed, and Joel wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. He knows that the two of you have a lot to talk about, but for now, he's content to hold you, to feel your heart beating against his chest.

The future may be uncertain, but Joel knows one thing for sure - he's never felt this way about anyone before, and he's not about to let you go.

As Joel holds you close, your head resting on his chest, you finally voice the question that's been lingering between you.

"I guess we can't do this sort of thing around my Dad, huh?" you ask, your voice soft against his skin.

Joel strokes your hair gently, his heart full of emotions he never thought he'd feel again. He marvels at how easily and perfectly this moment has unfolded, how right it feels to have you in his arms.

"We probably shouldn't, not yet," Joel replies, his voice tinged with longing. He feels you nod in agreement, and he knows that keeping this secret will be a challenge.

Joel had left town to escape the past, to build a new future for himself and his daughter Sarah. But now, as he returns to the place where it all began, he realizes that his future is intertwined with yours.

He sees a future with you, a life filled with love and possibility. He dreams of a family with you, of building something lasting and meaningful together.

As he holds you in his arms, feeling the warmth of your body against his, Joel knows that this is just the beginning. 

As you and Joel waste no time getting settled in the new house, the air crackles with anticipation. Joel turns the key in the door, and as you step inside, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of desire.

Without a word, you set down his bag, and Joel takes your hand, pulling you close. He lifts you effortlessly, spinning you around in a dizzying whirl of passion and need.

The lock clicks shut, sealing you both in a world of raw desire and longing. The house feels like a sanctuary, a place where only you and Joel exist, at least for the next hour or so.

"Aren't you gonna show me around first? I had no idea the inside was so nice," you giggle, your head spinning from the intensity of his touch and the day's events.

"I thought you might like to show me around... your sweet fuckin’ body," Joel rasps in your ear before claiming your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss. Each touch, each kiss, ignites a fire within you, driving you to the edge of reason.

"You tell me if it gets too much, alright darlin'?" Joel murmurs between kisses, his strong arms wrapped around you. You nod eagerly, your body craving his touch, his presence.

With your legs wrapped around his waist, you gravitate towards the nearest soft surface, a luxurious leather sofa in the living room. Joel stops in front of it, but you're consumed by the need for him, the hunger for his touch.

You try to nod, talk, and kiss him all at once, but the overwhelming desire he stirs in you leaves you breathless and unable to form coherent words. "Yeah... fuck... yes, I will," you pant, your body arching into his touch as he explores every inch of you.

Joel lowers you onto the couch, his eyes fixed on you with a hunger that matches your own. He drops to his knees in front of you, parting your legs with a firm grip, his gaze locked on your body with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

“I’m gonna eat your little pussy, make you come until you beg me to stop,” he says in a firm tone.

His hands move with purpose, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you. You gasp and groan as he explores every inch of you, his fingers and tongue setting your body ablaze with pleasure.

As he delves deeper, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, you feel a wave of pleasure building within you, each touch pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

You writhe and moan under his touch, your body responding to his every move with a hunger that matches his own. The room fills with the sounds of your pleasure, the air thick with desire and need.

His elbows prop your knees wide, and half-reclined on the worn leather, you can't help but feel a thrill at the sensations coursing through your body.

The scent of old leather and his cologne mingles with the musk of your arousal, creating a heady mix that only heightens your desire. You're ready for Joel, and you know it won't take long for him to bring you to the edge.

With a rough yank, he tears your panties aside, the sound of fabric rending adding to your arousal. You never knew you could feel this horny, and every moment with Joel only intensifies your desire.

He takes a moment to admire your slick folds, his thick fingers gently parting your lips. You grip his silver-flecked curls tighter as he moves down to taste you, your body trembling with anticipation.

Your moans fill the room, mingling with Joel's deep groans of pleasure. His tongue finds its mark, and you can't help but cry out, your body writhing under his touch.

Joel's mouth covers you completely, his tongue replacing his fingers as he explores every inch of your sex. You're on the brink of climax, your body trembling with need.

"Be patient, darlin'," Joel whispers hoarsely, his voice filled with desire. He grips your thighs, pushing them wider apart until his massive head is pressed between them.

You shift your grip to his broad shoulders, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"Joel... Joel," you moan, trying to tell him how close you are, how much you want him. But all that comes out are animalistic sounds of pleasure.

Joel's body quakes with silent laughter, his voice deep and reassuring as he promises you can come all night. You trace the outline of his jaw, your body trembling with need as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

If heaven exists, you're sure you've found it in Joel's arms.

AN: I'm such a fool to think that this would be a one-shot... ya'll this is now a mini-series. Don't worry... this will be a two to three-chapter kinda series. 🤍

[chimimon]

What Gave Me Away?

Astarion x f!Reader

Word Count 9.5k

Disclaimer! What you are about to read contains the following: GAMEPLAY SPOILERS! & ROMANCING ASTARION SPOILERS! Mentions of canonical violence, Astarion POV, angst, with comfort (it ends nice I promise), slow burn, depictions of anxiety, depression, anger, insecurity, guilt, manipulation, blood drinking (of course), and it’s long as fuuuuuuu

& what I have to say is… As it turned out, I had played all of Act 2 out of order, and stopped doing that before I did some irreversible damage to my Moonrise Tower to-do list. Which means when I began to write this fic EVERYTHING WAS OUT OF ORDER. It still might be but idgaf anymore. Even the mf confession scene (I WIN! I WIN AND I DIDN’T EVEN TRY TO CHARM THAT VAMPIRE MF) I was sitting in my room, phone on my chest, Baldurs Gate in my hands googling ‘what to do before moonrise’, ‘moonrise or mausoleum first in bg3’, because I explored much more than I should have, apparently… So this fic has been Frankenstein-ed to death, and the word count has greatly exceeded my expectations. It’s kind of my baby so be nice and give it a little love if you like it… or don’t! I appreciate you either way. And Special thanks to E.P. for the prompt and her friend in SoCal because I was about to screw myself OVEEERRR!

Everything seemed bleak on the way to the Light Inn. Nothing magical or charming about the glowing mushrooms anymore and the air felt as thick as water. Astarion faithfully trudged behind you through the mud, uneven trails, and hostile shadowy figures. But sometimes you would squint at the marker on the map or linger a little longer than you should have. He would watch you squeeze your right hand with your left as you studied the hastily blotted spot, then you would trace the drawn pathway with your left hand while the right one would cover and squeeze your mouth. Beyond scenery, and new objectives, everyone was adapting. They had to; he had to. But you were changing faster than others, faster than him, and much faster than he could keep track of. 

Astarion felt like he was watching you disappear, or feeling you slip out of his hands the way blood from deep wounds squeezed between desperately closed fingers. From kind traveler, comforter, and hopefully hopeless leader, you burned with a desire to be it all. In front of other wandering bodies, the mere strangers swimming through the Underdark, Astarion watched you hold this fire with outstretched, kerosene-soaked hands, just to give someone else light. You might never see these people again, but you did it anyways, even if all it did was burn. Whether it be fighting at some poor soul's side or offering words of comfort, once the rescuee turned to leave Astarion watched to see whatever leftover flame danced in your palms. Some nights he couldn’t even call it that despite you cradling it close to your chest. 

Often times Astarion thought of taking over your dealings even if it meant they’d get a little lost in his blind, apathetic advice. He knew that you were the most levelheaded person to lead but gods you started to look as lost as he already felt. The Inn was just a bridge away, before it was it was a group of protective Harpers away. Before anyone could find a place to lay their heads Astarion felt his patience thin when having to save Isobel was thrown into the mix. But you fought fearlessly. Always saving people without a second to spare, or a second to think. 

Lately, Astarion wondered just where you had been all these years. 

“If possible,” you spoke in soft whispers to Jaheira about your accommodations. “Could I have a single room for tonight? I-I can pay I just-” 

With a quick hand over yours and a warm smile, Jaheira reassured you that after keeping their Selûne Warrior safe, the least she could do was let you have a room to yourself. “It has two beds, but you can push them together for one big one.” You nodded and thanked her with a long breath out. 

Astarion for a moment pretended to be looking at a patron nearby as you walked toward him. But he couldn’t help trying to keep you in scene before you could arrive. Trying to read your shoulders, eyes brows and hands. Truthfully Astarion was looking for something soft in your inventory; he wondered if tonight you might have anything to spare. 

“If you’re hungry,” your worn out, dim voice and all-knowing watch cut in. “You can feed on me tonight if you’d like.” 

“I was just so hoping you’d ask. But are you really looking for alone time?” Giving you a tilted head and lopsided glance was enough to tell him where he stood. “Or are you looking for alone time with me, darling?” 

“I was going to pretend you weren’t obviously eavesdropping, but you’d love that wouldn’t you?” You were warm enough to keep up with a quirked a brow and an equally lazy grin. “After today I feel like everyone can smell me from outside the Inn. So, until I can shower... I don’t even want to think about doing anything other than sleeping in a bed.” 

“I’m sure you don’t.” He whisked behind you and whispered, “But if change your mind, at least think of me.” 

“Aha, I’ll be seeing you later,” the back of your hand smacked your forehead as though you were swooning. “Tonight.” 

A small guilt tugged at his chest before you nodded off and up the stairs. Astarion would lounge around in the waiting area while Karlach gushed over Jaheira from afar. Shadowheart walked alongside her to study the Inn with wholehearted skepticism. Audibly muttering her thoughts about the moon maiden, the area as a whole, and how Shar’s worshippers must have had their reasons. She broke away from Karlach and headed to Astarion with her eyes stuck to Jaheira. “We should probably get to our room them?” 

“Right.” 

On cue, Karlach caught them both headed up the stairs and followed. She waved to Jaheira, still gushing. “Gods isn’t this exciting- oh, hey? Where’d our little leader go?” Karlach asked upon arrival. 

“She might’ve beat us to bed.” Shadowheart smiled. “I wouldn’t blame her if she’s fast asleep, she’s earned it.” 

Astarion thought about letting them know about your requested ‘alone time’ but figured you would come around to telling them after they find you. 

Little drops of drying water decorated the wooden floor in a trail that led down the stairs. Astarion followed the trail with his eyes alongside Karlach who noticed it too. “Wait, Shadowheart,” she called. 

None of them had noticed you pass by with freshly washed hair and a towel around your shoulders.  They all backtracked down the staircase, Karlach stood near a game of chess, Shadowheart by the banister, and Astarion some feet behind you while you knelt in front of a hairless cat. You seemed more at ease tonight. 

“Hello, your highness.” You let your hand keep you steady on the ground as you spoke. “I’ve come to admire your beauty.” The cat sat tall and proud, lifting his head so you can awe at his hairless self. “And what a beautiful cat indeed.” You cooed without reaching to touch the animal. 

The cat nodded and swiftly made its way over to its bed, dismissing you with its whole, hairless body. You stood up, stretched your arms above your head before catching the group lounging nearby. Nothing was said as you politely waved to everyone before turning your attention to a man and child playing chess. 

From behind you couldn’t tell just then who you were looking at but as you rounded the table to get a good view of the game, Raphael and Mol, the Tiefling child who spoke on everyone's behalf earlier, seemed to be in a heated match. Raphael was going to win despite giving Mol pointers. If anything, his pointers were just to remind Mol that she was going to lose no matter the move. 

The child's pouting seemed to give you an idea. You took a drawn-out stretch being sure to overextend your arms and back. Astarion knew exactly what you were doing before you ‘lost your balance’ and knocked into the board. The pieces tipped and rolled in every direction and Raphael shot a knowing look at you, only turning back to the board after his opponent had pieced it back together. 

“Well, go on, Mol.” The devil muttered. 

With one move Mol won the game and shot up from their seat. “Well, that settles it. Fair and square!” They exclaimed proudly. 

“Sure, fair and square.” Raphael nodded up to you. “But before you go,” Mol looked over her shoulder. “Think about my offer.” 

Up and away she went while Raphael turned to his leftover audience. “Fancy seeing you all here, and so far away from the sun.” 

“I didn’t know you struck up deals with children.” Your tone surprised Astarion. 

“Don’t you worry, it’s only a necessary evil. She’ll come around to the only option she has,” Raphael expectantly looked past you to Astarion. “But I have a feeling your little friend has a question they want to ask me.” 

“I do,” Astarion’s eye contact wavered. “I have a proposal.” Raphael mocked him before mentioning something about his how drinking blood would burn more than whiskey. “This is serious business, devil.” Astarion hardened his voice as he explained the runes. From the corner of his eye, he watched you stiffly fold your arms and size Raphael up with a glare. Astarion felt some comfort in that. “I want to know if it’s maybe a contract...” 

“Well, what could it be?” Raphael melodically taunted. “A lover letter, a deed, a contract?” He waved his hand in front of Astarion’s face like he was introducing the opening act in a play. “But I need time to think. I will have to get back to you on that.” 

Astarion whined, reiterating just how serious this was to him before asking, “Just how soon will you get back to me on that?” 

“Soon.” 

At some point you fidgeted with the fabric of the towel around your neck before steadily pulling it to one side of your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” the devil reassured both of you, “I am most inclined to help.” With dramatic flair, Raphael disappeared in a quick plume of smoke. 

All eyes but yours turned to Astarion, and Astarion with his on you. It was clear that Raphael’s attitude had rubbed you the wrong way as you blankly stared at the spot he vanished from. “I’ll get back to you on that.” you mumbled. Your damp hair had soaked into the neck of your top. The towel dangled in your balled fist at your hip. The cool breeze sent shivers up your neck before you put the cloth back onto shoulders. After another moment of thinking, you turned around to head to your room. 

“Darling?” Despite it being barely audible, his voice seemed to reach you anyway as he caught your subtle hesitation before decidedly going on your way. 

Karlach and Shadowheart both began to say something but in vain as you were so lost in thought still that you couldn’t hear. They turned their attention to Astarion who intently watched you. “Is something going on between you two?” 

“What?” Astarion snapped his head to Karlach. 

“Sorry.” She snorted. “It could’ve been Raphael but she just seems way more tired than usual.” 

“Well, we are in the Underdark, Karlach.” He said obviously. “It’s dark down here, and I’m sure that the dark makes most normal people tired.” 

“Don’t be rude Astarion.” Shadowheart butt in. “Are you sure that feeding on her every night wouldn’t be a contributing factor along with ‘the dark’?” 

“Haven’t you been healing her up every morning?” 

“I have not. Not since we’ve been down here.” Karlach watched in awe between the stairs and then to two bantering at the bottom. “So, if you’ve been feeding on her still, well... She hasn’t had any of her usual morning chats with me.” Shadowheart finished. 

Karlach watched as Astarion’s eyes round in realization. The guilt grew, pushing his stomach up into his neck. “Oh Fangs, you didn’t know. It’s okay, I think.” 

“Is it, Karlach?” Shadowheart interjected, shooting a venomous glare at the ill looking vampire. “It started with a dagger to her neck, which she forgave. Then she’s understanding of your hunger, even defending you to Gale after you go at her neck again without permission.” 

“That was once- only twice-!” He pushed his finger out to correct her. 

“And all you can do is give half-hearted compliments and bat your eyelashes whenever you need something. A potion, a moment, a warm body to bleed. I mean, have you even said thank you?” 

Karlach put her hand between the two. “Shadowheart, I know you’re worried about her but you know that it’s can’t just one person's fault. It might not be anyone’s fault let alone Astarions.” She waved it up and down. “I think we’re all just tired-.” 

“Don’t act like you’re physically incapable of talking to her yourself!” Astarion retorted above and below Karlach’s hand. “And my attempts to thank her have been pushed aside, thank you very much!” 

“Ever try a full-fledged, verbal ‘thank you for feeding me every night, I appreciate you letting me suck you dry, Darling.’ ever?” She took a deep breath in, and on exhale she let her shoulder drop. 

“Let’s just go up and check on her then.” Karlach successfully cut in. 

Shadowheart reached into a small pouch on her person and thoughtfully brought out the little idol of Shar you gifted her the moment you could dust it off. “Do you know just how much she puts into our group?” Her voice was coated in adoration, and it made Astarion sick. “Or how much she’s already put in?” 

Astarion knew. Of course he knew. He was well aware of how much he took, as well as often as did. But he always knew just when to stop, or at least he thought he knew. But that was before he started to find you in even the smallest corners of his mind, before he found himself keeping an eye on you in battle, before the guilt got harder to swallow. If he pushed your sincerity aside with closed eyes as he held out a beggar's hand, the weight of what you gave him would mean nothing if he didn’t have see what you were left with. 

The strangers, travelers, your kind demeanor and hopeful act. Looking back to the Harper woman that marked your map, he wondered if the Light Inn was going to be enough to keep you going tomorrow. If it was enough for you to spare anything more after, or in the days to come. Gods, was the Harper woman a reflection of him? Where he only loathed her for sinning the same way he did; or for taking what he was saving for later? If anything, Astarion felt like he might as well just be another traveler to you. Someone that followed you around like hungry, dead weight. But he would never have to wonder how far you had carried him and six others, they had the map and markers. But he did wonder just how often he stole your living, breathing warmth. 

Wasn’t that the plan, for him to bleed you dry? Then, now, and hopefully after? 

“I don’t think Astarion would do anything to purposefully weaken her.” Karlach came to his defense. “That wouldn’t make sense, especially now. Besides, she is a big girl and can come to you if she feels like it.” 

Shadowheart shook her head. “You know what? You’re right. And so are you, Astarion.” The little, rock carved goddess dramatically fell to her side alongside her hand as she turned. “Why am I even waiting for her to ask? I’ll be upstairs.” She ran and left Karlach to tend to Astarion. 

“Fangs, you’re looking down, too. Don’t let Shadowheart get to you she’s been…” Karlach gave a sympathetic smile. “You know you can always talk to Mama-K.” Her laugh was aimed at herself as Astarion playfully rolled his eyes. 

The two of them watched the floor before Astarion looked up to her. “Do you think I’ve done it this time?” 

Without a second thought Karlach shook her head enthusiastically. “You might be right about the Underdark. There’s more on her mind than just you and me. Well, in her mind… I should say.” 

“In our minds.” a pathetic laugh bubbled from the nausea. “I think our dark princess would have to agree with that. At least to some extent.” 

Karlach met Astarion’s gaze with another sympathetic smile “I know you care,” she seemingly said out of nowhere. “I’m not the only one who sees it when you look at her. Even if it’s just a little. I think she at least knows that you care about her if Shadowheart doesn’t, ya’ know?” 

Astarion slowly nodded with a confused look before Karlach lead the way to their room. When Shadowheart returned from her check-in with you, she paid no mind to Astarion for the rest of the night. Instead, she went straight to Karlach, and to what his eavesdropping could gather, he safely assumed that he was in the clear. He guessed you really did just need alone time. 

After his vampiric rest, he lied still. Whatever light from outside cast patterns on the ceiling, and he cut them out into little pieces with Shadowheart’s steady breathing and some occasional snoring from Karlach in the background. Then he wondered what you sounded like while you slept. He hated that he didn’t pay attention the one time he could. Did you snore? If you did, were they raspy, hollow breathes or loud snorts that echoed? Maybe you were the restless dreamer where the shuffle of blankets and pillows would tell him you were just about to wake up. 

Astarion found himself wanting to know and shot up before he could want to know more. 

The wood was cool on the bottom of his feet. Without creaking, cracks, or splinters Astarion was able to move quietly out of the room into the hall. Lit candles lined the hallway to your room which felt more meaningful to him than it should have but he shook coincidence away and out of his mind. Instead, Astarion thought about how you pretended not to hear him earlier, he thought back to hands holding flames and he froze, feeling sick at your door. 

I’m hungry, he told himself. I feel sick because I am hungry. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, clearly expecting him with your hair pulled to one side and the right side of your neck exposed. “You’re late.” 

“Only a little, darling.” Astarion made his way over to plant his right knee beside your thigh, his left leg between your own. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.” 

“Hardly.” you whispered to the door behind him. “Besides, I can’t let you go hungry, can I?” 

Astarion decided not to press you. “I suppose not.” He smirked as the breath of his reply sent goosebumps all over your neck and shoulders. 

Tonight, you didn’t close your eyes in anticipation. There was no shiver down your spine or shudder in your breath when Astarion held both of your shoulders while he slowly sunk his teeth in. Hells, you didn’t even whine. It felt like kissing someone who wouldn’t close their eyes or kiss him back. 

Astarion made it quick, hardly getting his fill. As he arose and took a step back to search you up and down for any sign of discomfort. There was nothing out of the ordinary, you paled like usual, especially in your lips, but your expression was unreadable. Visibly there was nothing wrong, but he wanted to listen to your beating heart just to be sure nothing was moving faster or slower than it should. Then without thinking, he suddenly and loosely embraced you in his arms to put his head to your chest. 

“Woah, h-hey.” You jumped back on your elbows, crawling a step back on the bed. 

Astarion’s hands shot up in the air. “I was just,” The look of innocent surprise that coated your body was cute until he remembered why you looked so venerable. He furrowed his brows as he massaged the bridge of his nose, coming off of the bed. “I-I didn’t, or- I don’t mean to insinuate anything, my dear.”  

“Then...” The bed shook under his knee as you relaxed onto your hands, upright but leery. “What were you trying to do?” 

“Nothing, really." He massaged his neck. “Unless-” 

“Unless nothing.” You wildly grinned. “Unless nothing, Astarion. I really mean to have my alone time.” 

“Are you-” Astarion squared his gaze onto the litters of goosebumps on your chest and shoulders while you self-soothingly rubbed your arms. “Are you cold?” His chest tightened once he realized you were suppressing the chatter of your teeth with a trembling jaw. 

“A little.” The movement slowed as you stiffly squeezed your biceps. “Blood loss tends to do that.” 

That’s right, he thought. Astarion of all people, or undead things, should know that the lack of blood meant a lack of warmth. 

“Don’t you look so concerned. That’s not like you.” You coyly laughed. “I’ve been okay before, and I’ll be okay now. I am sitting on top of a completely made bed, you know?” 

Astarion stretched his neck and sighed. “Of course.” He gave you a weak chuckle. “Well, I guess I’ll take my leave then. But if you need a little warming up, you know where to find me.” The rustle of sheets as you climbed under the covers made him scrunch his nose insecurely at the door. “Good night, darling.” 

The following morning, Astarion could found sitting at the chess table, replaying the night before. Not for Raphael but for you. It more so that he was cringing at himself and his lack of control. The way your reacted to his embrace compared to his bite made his head spin with wonder and disappointment. The fact that his teeth breaking your flesh was better received than his concern was astounding. Realizing that if he was going to pull you into him, it was expected that he take and not give. 

Was it that obvious? 

You descended the stairs, the two followed behind, and you were practically glowing. Immediately Astarion felt relieved to know that Shadowheart likely made sure to cast a restoration of some sort today. He sat up a little as you wordlessly greeted him, watching you feel the right side of your neck with your left hand while your self-conscious chuckle furthered his optimism. 

Sigh, last night, “Again, I didn’t-” Astarion started to apologize. 

“Hush.” You made big eyes in reference to the two behind you. “You’re alright in my book.” Sheepishly grinning, you tilted your head and scrunched your nose before heading out. 

As per usual, everyone followed your lead in battle. Successfully you collected the Moonlantern, freed a pixie from inside, and were already thinking about the next move back at camp the morning after. “I think we should scope out Moonrise before meeting with any head honchos.” You said near the empty fire pit at camp. “I’ll do my usual hoarding while we get a good look at the place. And this,” you pointed to a little circle with question mark inside, “I can hardly remember what for, but I think it was marked for some rumored supplies.” You wiggled your fingers in the air with feigned enthusiasm. “I would like this to be priority, actually.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Karlach affirmed. “And I see that good ol’ Gale will be joining us today?” 

“I shall be at your disposal, yes.” He smiled genuinely before it grew sheepish. “Of course, with the hopes that I would not be disposed of.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes.  

“Never, Gale.” You playfully smiled at Astarion. “You’re the last person here I’d do that to” 

“Oh, don’t look at me,” he scoffed but you did, playfully through your lashes. 

“Whatever you say.” You sung before quickly tucking the map away. “But today we’re just scoping, taking, and talking.” 

Everyone nodded, and without another word were off to Moonrise. 

To everyone’s surprise, the guards could not care less about your party going in. The parasite was like a VIP pass inside and the tadpole-less guests praised your every step. It was odd to be so easily trusted and to roam freely. Usually at least one person challenged your worm infected autonomy, but this was a nice yet eerie change. 

But to nobody’s surprise nothing could ever go according to plan. Gale had opened the biggest and most obvious set of doors upon entry and interrupted a meeting between some goblins and Katheric Thorm. To the very left of where Katheric was sat stood Z’rell, the cult advisor that the guards outside said everyone must report to. And again, to not no one’s surprise, the meeting was nothing short of incredibly memorable with a show of immortal strength and the opportunity to sacrifice a small goblin herd at trial. 

Astarion was curious to see what your heroic self would do when the fate of the goblin crews' lives was hurriedly placed in your hands. So, when you had asked them to stop speaking, ‘to not even breathe’, his heart raced with confusion and excitement. 

That’s my girl, he thought. “But by the gods, I hope she’s okay.” 

“Me too.” Karlach swallowed with disappointment. 

Astarion cupped his mouth, not meaning to have said the second half of his thought aloud. 

Karlach looked over to him, “I guess the Underdark really is doing a number on her.” 

“It would seem so.” He kissed his teeth. 

You waved everyone over to follow Z’rell upstairs. A whole new mission got added to the list and Astarion took in this small laugh of disbelief you gave him. In response he tucked in his chin and raised a brow as though to wordlessly ask what exactly had you expected after everything leading up to this. 

The Tower was big, full of locked doors and overly trusting guests that roamed and for a moment there was some pep in your step as soon as you finally got everyone back on track. But once a broken wall produced just under 200 gold and a spell scroll, your disappointment was obvious as you bit your knuckle at the open chest. Without enthusiasm, you drew a little check mark beside the rumored supplies you prioritized this morning. Astarion would normally have something snarky to say but the glowing girl from earlier was having her light put out by her own optimism and he wanted nothing more than to do or say something that could bring back a spark. A pixie, perhaps. But before he could reach out to you, Karlach pushed through a door and on the other side of it was Araj who would come to make things worse.  

The blood lusted alchemist was off to a bad start when she immediately noted Astarion as the ‘Pale Friend’, drawing a more than uninterested look from you as she spoke. “I can make one of a kind potion, just for you, from you.” She modestly smiled. “One prick, a drop of your blood and it’s yours. But I keep the rest for myself.” 

After some curious questions, Astarion was surprised when you held out your hand to be poked. But then thought about how stupid it was to be surprised at that after the night prior. Instantly a potion was produced and carefully placed into your hands. 

“Thank you-” 

“Before you go, there is one other thing I would like to discuss;” she interrupted moved closer to you, but only to get a better look at Astarion. “Your friend.” 

Astarion knew that he stood out in a room to anyone who knew anything about the undead. They could and often did sniff him out wherever he met them. So, when she inquired of his being a Vampire or spawn, he naturally reassured her that as a part of the absolute that everyone serving in Her name was safe in his company.  

“Oh no, I hope for quite the opposite.” Araj watched you expectantly. “I assume he belongs to you?” 

“Belongs?” A distasteful curiosity bled from your voice. “Excuse me, but he’s his own person.” 

She smiled mockingly. “I’m sure he believes that.” 

Distaste was a little soft, you looked and sounded appalled. Actually, to everyone in your corner, your face gave that word another meaning. The drow hardly asked for his name, if anything she flatly commanded it from the wide-eyed Vampire. 

Your finger flew back to shush him, “Astarion” he too quickly answered. “But wait-.” 

“Good.” She smirked. “Now-” 

Your finger made its way around to her before she could continue. “Watch it.” You warned. 

Astarion looked over to Karlach and Gale who were also caught just as off guard as you were. But she paid no mind to your hand as she explained her life-long, born from childhood dream of being bitten by a vampire. She looked too comfortable swooning as she talked about losing her blood in between life and death. “I’ll even give compensation. A potion of legendary power.” Araj bribed. 

Astarion knew where this was going as Araj gave the details of the potion. He knew where he was and knew everyone had just a taste of power these cultists had. He knew that most people would be persuaded with this once in a lifetime offer. Who wouldn’t want guaranteed strength in a bottle? Most people would be, but he hoped that you weren’t most people because was unsure he would say no if you asked him to. He knew he owed you that much. 

The Drow asked Astarion if he would bite her to which he kindly declined. Then she faced you, clearly taken aback. “Well, can’t you do something about him? About your spawn?” Astarion held his breath. 

“He said no.” Relief flooded his body, causing his shoulders to drop despite his fixed posture in surprise. But you were stiff, straightening your neck as disappointment spread across Araj’s face. “What part of that did you not get the first time?” 

“Soldier,” Karlach leaned to your ear. “I think we should get going.”  She nudged your foot with hers. “We’ll be seeing you, Arash.” 

“It’s Araj.” 

“Right, sorry.” Gale apologized on Karlach’s behalf and bowed on the way out. Astarion followed behind him through a door that took everyone back outside. 

Karlach seemed to be calming you down, and until Karlach mentioned it, Astarion didn’t realize that while Araj spoke you began to pet a dagger on your hilt. “We don’t need to get into trouble while we’re still on the Absolute’s ground. Not before we’re ready to be.” 

Surely it wasn’t on his behalf, was it? No could care about anyone that much let alone another Vampire’s Spawn. 

“I should’ve just done it. The doors were closed and who knows? Maybe she had the potion already on her. Or maybe not.” Astarion raised a brow as his stomach sank. “Fucking weirdo.” You muttered. 

“Wow,” Karlach laughed. “Fucking weirdo, I couldn’t agree with you more, Captain.” She ran up as you walked around the tower. 

Astarion blankly watched the back of your head from two people away as you grew quiet and stayed that way. He wanted to know what you were thinking and whether or not you were mad at him for being so unwilling or if your silence was left over from Araj. But there was also nothing planned after scoping out Moonrise, at least nothing anyone mentioned. Everyone settled on blindly following your lead as you spotted a hill with some makeshift graves. 

“Gale,” you stopped suddenly at the foot of an overgrown root. “Can you head back to camp and grab Shadowheart?” 

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded. “I’d really appreciate something warm and hearty when we get back, and I love her but-.” 

“No need, I get it.” Gale smiled, bowed, and waved everyone off. 

Astarion watched Gale leave before he caught you and Karlach now raced to a patch of dirt. When he caught up with you, Karlach was watching out for Shadowheart as you picked through some choice graves. 

“Sweetheart, are you robbing from dead Justiciars?” His shadow hovered over your hands. “Why have her join at all?” 

“I’m sure she might know something about this site. But not a word about my scavenging, please.” With steady hands your swiftly placed the stones back the way they were. 

Astarion’s index finger and thumb drew a line in front of his lips as he sealed them shut and threw away an imaginary key. “My lips are sealed.” 

You snorted and smacked the dirt off your hands before Shadowheart materialized out of thin air, having everything to say about Shar’s faithful fallen soldiers. As she knelt to one of the graves, reverently running her hand across the rocks, Astarion caught sight of a dimly lit entrance. Karlach saw it too and pointed. 

“Maybe we can check it out before we look for supplies in the buildings, we passed by…” her booming voice trailed off when she saw him, then everyone turned. 

Raphael was mumbling to himself at the bottom of some steps at entrance of a cave. As Astarion began to walk only to see you were once again leading the way over. Again, in disguise, the devil gave the details of his deal to the whole group. All they had to do was kill an old enemy of his if Astarion wanted his scars decoded. The deal seemed sweeter than what he expected, simpler, maybe too sweet. But no one was sure what price was to be paid for translation. 

Karlach leaned over to you. “Again, I really don’t know about this.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes before he turned away from the cave. He just missed your response, and how Karlach retorted didn't fill in any blanks. “I don’t want to be tricked into doing that evil fucker's errands for free or find out that this order is for more than any of us can afford fill.” 

“Well, for now,” Shadowheart shot Astarion a raised brow to measure. “I think should head back to camp. I think we could use a moment to relax.” She tilted her head to you with her eyes locked on Astarion. 

You nodded mindlessly. “Yeah, or at least a moment to think” 

Astarion began to open his mouth when Shadowheart chimed in again “Right,” sounding uncharacteristically chipper. “We should plan a little just before heading inside. 

“I’m sorry you came here for nothing-” 

“The graves of Justiciars are not nothing.  Besides, I’m glad you thought to have me, even if it was just for a moment.”  

Shadowheart was good at that. Being soft when you needed it. And Karlach was good at melting you into a giggling mess when she could. Most of the time Astarion could find something obscene enough to say, that pulled you out of your head to laugh. But lately he felt like him just being there was making it impossible for anyone to distract you from yourself. 

You looked pensive the whole walk back to camp. After everything that had happened today from Moonrise, to goblins, to devils, Astarion could not pinpoint if it was one specific thing or everything that weighed heavy on your mind. What he could gather was how drastic the dip in your mood was after Araj, and Raphael. Both of those things happened to be tied to him and he got that funny feeling again. The feeling that he was taking from you without realizing it. That his mere presence was enough to make you bleed. 

Astarion wished he had just said yes to drinking the Araj’s foul-smelling blood. He shouldn’t let you fight his battles and make his deals; he didn’t want you to anymore. Astarion was centuries older than you and yet you were the one holding his hand through the Underdark. Staying up late night after night so he could eat. And he found himself pondering it all too tenderly. 

Scratch and the Owlbear cub zipped past you, hopping around giddily despite the gloomy scenery. Astarion felt a bit pensive himself. You were just as distant as you had been lately but tonight you were especially cold. Sure, you were healthier today than you had been for a while, and nothing seemed to tire you out. But there wasn’t the light and witty banter you spewed so effortlessly that he loved. He missed your observant and borderline judgmental comments on anything you stole from buildings and corpses. Even in Balthazar’s room inside Moonrise Tower, which brimmed with separated limbs and cold jars of blood, you made no snarky comment in correlation to Astarion’s diet. It would’ve have been easy, low hanging fruit by his standards; but at this point he was pulling on the branches for you to reach, you wouldn’t even need to jump. Astarion just wanted you to pick up something, anything really to throw at him. 

“Hey,” You called out, making him unusually hopeful. 

“Yes, darling?” He gave his most honest grin. 

“Do you think we can trust him to keep up his end of the bargain? Raphael, I mean?”  

“I trust a devil over a vampire any day. Besides,” with his hand on his chest, Astarion leaned back. “I think he likes us.” 

How you slowly blinked and nodded flattened his hopes. “It’s your only lead, I suppose...” Scratch and the Owlbear nearly ran into you again, but you didn’t smile, flinch, or notice the animals despite watching them pass you two by. You were millions of miles away from everyone. Millions of miles away from him. 

“Yeah, it is our only lead. My only lead.” Astarion reiterated defensively. 

“I know, I know.” Your eyes screwed shut as you nodded some more. “Maybe we can go to the house of healing in case there’s something on Ketheric. Then after we can go to the cave.” 

“Only after…” What was cause for worry before was now cause for slight agitation. 

“Yes, well, I mean-” You threw your head back and up to the sky like itmight give you a clue. “Or..? Gods, I don’t know.” 

“What don’t you know, sweetheart?” 

“I-I don’t know that either. I don’t know what I don’t know, I guess.” Self soothingly you cupped your face and took a deep breath in. “What I do know is that’s it’s on my list.” You were staring at his neck, struggling to look up any further. 

You sounded unsure of yourself, and while that made him sympathetic, it did more to make him anxious. “I guess I can only hope that it’s high up there. Afterall, this is the first chance I’ve had at deciphering my scars.” Astarion apathetically reminded you, unable to help his tone when he leaned into your ear uncomfortably close. 

“Be a dear and don’t get in my way.” He spat. 

“I won’t?” You turned to him equally defensive. “Don’t you know by now that you can just-” Astarion faced you, practically touching noses but nothing about the tension was romantic once he caught what looked like tears pooling in your eyes. “Y-you should know by that you can just...” 

Karlach glanced over to what she likely saw as two people incredibly close to one another, “Oh, don’t look now but there’s PDA on the campgrounds,” she announced. Wyll let out a dramatic ‘Oo~’ that made her laugh. 

Astarion was horrified inside and unable to think despite having that same snippy look on his face. But once the tears fell, he quickly pulled away, finally softening his demeanor. Karlach eventually looked over at you two when she hadn’t heard any smart mouthed response. 

“You j-just have to ask.” You whimpered between labored breathes. 

Karlach ran to your side before Astarion could think to speak. “What happened?” The concern in her voice caught Gale and Shadowheart’s attention. Gale quietly watched Astarion from a few feet away while Shadowheart raced over to place her hands on your shoulders the moment she arrived. 

Shadowheart did what she did best lately, give dirty looks at Astarion from in the background. She had her head on your shoulder while Karlach tried to get some sort of response out of you. Shadowheart took her turn with her own line of questions when all Karlach could get was a pained look on your face. But there you were in the center of them making him sick again. 

Astarion couldn’t handle himself as you cried. Never in his life had he so quickly regretted saying something to someone, let alone someone he grew so fond of. He felt worse as found himself noting how pretty you looked with tears down you face. All you needed was a break, maybe another night to yourself and right now he would give you all of them if he could help it. But he couldn’t, he never could. Astarion had to be sure that you were still on his side, and that you’d be waiting for him in his corner as though standing up for him in Moonrise Towers wasn’t enough. 

Worry grew as Astarion thought about freedom of choice, and how much time had passed from the Tiefling party. You repeatedly declined his advances to have sex again, but he hadn’t made any significant or particularly tempting advances. In fact, he didn’t want to. Until now, he didn’t think he had to. In-between what he knew and what he wanted, Astarion wasn’t sure he would truly feel better if you just used his body like he needed you to. But if you wanted to, he would let you. It would be fair. It would make everything easier. It was what he thought he deserved. But there you were in front of him, reminding him that all he had to do was ask and it was his. He knew that if he said that aloud you would convince him otherwise, even if you had to do it sobbing. 

That’s exactly how you made everything harder. Without your hands, without a leash, and without control, you had successfully made him care. When exactly that had started, Astarion couldn’t be sure but it was unsettlingly that the feeling crept in without a sound after he was so sure about having his heart set on using you. Maybe it started as selfishly as all things start, where wanting part of someone becomes needing everything else, they were. When being protected meant taking care his protector and being feed meant cleaning up after. Astarion wanted to switch roles to take care of you for once, he just didn’t know how to yet. 

Shadowheart was about to call Gale over when you finally moved to wipe away your tears with the sleeves of your top were pulled over your palms. “Please don’t.” You pleaded with a nervous grin. “It’s nothing.” 

“It is clearly not nothing.” Shadowheart squeezed your arms, her chin bouncing on your shoulder as she spoke. “You know you can talk to me. Or Karlach.” The Tiefling had her hands on her knees, crouching and nodding while Shadowheart spoke. “Or I can go grab La’zael but I don’t actually know what she would do for you. I don’t think she’s ever cried in her life...” 

You let out an estranged laugh at the mention of Lae’zel. Shadowheart and Karlach’s whole demeanor eased up as they laughed with you. Coincidentally, Lae’zel started sharpening a blade which echoed throughout camp and softened the air significantly. Karlach headed to Lae’zel’s tent to have her shut off the wheel, Shadowheart kept her arm around your neck, guiding you behind Karlach. Astarion watched as each breath hiccupped in your shoulders, ignoring Lae’zel’s blunt form of comfort while he left to accompany Gale. 

“You know Astarion,” he slowly stirred the strew from the very bottom of the pot to keep anything from sticking and burning. “She keeps a close eye on you when we’re out.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Astarion couldn't even try to pretend he meant that. 

“I’m not trying to be. As cold as you are, no pun intended, I think most of us can tell she has a keen interest in your wellbeing, and I would suspect that you maybe return the sentiment.” 

“I’ll have you know that not one of those earlier statements is funny or true.” Astarion tried to be coy. “Especially not now.” 

“Deflect all you want my sharp-toothed friend, but I know you do.” Gale poured a bowl for himself, and a second one for Astarion. 

“Don’t sound so sure of yourself.” He eyed the stew. “And Gale that’s just rude.” 

From the corner of his eye, you watched him expectantly, with the same look you had when he drank you up at Light Inn. Shadowheart was shaking her head and rolling her eyes while Lae’zel  spoke. “She doesn’t have to explain anything more. If she wants to sulk right now, let her.” Your Githyanki friend had this way of sounding harsh while looking concerned in her own funny way as she spoke. “Do you need more information to comfort someone you supposedly care for? Are those the teachings of Shar?” 

“You’re one to talk,” Shadowheart huffed. 

You were back and forth, looking between the two while seeming entertained. 

“Astarion, my friend.” Gale held out the bowl to him. “I’m sure you know what I’m doing.” 

He did. “Give me that.” He hissed and swiped your portion of food from Gales hand. 

You watched Shadowheart as she turned to face him. “Astarion.” 

“Shadowheart.”  

“Good evening to you.” She avoided eye contact as she folded her hands. 

Astarion bowed in a gentlemanly manner, tiling his head as he spoke to you. “I come bearing sustenance, my dear.” As you took the warm bowl from his hands Lae’zel tsked, and Karlach gave him a thumbs up despite pursing her lips. 

“I see Gale made stew?” Shadowheart kept curt. 

“I mean, I hope this is stew because if it’s not then I have no idea what she’s about to eat.” Astarion said sarcastically. “Although, in that case it’s better her than me.” 

Astarion couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad sort airy laugh you gave him before you took a bite. But you with a free hand you motioned him to lean in again. You placed the bowl between your lap on the stool to cup his ear with both of your hands. Astarion tried to get a good look at you from the corner of his eye before you left his peripheral. 

“You can feed on me again, if you’d like.” Gods you looked so pretty and venerable. 

“I think…” Astarion thought about your breath and hands on his ear and tried to shake away the thought, “I think we need to talk, later.” 

With the spoon in your mouth, you nodded again. “Okay, later.” You scooped up another bite. 

Shadowheart was about to say something when you put your hand on her arm and shook your head. “I’m good. This is good,” was said so sincerely she didn’t try to fight it. 

Astarion paid no mind to how the others reacted as he turned away to sit in his tent. The night couldn’t drag any slower even if it tried. You had disappeared into your tent after you ate, and so from in his own tent he was left to watch the rest of the weirdos interact and pretend that nothing happened. He stopped listening when Wyll started sharing some heroic tall tale and could only hope that you would still be awake after everyone else had fallen asleep. Truthfully Astarion had no reason to worry, he always found you waiting for him. 

Your lashes were wet as though you just finished crying a second time, or maybe you hadn’t stopped. “You’re early.” You massaged your jaw as you spoke. “Or have I kept you waiting?” 

“You haven’t kept anyone waiting,” he reassured. “And what’s with your jaw?” 

“Just tense.” 

Astarion hummed and squatted onto his ankles. “But you want to feed me anyways.” 

The question caught you off guard. “Yes? Well, if you need to...” 

“Hmm,” Astarion watched the ground. “You know, why do you do that to yourself?” 

“Do what?" He watched as you played with your fingers, squeezing your right hand with your left and had realized that you were studying him. 

“Weren’t you just crying earlier over something I said?” 

“It was more than that.” You caught yourself before you could elaborate and Astarion felt himself growing impatient again. 

“What do you mean more? More how?” 

The tips of your fingers turned white as you continued to squeeze and contort them. “It was just more. Beyond you, and them, and me.” As soon as you looked down at your hands you finally stretched them out in front of you for some relief. “Didn’t you say that you wanted to talk with me?” You pointed to yourself in an awkward attempt to lighten the mood. 

Astarion sucked in his lower lip and sighed. “I did, didn’t I?” 

Astarion stared at you through his lashes as he made his way onto his knees. “My dear, I wanted to talk to you-” A scornful Shadowheart appeared in his head and he winced. “Well. I more wanted to thank you.” 

“Thank me?” Your head shot up from your hands in your lap. “What did I do? You’re being a little mushy on me.” 

“I know, aren’t I full of surprises?” There was a pause as he thought about how to word what he wanted to say next and saw how the silence made you anxious. “But you stood up for me in Moonrise Towers when you didn’t have to, and respected me when I said no. I can’t even remember the last time anyone’s done that for me.” 

“Oh.” You smiled. “Of course.” 

Astarion was unsure of how to explain himself but he wanted to try. “I know I’ve talked about Cazador and the things he made me do. I would use my body to lure in any pretty thing with a pulse and push aside all the disgust that came with it because I had to.” Your hands balled up in your lap. “For a long time, it has felt like that was the only thing I know how to do. Cazador's commands became second nature, his voice still lives in my head. It’s like I forget I’m not under his control. You’ve helped me remember I don’t have to do those awful things anymore.” 

Self-consciously, you hugged yourself at your elbows and took another deep breath in. Your mouth opened to speak but only let all the air out. 

“You can ask me questions.” 

“If it filled you with disgust, if it was awful, then why did you...” You squeezed your eyes shut like you didn’t want to confirm some sinking suspicion. “Why did you sleep with me?” 

Astarion didn’t like your cautious tone. “Why are you asking like that?” 

“No, you just said- why did you sleep with me Astarion?” Your eyes bore into his. “Please just answer.” 

  “I needed you to protect me,” He observed your body as he had been while he spoke. “I needed to ensure you’d never want to leave me.” 

With your palms upright you stared at the space between you two. Astarion waited for you to say something but wasn’t sure what he expected. He didn’t know what he wanted to hear. 

“I hope you know, I would never.” was unexpected, welcome even, but it was not enough to satisfy his guilt. 

“Are you not upset with me?” 

“Do you want me to be?” Your eyes rounded with curiosity. “I just told you that I want you to know I would never leave your side, not willingly I should say.” Your voice trailed off in reflection. “I had never thought to, actually.” 

After centuries of being beaten down, torn apart and stripped of reason, you were just going to tell him that it was, okay? 

Astarion wanted to feel relieved. Astarion wanted to believe you without trembling, without balling his fists over his knees, without something telling him that should know better than to expect understanding. For years he had to get used to knowing that in Cazador's eyes he had always been below forgiveness. Especially the kind that needed no proof of his repentance. 

“What’s wrong?” Your hand fell into view, hovered above his lap and without touching him you guided his chin up so he would face you. 

Once again you were putting yourself aside to comfort him with a face that was drenched in concern. “I feel awful, you know. And you’re making this too easy. I have spent most of our time trying to seduce you, which was easy at first but then you just stopped. You just kept giving without taking which was just what I had hoped for. It was what I wanted- until suddenly it wasn’t.” Astarion shook his head when you nodded in understanding, “You knew it all along, didn’t you?” 

It was maybe a few seconds of silence but it felt like a lifetime while in his self-appointed judgement seat. 

“Not all along.” You looked up thoughtfully, “I didn’t think much of it until you wanted to bed me again." 

“Oh?” His own curiosity spoke cut through the doubt. “What gave me away?” 

“It was when you said,” Astarion winced as you cleared your throat and sat tall to give him a vivid visual of his act. “‘How about I try everyone's favorite? Just three little words? I love you'... Well,” You looked at his lap again, “it’s funny now.” You weakly smiled. Your hands flew over your mouth as your face twisted in embarrassment as Astarions mouth fell slightly open. “I realize that sounds like I wanted you to mean- well no. Yes- wait, no! I-It's not because I,” Your hands fell into your lap before you rolled your head from the ceiling down to him. “The realization hurts, but I guess conformation is worse.” 

Something about you losing your spark flitted across his mind again and without thinking, Astarion leaned in to cup your face tenderly. His cold hands clearly caught you by surprise but you didn’t move away. In his hands he held your swollen bewilderment and kind eyes. He wished he could see what you did in him. “If you’ll let me,” He traced lines over your chin, up to your eyes, the tip of your nose, before he made it back to your gaze. “I would like to have the chance to give you something real.” 

A warm smile in-between repose and disbelief made him weak. Another moment of silence passed as your eyes mapped out his expression. “Oh, shit,” you said with a slow falling simper that made your bottom lip tremble. “You mean that, don’t you...” 

“I do.” He whispered tenderly as his thumb moved to still the shake. “But only if you’ll let me.” 

You closed your eyes and let your head complete relax in his hands. Astarion took this as an opportunity to lift you closed to his face while your brows knitted together in anticipation. Slowly, he placed a kiss on your chin, your left cheek, then your right, before bringing your forehead to his lips. Your hands latched around his wrists as you pressed your head into his right hand. “Does this not bother you-?” 

“Not one bit.” He mirrored you. “But on that note, I think I need more time for intimacy. Or, maybe I don’t want that at all anymore. After everything.” His eyes dropped to your chin. 

“I can wait,” You reassured. “Whether or not that’s in vain. I don’t mind; we don’t have to have sex.” 

Astarion could feel his whole face open as he straightened his posture, and yours. His usual wit and charm were coming back to him. “Well, we’ll see if that proves to be a challenge.” 

You rolled your eyes and were about to pull away when his fingers pressed into your face to keep you still. “Yes?” 

All he could see were your lips, “May I?” 

Astarion was already moving in before you closed the distance. With your lips on his, his hand on the back of your neck, while another cradled your jaw, the only thing he could think about was just how warm you were, how soft and alive you felt on his mouth. But even in his hold he felt like he needed to chase you. You were being too gentle for his taste, too safe on his lips. Astarion was sure you could feel his growing hunger as his hand snaked to the base of your head to hold you by your hair, guiding each kiss with his neck before you finally opened your mouth, inviting him in. 

Still, it wasn’t enough. 

Astarion stood on his knees, not once letting you back away for air as he craned his neck to deepen a kiss that nearly pushed you onto your back. A drawn-out, reverberated whine melted in his ears as you pushed into his waist. But when you let go of him to support yourself, Astarion dragged his teeth on your bottom lip with a final peck before breaking away. You were panting as he sat back on the floor, smiling in his hold as his fingers were still tangled in your hair. Astarion pulled you into his arms, guiding you head into his shoulder before he drew circles on your back. As your heaving slowed, he pressed you flush against his chest like he’ll lose you if he couldn’t feel your heart against his own. “I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t be.” You held him just as tight and that seemed to finally satisfy him. 

“Thank you, my love.” 

Astarion nearly purred when you pecked his neck. “Don’t mention it.” 

© 2024 chimimon

[chrisevansonly]

𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: charles leclerc x female reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: life is too heavy to carry, thankfully your boyfriend will carry it with you

���𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: talks of mental health and suicidal thoughts, mentions of depression, heavy topics so please read at your own discretion

𝐚/𝐧: i’ll be honest this is self indulgent and i know i said i wasn’t writing but idk i feel so low and thought writing about how im feeling might help? ive struggled with mental illness my whole life so i find writing it out in a way i can enjoy helps…i hope it helps others that are in need of it too<3

Life is painful, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, it’s dark and gloomy, heavy and hard to carry, life is painful. Okay well maybe not for everyone but for you it was, and it was draining, exhausting really trying to survive each day instead of living like everyone else. Truth be told you’d struggled with mental illness for as long as you can remember. In high school the suicidal thoughts came into play and you had fallen into a place no one deserved to fall.

You’d hear people tell you to smile, cheer up, get outside and take in the fresh air, but they don’t understand. They don’t get the internal pain one feels when they deal with depression and anxiety, unless you live it: you don’t get it.

So yes, life was painful but there was an ounce of sunshine in your life and it came in the form of Charles, your boyfriend of exactly three years. The man who broke through the storm to bring you blue skies and calm waters, the man who held you tightly as you cried for a break, aching for a moment of peace within yourself. Charles was a gift, you were sure of it: he was too.

“my love…?”

His voice was soft, delicate as it filtered through the dark bedroom, eyes filled with concern as he looked at you huddled under the blankets, almost willing them to swallow you whole

“hmm?”

It might not have been a word but Charles would take it

“can I get you anything? do you need something?”

The room fell silent again except for the sound of covers shifting, your head peaking over the duvet

“y-you please”

Hearing your voice break was enough for Charles to promptly move from his place in the doorway, lifting up the covers on his side of the bed before settling down and pulling you into his side, letting you virtually melt against him

“okay, okay i’m here, it’s okay amour..”

“it-it hurts”

“i know baby, i know it does…but it will only hurt for a little, i promise you.”

You wanted to believe him, you really did, but how many years would you have to suffer before it truly felt like you would never know how to feel okay.

“it’s hard to be here”

Now this caught Charles attention right away, having known your past with depression and even suicidal thoughts, he felt his blood run cold at the thought of you being anywhere than right here with him

“listen to me baby, i know it hurts, i know it’s hard, but i promise you i will help you find your sunshine, i will help you find your happiness”

He paused shifting to rest a hand on your cheek, his thumb swiping at a stray tear on your cheek

“i love you with everything in me, and i will do whatever i can to help you through this, if you need me to carry more of the weight, let me, if you need a shoulder to lean on more than usual, do it. you are my entire world baby, i won’t ever leave you out in the dark to take this on all on your own..”

Letting out a soft sniffle you looked up at him, always appreciating just how much love he held for you in his eyes alone

“why, i-i’m so sad a-all the time”

“because i love you. it doesn’t matter if your angry, happy, sad it’s part of you, i love all of you no matter what, and i am not going anywhere”

Charles leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead letting you have a minute to just digest everything he was saying

“pinky promise?” you asked softly, holding your pinky finger out which brought a soft smile to his face

“pinky promise baby, always.”

Nothing else needed to be said as you curled yourself further into his side, his arms only tightening on you, as if to keep you from slipping away from him. Charles knew words only helped so much, but he was willing to do whatever it took to bring you blue skies back. Even if it took days or weeks, even months, Charles was going to be right beside you, every step of the way.

Life might be painful, but you never had to go through it alone again.

[scarawiki]

idk how this app works help

scaramouche x gn!reader , idk the word count 😬

first one shot ever prbly ooc scara i'm not sure how to write him very well :( most of it is rly self indulgent for comfort im going thru it i fear lawl. not beta read either i almost never write pls be nice 🤕🙏🙏 excuse any grammar or spelling errors

cw: mentions of poor eating habits due to depression & anxiety , mental health stuff , yada yada nothing super explicit

divider creds: @rookthornesartistry

You laid still in your bed that you shared with your partner Scaramouche, while he was out and about finding ingredients for dinner.

Since he left, you were once again alone with your thoughts. Constantly ruminating on the past and picking apart everything. Your mind had kept screaming at you, and you couldn't calm it regardless of what you tried. You were left feeling even more hopeless than before.

Scaramouche had picked up on your "odd" behaviors lately, but you simply brushed it off and just told him,

"I'm probably coming down with something. The weather is changing, don't worry about it too much."

You didn't want to burden him with your silly problems, right? Knowing his past, you didn't want to add more to the mix. You were sure you could deal with it on your own.

Following that afternoon, you sobbed. You were so dizzy and your head was pounding, wishing the world had swallowed you whole already. You felt that Scaramouche deserved someone better than your pathetic self. You didn't understand why you couldn't just feel happy. Why was it so hard? Why can't you get out of bed? Why can't you wake up in the mornings?

You heard the front door opening, and you quickly wiped away your remaining tears that rolled down your face, and tried to get comfortable again. Your whole body ached and you just wanted it all to end.

"(Y/N)? I'm home. I managed to find a few things for later tonight. I had to bargain a lot though, food is getting expensive these days."

Scaramouche called out from the living room, setting down everything on the counter. After no answer, he became curious and knocked on the bedroom door.

"Hey? Don't tell me you're still asleep, it's almost 6 PM."

He let out a small sigh after more silence followed, and then opened the door. He saw you were burrowed under the blankets, and came to sit down on the edge of the bed. He pulled the covers back to reveal your tear-stained face, and a wave of concern came over him.

Scaramouche was never particularly good at comforting others, or feelings in general. He was never shown gentleness and compassion in his 500 years of living, before he met you.

"Who did it?"

Scaramouche asked, immediately jumping to the conclusion that someone had caused you harm to hurt this badly.

"No one," you managed to whisper out. "It's really nothing. Don't waste your time on me."

He was slightly taken aback by your dismissive behavior, but decided to pry further. Scaramouche wouldn't know how to deal with himself if anything ever happened to you.

"Okay... well, you haven't been eating, and last time I checked, you aren't a puppet. You've been sleeping in until dinner time for the past few days. Out with it."

He sounded demanding, but soon mentally scolded himself for his tone with you when he saw the vulnerability in your expression.

"I just don't know what to do anymore... I feel so scared and exhausted all the time, I can hardly wake up in the mornings, and food doesn't bring me joy anymore. I can't even remember the last time I felt okay. I didn't want to bother you because I didn't think it was that bad, to be honest. I'm sorry for keeping it from you, Scaramouche. I swear it has nothing to do with you."

Your vision blurred as you spoke, and you could feel your throat closing up. You didn't know how much more you could handle of this constant misery.

Scaramouche stayed silent for a few moments, taking in everything you had told him. You had always seemed so bubbly and excited around him, and when he saw you completely falling apart in front of him for the first time, he felt confused.

"...How long has this been really going on?"

He inquired, and his eyes had a softer look in them.

"A few years, it comes and goes but it doesn't seem like it'll ever get better. I'm tired of suffering, Scaramouche. I want to enjoy life again and look forward to the future. Instead, I dread the next days to come."

You responded, avoiding eye contact and fidgeted with your hands. When Scaramouche took notice of this, he gently grabbed your hands and set them in his lap.

"I'll be blunt, I'm still figuring how these whole "emotions" work. But, I do see that you aren't yourself right now. Yes, you can be a little irritating at times, but I wouldn't be with you if I didn't... love you."

Scaramouche felt hesitant to say those last words, but at the same time it felt right. He then continues,

"It would be pointless to be in a relationship with someone if you weren't upfront with them, but I can see how you might have felt like a bother. I promise that you will never be a burden to me, and I hope you know that I would rather die than ever lay a finger on you, or hurt you any other way. You're one of the first few people to show me how to love and broke through my tough exterior. You never left me during my hard times, and I'm sure as hell not leaving you."

Scaramouche took a deep breath, and looked down at his lap to give your hands a slight squeeze.

"I will do everything in my power to help you feel better. I want to see to see you happy. I want to see that smile on your face again. But, you have to work with me, alright?"

He looks back up and lifts one of his hands to gently grab your chin to face him.

You reluctantly look into his eyes, and slowly nod.

"Okay, I'll try... Thank you."

You replied slowly, drained of any remaining energy you had left. Scaramouche leaned down to remove some of your hair out of the way, and placed a delicate kiss on your forehead. He came back up and caressed your cheek, and sighed softly.

"I'm not letting you suffer alone. Ever."

[room-surprise]

Hey! Fun question, how do you think an in-canon kabumisu confession would go? People keep portraying mithrun as blunt and straightforward about their relationship, but would he be scared to tell kabru in the chance that he'd say no and leave? Is the desire to just be in a relationship with kabru, or is the desire of not wanting to scare him off greater than that? I'm so starved on the lack of post-canon kabumisu content, they make me go crazy

As usual, I'll try not to go into TOO much detail because then I won't be motivated to write fic about it... and I AM planning to write a post-canon Kabumisu fic anon, so don't worry. I'll get there eventually :3

They make me go crazy too 😔

I think Mithrun's a complicated guy with complicated emotions. Even when he was "empty" in the dungeon he actually showed a lot of feelings - smug satisfaction, annoyance, anger, even a little bit of subtle happiness.

So while I DO think he will still be blunt in general, I also think it's a mistake to assume that means he doesn't feel things and won't have anxieties and insecurities just like any other person.

Mithrun used to be WILDLY insecure, and jealous, and paranoid. He just stopped caring about anything, but if, like the end of the manga suggests, he is going to try to START caring again, he will then start to have feelings, too.

I think Mithrun is intensely aware of his own "undesirability", that's one of the reasons he's BEEN so depressed. Most of his self-worth before the dungeon hinged on being "better" than his brother, and better than other people. Then he looses that (or maybe he was never actually better at all!), so what does he have left? And now his youth is gone too, he's middle-aged and lost his "best years" to depression. He's disabled, he's scarred, he's a bastard that nobody wants.

It's a pretty huge fall from "most eligible bachelor in the empire"!

So I think no, he won't just bluntly tell Kabru that he likes him. It will take Mithrun awhile to realize how he feels, and once he does, he'll be afraid to reach out, so he's going to do what I call "playing silly little elf games". He's going to try and flirt via writing letters and sending gifts, to hint that he likes Kabru.

Luckily for Mithrun, Kabru also knows how to play Silly Little Elf Games (he's an Olympic champion), so he picks up the signals and starts reciprocating, though he's also uncertain and worried that he's misunderstanding. Captain Mithrun couldn't be flirting with him, could he? But... what if he is?

(I will go into Kabru's feelings at a later date anon i promise.)

I think the thing that will ultimately push Mithrun to act is the fear that he'll miss his chance. Mithrun realizes Kabru is a limited time deal that he can only enjoy for the next 60-something years, and he wants every minute of that time for himself, no matter how much it will someday hurt to lose Kabru.

And he also knows that Kabru is very handsome and charming, and he can't expect Kabru to wait for Mithrun to get himself figured out. Someone else will swoop in and snatch that man up, so Mithrun has to hurry.

ALL OF THAT SAID... I think their confession is a lot less of a confession, and much more "we have both been picking up these signals of interest for months/years, and finally one of us pushes it a little bit further than we've ever pushed it before and we acknowledge the unspoken thing that has been growing between us."

Maybe it's a hand resting on someone's leg, or a gentle touch on the arm. Maybe it's leaning in so their shoulders touch. Maybe it's looking into each other's eyes a little bit longer than normal.

Probably it involves both of them admitting "Spending time with you makes me happier than anything else in the world. Whenever we're apart all I think about is when I'm going to see you again. I spend hours composing letters to you in my mind. I want us to spend our days together, no matter what shape that takes."

It's very vulnerable and scary for both of them, and I think they're both DEEPLY relieved after they finally get it out, and they don't get rejected. They know each other so well, and they're so good at reading people - they both thought that the other might feel the same way, but it's so scary to take that leap of faith and hope that they're right.

And just for the record, I think that Kabru worries about if Mithrun will be interested in sex or not, because sex is something that matters to Kabru, but what if Mithrun just doesn't have any desire for it?

And so before they get into a relationship Kabru has a long hard think about it, and decides that even if they never have sex, he wants to be in a romantic relationship with Mithrun anyway, because just being around him makes him feel happy, and understood, and like he isn't alone anymore. There's someone who sees him as he is, all the good and the bad, and says "I love you anyway."

And Kabru decides that he's willing to just jerk off for the rest of his life if that's the price of this relationship that he wants.

Luckily for Kabru, I think Mithrun does want to have sex with him, but I like to think that Kabru thinks through all the possibilities and decides that no matter what they end up doing together, being with Mithrun is worth it.

[lolita-lollipop]

could you do a platonic bakudeku taking care of/pampering depressed reader?

SOFT YANDERE AIZAWA X FEM READER

I apologize I read this ask at 4 am with no sleep and saw Aizawa, so I wrote Aizawa. If you want, put in another request and I’ll write the original

———————————————————————

Your health overall had become a stressor in Aizawas life, ever since he had gotten to know you better as a human being, it wasn't that you tried to hurt yourself, but it just seemed to happen. That worried him more often than he would like to admit.

You had come to U.A. as a teacher's aid, or a teacher in training, and were assigned to his classroom. At first, you generally kept your head down, your eyes glued to the floor, not intentionally, but you were a little uncomfortable working with somebody as world-renowned as he was. being somebody who had just graduated high school a year ago, it was strange to be in the same loop as somebody like him.

Aizawa had known that you struggled with your health constantly, both mental and physical. Even upon the first meeting, he saw glimmers of anxiety in your eyes, the picking at your skin, the biting of your nails. All things he'd seen in teens before.

He even experienced it before in his younger years, when he was in high school at UA he went through a lot and had to deal with it all by himself, too fearful of being judged to reach out for help, even from his teachers. It made him feel so connected with you, except he wouldnt give you the option of independence. Even if you hadn't openly stated that you were struggling, he always tried to make your life easier for you, just the little things that always counted.

but, while you were shy, he immediately knew the two of you would be close, you were just so young, so much younger than he was, and he felt such a pull to care for you like he would his students. You were so selfless, so optimistic. Showing up to work with little treats or a coffee for him almost every day (even with your less-than-low teachers-aid salary), being so soft-spoken when giving criticism. He would always see you with a smile on your face, and you were so willing to help anybody at any time. That worried him even more.

It hadn't taken long for you to wriggle yourself into his heart, you worked too well with his student and always were trying to improve. When the two of you became close, he started looking into your background more. Your medical records, your records with the hero association, it was for your good, partially for his curiosity. He didn't want to invade your privacy, but the way you acted was strange to him, you were social and closed off at the same time, and it confused him.

Even so, Aizawa looked forward to your daily interactions throughout the year. The way you made him lunch every day, the way you always looked to him when you had a problem, the way you hovered close to him at teacher's events and meetings. He became used to your presence, even had come to like it.

Imagine his surprise when he saw the countless therapist appointments, medications, and rehabilitation visits written across your medical records. It shocked him honestly, but as he thought about it more it made more sense, tis is why you were the way you were, and he still loved it. That's why he thought you were so likable, it just made him want to protect you more.

Your relationship with him was a little strange, at least to most others. What kind of pro hero just becomes best friends with a quirkless teacher aide like you? He did everything with you, lunch, teaching, and sometimes even on weekends the two of you would hang out. You and Aizawa became very very close very very fast, of course, neither of you minded.

He ended up playing somewhat of a fatherly role to you, helping you when you were hurt, paying for meals when the two of you went out, and caring for you. Eventually, you trusted him enough to reveal the issues you dealt with on the daily.

Your vulnerability with him was cute honestly, the way you were so willing to share your deepest emotions and fears with him.

You told him everything that’s happened, everything that’s caused you to be like this. And he listened, he listened well and hard, and made you feel accepted and loved. Your relationship escalated from there. He was the first person you would call when you needed help, the first person to cry to, to laugh with. eventually, you realized that you loved him. NOT LIKE THAT. But you loved him.

As a child your parents paid no attention to you, from the day you were born they wrote you off as a nuisance, leaving you to fend for yourself from the moment you were able to speak. It made you grow up too fast, having somebody like him was nice for a change.

So when your teacher's aid year ended, and you had to go back to school, you were devastated. That was the first time you had ever cried to Aizawa, and it showed you just how kind he could be. From then on you knew that you would last with him, teacher's aid or not. And so you moved back to your old apartment near your little teaching school, it had taken every ounce of self-control for him to not move with you.

As months passed by he visited often, but slowly, he started to see you change. It was slight at first, just having less energy when you spoke with him, but slowly it ascended into so much more. Your life was all of a sudden so filled with stress, school overloaded your life, and it taxed your health, mental and physical. He watched as your nails slowly became more gnawed down, your skin getting more and more picked at, your eye bags becoming darker and darker. His worry grew with every day that you failed to call him.

Sometimes it would get bad enough that he would force you to accept his help, whether it be money or food or clothing, or even just a place to stay, he would make you accept it, even if you didn't want to. Aizawa just couldn't fathom why you wanted to be so independent, he suggested you move in with him so he could watch over you, but you had denied it quickly, explaining how you "needed to do this on your own".

He found himself feeling responsible for you. You didn't know how to take care of yourself, not in his eyes, it was only natural, you hadn’t grown up with much guidance towards self-care (as you had told him in a moment of vulnerability). So he would help you. It became somewhat of a routine for him to check on your well-being, sending a text at noon every single day just to make sure you're okay. It comforted both of you.

But, as time passed, school and work filled both of your schedules to the brim, and you never had time to travel across town to each other. So you slowly drifted; it started as days without talking to each other, but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. At some point, he realized that he hadn't even checked in on you for 5 months.

After coming to that realization his worry washed over him once again, cold flowed from his head to his feet. You weren't ready to be alone, oh god what had he done?

He hadn't seen you in months, however, it felt like years, knowing that, he couldn't even imagine how you were feeling. The last time he had seen you, you had been doing well, eating and sleeping healthily, you seemed alright, so he felt okay in leaving you for a long period of time.

He should've kept a closer watch on you when he was away, he should've monitored the bank account he had set up for you, and he should've checked the cameras outside your apartment more. It used to be comforting for him to take a break from his life and check in on you, when did he start forgetting? Was he that bad of a best friend? He needed to see you. now.

And so, after 6 months shouts Aizawa was standing at the entrance to your apartment complex. Staring at the dirt growing thick on the exterior, the windows that had grown foggy and unclear with age.

Walking up the front steps, he observed just how quiet it was, the atmosphere was almost unsettling with how abnormally silent it was., you had refused to let him buy you a nice apartment near the urban areas of the city, so you lived near the rural edge in the older areas. The entire district was old and only growing older, crime rates were spiking, and buildings were slowly breaking down. This particular building was aging with every day. Paint chipping, door handles rusting, the elevator no longer was even in service.

He stared up the long flights of stairs, each step sad and grey and growing rust at the edges, even though they weren't metal. Imagining you have to make the climb to the seventh floor every day, Aizawa sighed. He honestly doesn’t know why you would choose to do this to yourself.

As he began to ascend the steps, he realized just how dingy the place was, the steps were concrete yet they were still able to squeak with every time he put a foot forward. There was a faint smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol in the air, combined with body odor and the smell of mildew, this place was just sad and lonely. Even the lights were going out, flickering and glowing a dirty yellow. The last time he was here the building wasn't in this bad of a condition.

By the time he was able to make it up to your apartment, his pity had grown severely. Why were you living like this? Why would he let you live like this? He felt at fault, one of the top heroes and he couldn't even manage to put his best friend in a nice apartment, even if they didn't want to be there. He wouldnt let you live here anymore, not when it was this bad. With that, he left three firm knocks on the door, the paint was chipping down, revealing old rotting wood.

The sound rang out through the hallway, cutting through the heavy air. When you didn't answer he knocked again, this time louder, and the sound reverberated across the large piece of wood again. He knew your doorbell didn't work, last time the two of you talked you told him allllllllllll about how you'd been trying to get maintenance to fix it, they were refusing. How long ago was that? It should've been fixed by now, he knew it probably wasn't though.

After the second knock, he pulled the spare key from above the doorframe, such an obvious place to hide a key, it was a wonder your home hadn't been broken into yet, even though he told you to move it elsewhere you hadn't. You were stubborn like that sometimes, he couldn't help that he loved it. The door unlocked fairly quickly, after a few harsh shoves to un-jam it, something you also had mentioned last time he talked to you. Something that was still not fixed.

he pushed the door open slowly, and a loud creak rang out. the rough feeling of the doorknob against his fingers was sandy and divoted. The silence in the room was louder than anything else. looking back at the door he saw almost four new locks that weren't there last time he was there.

“Y/n? I figured I should stop by, I was in town.” He yelled through the apartment door, loud enough to inform you of his presence but not loud enough to startle you, he was met with nothing more than the clanking of your air conditioning.

The stench hit him before anything else did, smelling like somebody died and then was resurrected only to die again in here, the scent was strong enough to make him have a double take. Usually, you were very clean, obsessing over the cleanliness of your apartment, even if it was old and rotting. It was strange enough that you hadn't answered the door when he knocked, but now not answering his call? Something was wrong.

“Y/n? Are you here?” he continued, stepping further into the small room with a grimace, it was a mess, not dirty, but cluttered everywhere, like you had stopped caring where things go. This was already a bad sign, last time your apartment looked like you weren't doing very well. Aizawa knew that he should've checked in on you sooner, he was trying to let you have a little space to feel independent, but he shouldn't have.

Hurriedly he rushed to your bedroom to check if you were even here, and what he saw horrified him. Upon opening your door he was hit again with the same smell, this time just a thousand times more concentrated. The sight of your room was just awful, he'd seen some bad things, but it's different when it's you. Clothing was strewn everywhere in large piles, packets of ramen and other instant foods lay discarded beside the bed, and some of the picture frames that were hung on the walls had fallen to the floor. Your room wasn't very large in the first place, so the trash and clothing crowded the space, making the air even denser.

It took him a few moments to realize that you were here, just buried under months of trash. You were hidden under a crevice in your bed, sleeping so heavily it worried him. Immediately he moved to get you out, shoving all the stuff off of you and looping his arm under your waist to hoist you up, you were lighter, frailer. Your breathing was shallow, almost like you were struggling to inhale and exhale a sufficient amount. He cupped your head on his shoulder and hurried out of your bedroom.

He frowned at your state, you hadn't been eating well, even though he made sure you set reminders for yourself every day. Your clothing looked baggy and dirty, your eyes sunken in and glued shut, and your hair. Oh god your hair, he could tell it hadn't been brushed in quite some time, you had it tied back but he could still see the knots starting at your scalp. How had it gotten this bad? More importantly, why hadn't you called him? He was supposed to be there for you, but clearly, he wasn't.

“Y/n, Y/n cmon I need you to wake up sweetheart, please. Open those eyes for me, I know you can do it.” he practically begged, cupping your head with his hand and holding you up to get a better look at you. He shook you gently and watched as you stirred. Groaning in your sleep, your eyes groggily fluttered open, you brought your hand up to rub the sleep haze out of your vision, only to realize you were in the grasp of somebody else. You let out a startled squeak and sent your hands flying out in front of you to push the person off, then you were reminded how exhausted your body was, as even that small motion brought pain bursting through your fingertips.

“Whoah- whoah it's okay- y/n it's me, it's me- I’m not going to hurt you- you're okay-” he stammered out soothing words, and one of his hands immediately went out to grasp your own, holding them still. He wasn't worried about you hurting him, you probably couldn't even if you wanted to, he was worried about you hurting yourself. Upon realizing that it was your best friend, and not an intruder aiming to do horrible things, you relaxed in his arms, finding comfort in physical touch for the first time in months. God you missed this, more than anything.

“Why didn't you tell me you were coming around? I would've cleaned up,” you spoke, your voice hoarse and raspy, almost like you hadn't been using it that often. You met his gaze, and he stared back with this sympathetic look you had grown to know so well, immediately your eyes found the floor, embarrassed. You knew that it meant he was going to lecture you about something, and you could predict the words that would come out of his mouth before he even spoke.

“I figured it would be alright if I came in like I usually did… Y/n we need to talk- are you okay? This-this is bad, worse than last time- I told you to call me if you were feeling like this anymore, I know how you get.” he lectured with that mother hen tone he always had with you, aizawa was always so caring, so soft. Not to anybody other than you, but that's how you knew him. With his words, you found your lip wobbling, and little tears pooling in your eyes. You didn't know how to tell him anything when he was making that face at you, the pity stare, so you buried your head further into his shoulder and spoke.

“I just- I thought you would get mad at me- I was doing so good last time and I just went back and made it all I jus-” You stammered out, tears now streaming down your cheeks and onto his shirt, around halfway through your voice broke into a sob. You knew that he would have to come some time or another but you hadn't expected your emotions to just flow out entirely like this. Little sobs left your mouth to the point that you couldn't keep speaking, he rubbed circles into your lower back, bouncing up and down a little to calm you, or at least try.

“I would never- NEVER. Baby you can't live like this, I can't let you live like this.” He pulled your head from the nook in his shoulder, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I know. I just- I just didn't know how to fix it- and I didn't want to make you upset so I just let it- Don't be mad- please” You couldn't even control what you were saying anymore, your words just flew out o your mouth faster than you could think of them.

“It's okay- I’m here now. You won't have to worry anymore okay? I'll make it better, I'll help you get through this. You're alright.” He confirmed, all he wanted to do right now was make you feel okay, as you didn't. He wouldnt leave you alone again, he wouldnt dare. You've never scared him like this, it's never been this bad. Hell take of you, he has to now.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, you crying into his shoulder, and him rubbing your back and holding you close. After a minute or two he set you on the ground, keeping a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door. You followed blindly, too caught up in your crying to care about where your feet were taking you. You leaned into him naturally, clutching him close.

The trek down the hallway was slow and painstakingly quiet, by the time you reached the stairs he had you in his arms again. You were barefoot, and the last thing he wanted was for you to nick your foot on anything in the carpet, especially when you were so fragile, so frail. He wouldnt let anything hurt you now, not even the carpet.

You were his responsibility now, fully his responsibility. Seeing how you are right now, how unstable, how fragile, he HAS to protect you, he just can't let you hurt like this. Such a sweet girl in such a large amount of pain, it almost makes him angry. Not at you, at the world for doing this to you.

He will protect you now

He has to

"so- um. Ya like jazz?" you let out a sad giggle through your tears, and he smirked. you weren't used to being so serious with him.

---

It took you a very long time to stop your crying, long enough that you had gotten into his car with him, and he began to drive. Where? You had no clue, but you knew he would only mean the best for you. The entire time he was comforting you in the car, when he wasn't sending worried glances he was giving you words of encouragement.

You didn't know what to say anymore, you and Aizawa have been close for quite some time, and naturally as a teacher he cared for you like one of his students, you were close in age, a little bit older than the kids he cared for. He has seen you at your lowest lows… clearly… but you don't think he's ever seen you this bad before, you honestly don't think you've seen yourself this bad before.

All you wanted to do was prove to yourself that you could handle this like an adult, that's why you never called or reached out, you just wanted to feel mature enough to handle your own issues. Without somebody forcing you to handle them.

“I am sorry- I didn't mean to scare you I know it's worse than last time- I can take care of myself I swear, you don't have to do anything” You muttered, bringing your knees up to your chest in the leather seat, usually Aizawa would lecture you if you did this because he always said it was “unsafe”, he didn't say anything this time. Right now you just felt embarrassed, you had just collapsed on him entirely.

“Don't apologize, it isn't your fault. You're gonna be okay, ill make sure.” his words were blunt (as usual, but more comforting than anything else he has ever said to you before, he made it sound more like a promise than a statement. He reached over and placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze before returning to his normal driving. The atmosphere remained comfortably quiet for a few more moments before you decided to speak again.

“so.. . where are we going?” You asked, hoping it was someplace nice, away from all your responsibilities. you weren't opposed to going to his house, but you knew that if you did, you would cave in even more. Meaning your independence would revert to how it was.

“Home. “

—————————————

I’m back lol. It’s been a while so I hope this was good, I have felt with some mental instability in the past so o tried to use my knowledge from my own personal expierience here, don’t come for me if it doesn’t fit your own.

Tysm for requesting! I’m so excited to start writing again. Love you all! And have a great day!

Bye!

[jay7543]

therapist!reader and client!Konig??? I think it would just be so wholesome.

You and your therapist könig

M4m

18+

I like this idea a lot, does seem really wholesome. Won’t have many smut aspects but it will be a bit spicy but it will be fairly short, at least compared to my other stuff. I hope you enjoy!

This one does get in the feels a bit, so be ready for that.

Also, after writing this, I have realized i flipped the roles, I hope that doesn’t bother you too much, message me if you want them normal like you said. Or I might just do it anyway. I am truly sorry for the inconvenience

Feel free to make requests

Let’s be honest, you’ve had problems for a while. From depression and anxiety to worries about your sexuality. You also never thought a therapist would be a good idea. It was expensive and you were brought up thinking your problems were your own, not anyone else’s to deal with. After years of bullshit and deliberation, and a recommendation from a friend, you got a therapist. You’ve been seeing him for a few weeks now, not delving too deep into your problems but getting comfortable with him, it helps that he’s your age. He is foreign though, which is a bit odd to you, his name is könig, he’s an amazing listener and very considerate, at least after you got over how tall he was, and how handsome he was.

You’re now outside of his office, ready for your fourth session, preparing to talk about some real problems. You knock on the door.

König-“komm”

You assume he told you to come in. You like it when he speaks German a bit, but you still don’t understand it. You open the door with a weak smile and close it behind you.

Reader-“h-hey doc”

You say nervously, waking over to the seat next to him that you usually spend most of your time.

König-“ah, hello maus. How have you been since our last session”

You blush a bit when he called you maus, it always makes you feel so cute.

Reader-“I-I’ve been ok I guess. You?”

König-“I’ve been good. In fact I’ve been looking forward to this session. I think I’m finally getting somewhat of a read on you.”

He says with a smile. So warm and welcoming.

Reader-“well I….i wanted to actually bring up some real problems this time. I-I might get a bit emotional though, I-i tend to”

König leans forward in his seat, now taking your words much more seriously. He’s been waiting for this.

König-“go ahead. I’m willing to listen to whatever you have to say, and I don’t mind the emotions, I welcome it in fact”

You take a few deep breaths to hype yourself up before finally speaking

Reader-“well, one of my biggest problems is my self image, I feel like I’m not pretty or handsome enough you know”

You look down and play with your fingers for a minute, trying to get the nerves to go away. König just nods and writes in his notes, waiting for you to continue

Reader-“I uh, I also have trouble with my sexuality”

König’s eyes shoot back up at you, he wasn’t exactly expecting it but it’s a very welcome surprise.

Reader-“I’m bisexual but I’ve never really been in a relationship, I’ve also always been scared to tell people that. And it all kinda wraps around to the self image thing”

You both sit quietly for a minute, him taking your words in and thinking of how to respond, you waiting for him too.

König-“well, a very important question is where do you think those problems stem from, it’s very important to know that”

You think for a second and try to figure out a moment or moments that caused it

Reader-“how my parents were when I was younger I guess. They weren’t hateful or homophobic or anything, just….they didn’t make me feel like I could trust them. Made me feel like I wasn’t allowed to mess up, or do something they might not like”

König-“that’s understandable, a lot of problems stem from how parents have treated their children. A lot of parents don’t even realize that they’re doing it. Or how much they’re affecting their child.”

He says in a very soft tone, leaning in a bit closer, attempting to comfort you in some way. You nod

Reader-“yeah, I just…I don’t know”

You start to get a bit choked up, thinking about how you were as a kid, how carefree you were, how innocent you were. Then how you are now, how sad you are, the things you feel like you’re missing out on. It all comes out in a stream of tears.

König-“it-it’s ok to cry. Don’t feel bad”

He leans in and hugs you softly, and you latch into him like he’s the only one who’s shown you this kind of kindness. You’ve just barely opened up and you’re already crying, you feel pathetic, but he helps to get rid of those thoughts.

Reader-“I just feel broken. Like I can’t be me. Like I’m not good enough”

You cry into his shoulder, letting out all of those feelings of inadequacy. He leans in and whispers.

König-“none of that is true maus. I haven’t known you for long but you seem very nice, and considerate of others. You’re not broken, you can be you. You are good enough”

These words make you cry more. They’re the nicest things you’ve ever heard. And after he says them he leans in and kisses your forehead, which is more than a therapist should but…you like it, he makes you feel cared about.

König-“you’re very pretty, or handsome, or whatever word you want to use. You’re enough how you are, and I’ll be here to help you realize that”

Reader-“th-thank you”

You stammer out through your sniffles and tears. He hold you close, rubbing your hair and giving you soft kisses every now and then, until the end of the session. He cares…he’s the first one….he really cares.

[libraryofneith]

Hiding Place (Frankie Morales x GN! Reader)

Summary: a reunion between you and the guys goes south when you have a panic attack, but your friend Frankie is there for you

Tags: frankie morales x gender neutral! reader, platonic relationship between frankie and reader but it could be read romantically, hurt/comfort, fluff, wholesome

Warnings: PTSD, panic attacks, bullet wounds, very mild cussing

This was written for @punkshort AU August Writing Challenge! Thanks for this prompt, it was so much fun! Be sure to check out my joel miller x reader fic Out of Mind.

A champagne cork.

Or rather, a sparkling cider cork.

That was what started it.

It had flown off the bottle with a pop and gone whizzing past your ear as you were cleaning dishes. You'd tried to laugh it off with the others. It was just a stupid accident. Everyone was there to celebrate Benny winning one of the biggest fights of his life and you weren't going to spoil everything with another one of your stupid panic attacks. But the pop and the feeling of the cork flying past you had made time stand still.

Suddenly you weren't in Will's kitchen anymore; you were in a trench, a rifle in your hands, trying to find a fix on your target as bullets fired around you. Your hand went to your shoulder as if it had a mind of its own, grazing over the point where a bullet had shot through five years ago. It was throbbing as if it had only been five minutes ago. You could hear a voice far off. It sounded like it was a million miles away, barely getting through over the pounding in your ears.

"You ok?" You jumped. Frankie was standing beside you looking concerned. When did he get here?

"Yeah, fine. Just gotta take a leak." You pushed past him into the hallway, completely blundering past the bathroom.

Fuck fuck. Where were you? What were you doing? Your chest felt like it was tying itself in knots. You couldn't breathe. You blindly grasped a door handle and stumbled into what you realised too late was Willy's bedroom. As if the flashbacks weren't bad enough now you had to deal with the anxiety of going into someone's room without their permission. But you couldn't deal with that now. Alone, desperate and completely out of breath, you did the only thing you knew you make you feel better.

---

Frankie closed the bathroom door. Nope, not in there. There were three other doors on that floor - one opened to a study, one to a cupboard, and the third a bedroom. It seemed empty but he had this strange feeling of being watched, like someone else was waiting to exhale.

"Hello?" No answer. "You in here?"

"Down here." The voice came from underneath the bed.

"You ok?"

"Yeah."

"Is that why you're under a bed?"

"I… I just… It was just too much."

"Ok, I get it." He paused. He didn't want to intrude but he didn't feel he could leave it like that. "You want some company?" There was a lengthy silence before you replied: "Alright."

He shuffled while you scooched until you were lying side by side staring up at the graying mattress poking through the timber slides. It was a while before he plucked up the courage to break the silence.

"This takes me back."

You snorted. Depressing as it was, you'd spent more than one occasion huddled in a bunker or trench together avoiding bullets, drones or bombs.

"Everyone Ok out there?"

"They're fine, just worried about you." You groaned.

"Now I feel bad, I didn't want to make a whole thing out of it."

"No one holds it against you, we all have… stuff." Stuff. That was one way to put it. You started absentmindedly rubbing the bullet hole on your shoulder again.

"Still hurt?" Your hand flew back to your side.

"Sometimes, when I have these… episodes. Therapist tells me it's not actually the wound, just the trauma."

"Is there a difference?" You shrugged then winced. It was weird, sometimes you hardly felt it, sometimes - like today - it felt so painful you could hardly think straight.

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you."

"It's OK, you had your own stuff to deal with."

"By stuff, you mean a pile of snow?" You weren't looking at him but you could still hear the self-loathing in his voice.

"Christ Frankie you know I don't blame you for that. After I got shot, I couldn't sleep without polishing off a bottle of whisky."

"You had a good reason."

"And you didn't?" you said, turning to look at him. It was dark under that bed but you could see those big brown eyes filled with regret.

"Not the same." Maybe not but Frankie still had wounds that couldn't be seen on his body. "I know after I just… disappeared."

"You were there when it mattered." You meant that in more ways than one. He'd been the one who dragged you back to his chopper, you screaming with every inch, him muttering "you're gonna make it, you're gonna make it" over and over. After, Pope told you he'd flown like a bat outta hell while you drifted in and out of consciousness. Everyone agreed that if anyone else had been the pilot on that mission, you'd have bled out before you got back to base. Not that it made a difference to Frankie. Something had changed in him after that. Then came the suspension for drug abuse and after that you both felt like animals used up then put out to pasture.

Your hand found his in the dark. He glanced down in surprise. You had always been close, the others always called him your work husband, only partly joking, and there had been times when it felt as though there was… something, like a line neither of you were daring to cross. But that had been a long time ago. You had lost touch after you came home and now he had a wife and a baby on the way and you had… your therapist? You didn't mind, honestly. Just, right now you needed him, his presence, his touch. Neither of you made any other movement. You just lay there under the bed, side by side, fingers interlocking.

"Hey if you assholes are fucking you can use someone else's goddamn bedroom" Will called out, having finally found you both.

"Fuck you William" you responded.

"What're you doing under the bed?"

"Hiding from you" Frankie replied. "Now piss off."

"Fine, not like it's my fucking house or anything." He slinked off muttering.

"We should probably head back out there." You started to crawl out but you were stopped by Frankie's hand on your shoulder.

"Can we… can we not?" You gave him a long look, then nestled back in next to him.

"Ok, whenever you're ready."

"What if I'm never ready?"

"You bring a book?" You both snorted. "But seriously, we can't stay here forever. You least of all, you have a life."

"And you don't?" You resisted the urge to face him.

"Honestly, not really. Maybe I should get one." Frankie didn't seem to have any response to that, so you lay next to each other in silence, counting the boards on the mattress frame. Finally, you asked, "do you think it's gonna be a boy or girl."

"No clue. We wanted to be surprised." At length, he added "hope it's a girl."

"Why?"

"Less chance it'll turn out like me."

"Would that be so bad?"

"You tell me." You found his hand and squeezed.

"I hope it's like you. World needs more Catfish Moraleses." His expression was inscrutable, until his voice finally husked out with all the fear, heartbreak and salvation of the past years,

"I really fucking missed you."

[lyn-1225]

Tough days

Pairing: Carl Gallagher x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, depression, self harm, anxiety (a little bit), blood, panic attack, sexual reference. I think that’s about it.

Word count: 2000-3000

A/n: I’ve been absolutely obsessed with shameless lately and Carl is my favorite by far. Of course I had to stay up till 2 AM to write this. I’m currently working on a request sent but if you have a request please don’t hesitate to let me know :) enjoy my bad writing.

⚠️ if you are sensitive to topics of mental health please don’t read this. Your safety and mental health is a top priority. ⚠️

This gif of Carl makes me want to scream 😆

——————————————————————

Your POV:

It was known that life wasn’t fair.

It never was and it never would be.

It seemed like I could never catch a break.

Once life actually seemed good, something would come and fuck it up.

This time depression decided to fuck it up.

I’ve always suffered with it, but this time it was different. It was always manageable and short before but now, it was longer and harder to deal with.

The overwhelming fear that I wasn’t good enough and that everyone around me hated me was way stronger than it’s ever been.

Normally reading, writing, painting, or listening to music would help but I was too in my head this time.

I couldn’t get out.

Thought after thought filled my head as I held the small cold razor in my right hand.

It wasn’t the first time unfortunately.

It was some sort of relief. At the time that is.

Small droplets of blood run down my left forearm, the pain allowing for a small relief that I’ve been needing.

That relief is short lived when the thoughts come swarming back to my head.

Oh no not again.

No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t manage to get rid of the nasty thoughts.

Just one more.

One turned into two which then turned into three.

At that point I gave up. Not on life but on that form of relief.

It was only harming me not helping me.

I stand up from the toilet seat washing off the razor and my arm being careful of the fresh cuts.

The sting makes me wince as the water runs over my skin.

I turn the water off heading back to my room to change and hide the razor.

Spotting a grey long sleeve shirt I swap it out for my current t- shirt. Finding a pair of black, pink sweatpants I put them on taking my shorts off beforehand.

The heat from the shirt and pants envelops me making me feel happy.

I was no longer cold due to the weather that somehow only happens at night around here.

Lately things at home haven’t been the best. My parents are almost never home anymore. They never really cared about me in the first place.

I pick up my phone checking the time that shows up in big font.

11:43 PM.

My mind still runs as I check my recent notifications hoping and praying that Carl texted.

He didn’t.

Carl and I have been best friends for years. We met in school of course.

To be honest I have no idea why he wanted to be friends with me. I’m the complete opposite of him.

He doesn’t seem to care though.

Yes he does he thinks you’re annoying that mean voice in my head sneers.

That’s not true.. right?

Those thoughts plague my mind sending me into a whirlwind of emotions. How pathetic am I to be easily persuaded by a single thought in my head?

The panic in my chest starts to rise signaling the worst thing that could be happening right now.

Fuck.

Immediately I find Carl’s contact, pressing the call button.

Placing the phone to my ear with a shaky hand, I try to take deep breaths.

After the fourth ring he picks up.

“Hello?” He says in a groggy voice.

Shit. I woke him up.

“Hi um” I start before stopping my sentence as I feel a lump form in my throat.

“Hey you okay?” Carl asks on the other side picking up on my hesitation.

“I um. I-is it okay if I um. Come over” I stutter pinching my eyes together trying not to break down.

“Yeah of course, I’ll wait for you outside” he says, shuffling being heard from his side of the phone.

“T-thank you” I say starting to head for my front door.

“I’ll be here” he reassures before hanging up.

I place my phone in my pocket opening the front door. Shutting the door behind me I start for the Gallagher house.

It’s probably a good thing I live a few houses down from him.

The dark cold outside fills around me. The cold somehow creeping through my warm clothes.

Walking fast down the sidewalk, the panic in my chest starts to worsen making my head fog up and my heart rate pick up.

Carls figure appears a few houses away. His body sitting on the steps to his house as he looks out at the road the street light illuminating his face just the right way.

Without even realizing it my pace quickens hoping that I wouldn’t start breaking down in the middle of the neighborhood.

As I get closer and closer the tightness in my lungs starts making it harder for me to breathe.

Shit.

Tears sting my eyes when I reach his calm yet slightly worried appearance.

He immediately gets up noticing me standing in front of him.

Without a word he leads me up the stairs and into his warm and cozy home.

Home.

This felt like home.

The tears in my eyes start to fall as the panic attack starts to take control. Normally I’d be able to stop an upcoming attack before it starts but this one was way to strong.

“Shit y/n” Carl whispers shocked at my sudden emotions. He quickly pulls my body towards the couch as tears run down my cheeks.

It was embarrassing to have him see me like this. Even though we’ve been friends for years, I’ve never been the type to express my feelings openly. I’ve never cried in front of him before.

There’s a first for everything right?

He holds my face in his hands, worry lacing over his beautiful features.

Sobs rack through my body as it gets harder and harder to breathe.

“I can’t b-breathe” I hiccup placing a shaky hand on my rapidly beating heart.

Fear starts to push into my mind.

Not the typical fears.

The tightness in my chest and the lack of air going into my lungs was starting to scare me.

Was I dying?

“Look at me” Carl says trying to get my focus on him. His hand taps my leg enough to get my attention but not enough to scare me.

Everything around me starts to spin making it extremely difficult to focus.

“Y/n look at me” he tries again this time moving my head in his direction griping my chin slightly.

My eyes lock with his, my entire body feeling like it’s gonna give out any second. “Follow my breathing” he says moving my hands to his stomach so that I could feel the rhythm of his breathing.

The rise and fall of his stomach underneath my hands calms me the slightest bit. It’s not enough to stop my internal and external freak out though.

He takes a few deep breaths keeping his hands on mine. His eyes hold contact with mine the entire time. Not in a creepy way of course but more in a concerned way.

Inhale

Exhale

I try to do what he’s doing, failing a few times.

Inhale

Exhale

My heart beats a mile per minute, my mind still racing.

Inhale

Exhale

My breathing starts to get better as I follow his lead.

Inhale

Exhale

I open my eyes for what felt like the first time. No more cloudy eyes filled with tears.

Inhale

Exhale

My heart beat starts to slow down the more I match my breathing.

Inhale

Exhale

The panic attack comes to a slow close, my body feeling drained of any stamina it originally had.

That was the worst panic attack I’ve ever had.

“Good” Carl comments making it known to me that he’s relieved that I’m no longer freaking out. Squeezing my hands in his slowly taking them away from his stomach he gives me a small yet sad smile.

I could tell he wanted to ask me about it but I know he didn’t want to push. Considering the fact that this was the first time I’ve cried in front of him, he was smart enough to know that I wouldn’t immediately talk about it.

My mind starts to clear giving me that much needed silence in my head. The silence I only seem to get with him.

I bow my head a few stray tears falling from my eyes.

“I’m sorry” I whisper, the embarrassment starting to show through.

Everything I’ve bottled up has presented itself to the one person I didn’t think would be there to see it.

“Hey, hey” he says lifting my head wiping the tears from my face.

“Don’t ever be sorry for something you can’t control” he frowned looking into my slightly glossy eyes.

His green eyes stare deeply into mine with an emotion I didn’t quite know. His face shows so many emotions that tell me exactly how he feels about the situation. He seems more shocked and worried than anything.

I nod my head silently saying okay even though I was gonna continue saying sorry even in times where I did nothing wrong. That’s just me though.

After a few seconds of us sitting in silence, he reaches over to the coffee table grabbing the remote before turning the tv on. He slightly lays down urging me to lay down as well.

Grateful that he decided to leave it, I lean down next to him making sure I don’t get in his way.

“Want to watch something specific?” He asks turning to me pointing the remote towards me.

“Um. I don’t know” I answer looking down at my arms. My left sleeve had risen to the point where the fresh cuts underneath where showing. I pull my sleeve further down my arm quickly enough to make sure Carl didn’t see.

I was to busy worrying about my sleeve that I didn’t notice the fact that Carl was starting at me the entire time. With him staring at me meant him also starting at my exposed arm.

I didn’t pull my sleeve down fast enough.

He saw my arm before I could even blink.

His expression changed when I turned back towards him. This time he was more sad and discouraged.

“Oh y/n/n” he sighed leaning up so that he was closer to me.

He takes my arms in his hands slowly lifting both my sleeves up.

The right arm only had a few scattered scars from a while ago, but the fresh cuts on my left arm show in full display, a few of them still slightly bleeding.

He runs the tips of his middle and pointer finger around the cuts focusing on the sight in front of him. The small action causes goosebumps to rise on my arms.

“Why?” He questions lightly going over the cuts now. He was hesitant when asking one of the questions that I’ve been dreading since my depression started.

I’ve been hiding my emotions and my thoughts for so long that everything that should be let out is bottling up in my mind.

I trusted Carl with everything in me. I’ve always been scared to share my thoughts in fear that no one would care or they’d say that I’m an attention seeker. All of this comes from past trauma that has kicked my ass in the past and still does now.

It was time for me to tell him. He’s come to me in the worst times of his life crying at my shoulder. It was time to allow myself to do the same.

“I needed a release” I start, clearing the silence in the air.

He looks up at me a mixture of surprise and sadness knowing that I was about to open up about everything going on.

“My mind won’t shut up. I have these overwhelming fears that everyone around me hates me. That you find me annoying. That I’m not good enough” I explain looking at him for his reaction.

“There’s a lot more shit that I still need to talk about but I think for right now this is a good start” I say showing a tight lipped smile.

His eyes soften at my explanation.

“I don’t find you annoying at all. You are the only person I like talking to other than my family” he says moving his hands back down to mine.

“Truth is. I’ve had a crush on you since we met. I just never had the guts to admit it” he says rubbing small circles into my hands.

Relief and delight fills my body at his sudden confession. Relief that he wasn’t judging me for my thoughts and delight because the crush I’ve had on him for years was reciprocated.

I smile at him squeezing his hand “I’ve had a crush on you too.”

A smile graces his face now at my confession. He wraps his arms around my upper body pulling me towards his chest.

I feel myself melt at his touch as the sensation of calm runs through my veins.

I wrap my arms around his neck, my head finding it way to his chest. Our heartbeats quickens a bit at the interaction.

He kisses the top of my head making sure that I know he’s sincere about his confession before pulling back from the embrace.

“Let’s get you cleaned up” he says standing up from the couch. He reaches his hand out to me wanting me to take it.

“Okay” I smile taking his hand, standing up with a little bit of his help.

My body is still shaky which means my legs feel like jelly underneath me. Exhaustion still evident within me.

He leads me to the kitchen taking his hand out from mine when we reach the counter top and the sink.

I clear a spot on the counter before I hop up on it, waving my legs back and forth like a child.

He grabs a cup filling it with water handing it to me.

“Drink this” he demands handing me the cup while trying to sound stern even though he’s gone soft for me.

“Don’t go acting all mean on me now” I chuckle taking a sip of the cool water.

“I’ll be back” he laughs shaking his head at my statement. He walks up the stairs and out of my sight leaving me to sit with my almost clear mind.

I take a few more sips of my drink as I wait for him to get back.

A few minutes later he walks back down the stairs holding a first aid kit.

“Sorry I took so long, I couldn’t find it at first. There’s so much shit in this house that everything I see is lost the next day” he snickers examining the box in his hands.

I laugh as he sets it on the counter to the left of my body. He opens the box searching through the contents to find the things he needed.

He grabs some ointment and some alcohol spray, placing them off to the side. He then grabs bandage wrap placing that to the side as well.

Walking over to the laundry he picks out a dish rag walking it back over to the sink. He runs the water over half the rag making sure that that water is rung out.

“Ready?” He asks moving to my left side.

“Your not doing surgery on me right?” I ask trying my best to sound concerned for my safety.

I laugh a little to try and lighten the mood considering the circumstances i got him involved in.

He laughs as well placing the cold wet rag on my forearm. Focusing on what he’s doing he gently runs the rag along my arm making sure to clean up any blood or dirt that has built up around the cuts.

The more he looks at it the more I can tell it’s starting to affect him. His once smiley face turned serious as time went on.

“Promise me you won’t do this again” he pleads taking his eyes off my arm. He looks up at me with pleading eyes.

“I promise” I say giving him a genuine reassuring look that both me and him need.

It’s hard to make a promise that you don’t know if you’ll keep, but I know that if I do break the promise he would understand. Of course I’m gonna do everything in my power to never do this again.

His eyes light up at my promise making him smile. Seeing him happy about my promise makes me even more determined to not break it.

Using the dry side of the rag he dries up my arm, placing the rag into the sink for someone else in the house to take care of it.

He grabs the spray from off the counter uncapping it and pointing it towards my arm.

“This is gonna sting” he says spraying it onto the fresh cuts. The stinging sensation flows through my arm making me wince slightly.

It wasn’t the worst pain in the world but you could definitely feel it.

He quickly finished up with the spray giving me a sympathetic look as he caps the spray and puts it back onto the counter.

He looks back down at my arm grabbing the ointment unscrewing the lid.

He applies small amounts on my arm before rubbing it over the cuts with a gentle touch I never thought he’d have.

That alone makes my heart flutter.

I stare at him with loving eyes as he cleans his fingers off and grabs the bandage wrap. He starts to wrap my arm with the bandage making sure that it’s tight enough that It won’t fall off but not tight enough for it to cut off my circulation.

“There, all done” he smiles placing everything back into the kit shutting it closed.

I smile before looking down at my bandage wrapped arm. The white wrap goes around almost my entire forearm. The sight makes it look like I belong in a psych ward.

That thought makes me frown knowing what I did to myself.

I didn’t deserve that.

He didn’t deserve that.

“Hey” Carl says gaining my attention. I look up in his direction as he moves in between my legs.

“It’s okay” he says placing his hands on my hips. He looks at me with soft eyes.

The tears in my eyes start to fall down my face again. I quickly wipe them away trying to make it seem like I wasn’t just crying in front of him.

Carl takes my face in his hands rubbing my cheeks with each of his thumbs. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t open up to me” he says keeping his eyes trained on mine.

“I know you don’t like talking about your feelings but it’s obvious whatever’s going on is hurting you. I don’t want you feeling hurt” he whispers the last part tears of his own starting to form.

“Carl please don’t cry” I say lifting my hands to his face so that I could wipe underneath his eyes. He moves his hands from my face down to my hips again lightly squeezing the fat that is there.

“Things at home haven’t been the greatest” I start about to tell my whole life story to him.

He stares at me intently urging me to continue my words as he rubs my hip bones with his thumbs.

“My parents were never around. I practically raised myself my entire life. Anytime they were home they would constantly yell at each other” I say looking at him then looking around the room.

“I’ve been dealing with depression and anxiety ever since I was 9 or 10” I confess. His eyebrows furrow at the age I said. That was a year or so before me and him met.

“It hasn’t been to bad to deal with. I can deal with it on my own, but this time it was worse” I bow my head feeling slightly ashamed at the fact that I couldn’t control it.

“I didn’t think I could go through this one alone so I came here” i finish as I look around the house. The safe proximity helping me feel okay.

I look back to him waiting to hear a response. He looks at me with big eyes and a small sad smile.

Out of nowhere he leans his head forward capturing my lips in a passionate and sweet kiss.

The kiss is soft and filled with the emotions running through his head.

My stomach explodes with butterflies, our lips move in sync with each other.

He keeps his hands on my hips this time squeezing them a little bit more than before.

A little out of breath we pull away our foreheads leaning against each other.

“Im so sorry if I gave you a reason to not trust me with everything you’ve gone through” he whispers to me touching his nose to mine.

“Carl” I start looking into his eyes. “Please don’t let yourself think that I don’t trust you. I trust you more than I trust anyone else in my life” I say.

“From now on I will talk to you anytime something happens. I won’t bottle things up anymore” I promise him taking my forehead away from his.

He smiles at me before wrapping his arms around my shoulders while mine wrap around his waist.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to kiss you” he chuckles resting his head on top of mine.

“Trust me. Me too” I smile leaning my head up to kiss the side of his jaw. He looks down at me a huge smile crossing his face.

“This definitely isn’t the right time but is it wrong for me to say that you kissing my jaw is a huge turn on” he says pulling away from our hug.

“Oh really” I smirk purposefully moving my hands to his waist so that I could pull him closer.

“Want me to prove it” he asks maneuvering his hands along my thighs dangerously close to where he wanted to be the most.

I would be lying if I said this wasn’t turning me on as well but instead of giving in I decided to be a tease.

“Nah I’m good thanks though” I say nonchalantly jumping down from the counter grabbing my glass that previously had water in it.

“You son of a bitch” Carl says looking at me as if I spit at him. Putting my glass under the faucet I turn it on filling the glass back up with water.

I point my left middle finger at him while I take a large sip of the water.

He looks at me in disbelief his eyes slightly wide.

I’ve never been like this before but I guess now I’m gonna show every part of me that he never knew.

“So that’s how you want to play huh?” He asks moving closer to me. He has a smug look on his face like he’s about to pounce at any moment.

“Don’t you dare” I say placing my glass down before backing away from him slowly.

He continues moving forward trapping me in the corner of the sink and the refrigerator.

Suddenly running towards me he picks me up making me squeal.

I wrap my legs around his waist while my arms wrap around his neck trying to make sure I don’t fall.

He laughs placing his hands around my back. He spins me around in a circle keeping a strong grip around me.

“I like this position” he comments earning a slap to the side of the head from me. “Stop it” I laugh wrapping my arms around his neck again.

He walks us to the living room lightly throwing me down onto the couch before landing on top of me.

He leans up to place a short kiss to my lips before turning the tv back on to a random channel.

He switches through a few channels before giving up. There wasn’t anything good on since it was practically the middle of the night.

It was some sort of animal channel but we didn’t care.

We only cared about each other.

He cuddled up to my chest pulling my sleeves back down my arms to my hands knowing it was annoying me.

I play with his hair as both of us start to loose touch of reality and start to blink back sleep.

Tonight’s actions run through my head one last time before I fall asleep with him cuddled up to me.

I hope every day includes special moments like what we had tonight.

——————————————————————

A/n: Every imagine I see they say Carl has blue eyes. When I looked it up on google it said that he had green eyes. So that’s what I went with. Hope you liked the imagine :) I had a great time writing it.

[adventuringblind]

Drive With You Forever

Chapter eight: somethings missing

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x Reader

Chapter summary: the group deals with Daniel and his antics, max and Charles fight for the championship, reader is actively fighting her car.

Warnings: hospitals, drugging, talks of infertility, no consent medical procedures, anxiety, talks of abuse, mentions of depression, sexual innuendo

Notes: this one was hard to write tbh. There was just a lot going on. Also I feel like I’m getting bolder. I blame it on the face I’ve been on A03 a lot the last week.

Previous <-

7.5 <-

Masterlist

Moving day could not come fast enough.

Turns out Daniel is more perverted than they expected. They found him spying on them multiple times.

Mostly just enough for stolen kisses. Once on them doing things when they thought he was gone for the night. Turns out he lied.

That being said, he is a caring friend and made safety the number one concern. None of them posted anything about where they were. Daniel never had anyone over. He checked his locks and windows multiple times before bed just to help them sleep.

It was a relief to finally have their own space again. More space compared to the original apartment. Dating a world champion definitely has its perks.

The security is much better here also. More cameras around the outside. Not being able to come up unless personally invited and cleared with the front desk of the building.

They felt themselves being able to relax. Something they drastically needed before the start of the season.

~

The 2022 season came around fast. Already two races in and redbull was ready to dominate.

Much to Charles misfortune.

They didn't have hard feelings about anything, though. They all celebrated each others highs and consoled in the lows. The rest of the grid wondered how they managed.

Unless, of course, it's Daniel who knows exactly how they manage given the Brit slipped about his phone password and never changed it.

The third race of the season had just concluded. It's her first, Charles second, and Max third. Not exactly sure how she managed to get up there, but she didn't care.

As celebrations ended, she found herself going back to her room to get ready for the press conference. Occasionally, being stopped by fans on her way.

Charles spots her and is jogging in her direction. "Off to get the champagne out of your hair, I assume?"

"Correct. I'm leaving it everywhere else, though, for later." She winks. Her confidence had been getting better lately. The boys doing their best to help her come out of her shell. It also helps when the hate and nasty comments get to much for her. They make sure to stick her back together.

Her and Charles take a corner, and every sound goes underwater. It didn't matter that it had been six years since she'd seen him, her father looked exactly the same as the day she left.

Air left her lungs. Her hands shakily fumble for anything to help hold her up. Grateful that Charles is there to help her stay on her feet.

He's wearing a plain T-shirt and jeans. His face has more wrinkles now. He looks more built than she last remembers, yet he remains the same.

"Chéri? What's wrong?" Charles is scanning over her body and trying to follow her gaze. His eyes land on the figure moving towards them.

Then she's running with Charles in tow. The Monegasque is trying to put pieces together, but nothing comes to mind. That wasn't the man who'd given them the box. Was it..? No way. He absolutely refuses to believe her father had managed his way here.

"I need to know what's going on so I can help." He cradles the girls face. Her eyes are distant and moving rapidly to assess her surroundings.

"It's him- need Seb." She pants. Her words mildly slurred from her body's current lack of control.

Charles’ plan to text them is foiled by the figure - her father - now coming around the corner. Heading straight for them at a rapid pace.

Charles knows he's not going to get anywhere fast enough, and he'll just follow anyway. Instead, he takes the girl and tucks her protectively behind him.

Charles feels himself recoil in disgust. The entirety of this man drips unpleasant things. He tries to put up a brave front as he feels the girl behind him shaking like a leaf.

"Do you need something?"

"I actually want a picture, with just y/n if you don't mind." The man's voice is coarse and unpleasant to listen to.

"We're actually on our way to a press conference, but possibly later." Charles smiles unwillingly. Hopefully, playing along with whatever this game is will get him to go away.

Charles is taken off guard when he's shoved abruptly aside. He curses himself for trying to look relaxed, letting himself be moved so easily.

He tries to pull her away by her shoulder. Force her to keep walking until someone can help them. But she's frozen in place. The proximity of her father and his disgusting hands on her biceps makes Charles broil with anger.

Charles makes a move to get in between them, but he's too late.

A hand has left her arm and into his pocket. A blunt needle comes back at her so fast that even as Charles pulls her, it still makes contact. The contents spilling into her.

It is cold and unpleasant, and she hates it. Her father is just laughing as Charles drags her to safety. "You should have come home! Now you'll have to come back.”

Charles tries to hold the needle where it lands until he can pull it out. The awkward angle it entered below her collar bone makes if difficult.

Her body is failing. She wants to blame it on shock, but this feels different. The energy she's gotten good at controlling now surges with a lack of purpose and a heap of vengeance.

Charles can feel her skin heating up as he drags her to the redbull motor home.

He's thankful when he spots Christian and yells out to him. The team principle is volting to his side when he sees the female driver unresponsive.

"What happened?"

"It's a lot to explain. We need to get her somewhere safe, and then I need to find Sébastien." It's a demand and he's thankful Christian can tell he is trying to figure things out.

They successfully get her into her small driver room. Then he's calling Seb and texting their group chat.

When he receives confirmation that they are on their way, he turns his attention to the comically large needle stuck in his lover.

"Somone came at us while we were walking. I tried to pull her out of the way, but it didn't matter. He was too close." Charles is on the brink of tears now and Christian can see it.

The older man does his best to slide the needle out, wrap it in a towel, and throw it away.

Max and Lando come barreling through the door seconds later. Terror hitting both their faces as they set eyes on their sick looking lover.

She's lost color in her face, she's sweating more now then when she races on a blistering hit day, her body temperature is burning, and her eyes are rolling into the back of her head.

Seb also runs through the door and halts in his tracks. "Was it... was it him?"

Charles just shakes his head. Then Christian is yanked outside the room by Seb. The door clicking behind them.

All three of them get to work trying to soothe her. Max starts running a cold shower to bring her body temp down. Charles is patching the hole in her collar bone, and Lando is perched right next to her, talking and running his fingers in patterns despite the burn.

It doesn't matter, though. She isn't waking up.

~

They end up taking her to the hospital. Praying they don't take her away from them if they find something unusual.

She's woken up a few times, but her panic just made the doctors put her back under. They said she was drugged, and they needed to flush her system. Again, they hoped it stayed that way.

The press conference didn't happen. Neither did any other media, for that matter. The paddock was closed down due to the security issue.

Seb had done his best to explain to Christian that her father is a madman and had made threats but now was acting on them. The team principle is now working with security to try and figure out how to keep him away.

The boys left the room in shifts. Usually having to send a runner to go get essential items for survival.

They watched over her with vigor. Trapped in the ICU for three days. Only leaving when they were forced out by the nurses for the night.

Max was the one to greet her when she woke up. His fingers thread through her hair in hopes of keeping her from thrashing and trying to get out.

It worked.

"I feel awful." She rasps. Her throat is dry from lack of use and lack of liquids. She lets Max's piercing value eyes ground her as she gets her bearings. "Why am I-"

"It doesn't matter right now. You're alive, and that's what counts." Max brings her knuckles up to his lips, placing a soft kiss against them.

Now that she's awake, Seb forced the boys to take proper showers and eat a real meal. Claiming that she's going to need them at their best.

Hanna stays with her while they are gone. Something she didn't know would be best until a female doctor came in with unexpected news.

"Have you ever had a menstrual cycle before?" She asks carefully.

The girls eyes dart between Hanna and the doctor. "I'm not sure, actually. I've never bled before if that's what you mean."

The doctor sighed sympatheticly. "While we were running some tests, we did an ultrasound. We wanted to make sure you weren't pregnant, and we needed to also treat the baby just in case. We found that your uterus and ovaries have been removed."

The girl looks at Hanna. The older woman is on the brink of tears. "Thank you." She says. "Can you give us a moment please?"

The doctor nods her head politely then leaves the two alone.

"I'm confused. What does that - Can I not -"

Hanna shakes her head. The only confirmation she needed. Then she's mourning something she didn't even know she lost until now. Something she didn't even know she wanted.

Her father had put her through a lot as a child. She was drugged and unconscious for weeks sometimes.

Another thing he stole from her.

~

Seb is comforting an emotional Hanna when the trio returns. All of them are frantic now. Desperate to get into the room.

Seb stops them before they can get there. "Be gentle with her." Is all he says before letting them in.

She looks like she's not in her body anymore. Like her mind is in another place.

All of them file on around her. Max and Charles are taking the chairs, and Lando slides himself onto the end of the bed with her.

"He took something else." She stared at the wall. Lando touches her arm but gets no reaction. “My reproductive organs are gone.”

Their faces are shocked. Her period isn't something she brought up. They just assumed she's private about it or it's irregular because of everything she's been through. Now, it makes sense. Why she's never run out of hygiene products and why she never complains of cramps in her lower abdomen.

They don't mourn for her, but with her.

"It doesn't change the fact that we love you."

~

Going home felt scary. Like somehow he would be there waiting to snatch her up.

Max is hyper aware of everything. Charles is attempting to hold off any media that wants the story. Lando is dutifully keeping phones away from all of them. Then there's her, sitting, breathing, wondering if she deserves to be here with them still.

The bed is her new home. She spends her days recovering there. Everyone else is bustling about as she waits for the hours to slink by.

Max is the first to drag her out of bed. Well, not drag, more like man handle. He picks her up out of the comically large mattress and tosses her over the laps of the two boys on the couch.

She doesn't protest. Even as Max slides himself under her to join them.

"It's movie night and your turn to pick."

"Didn't I pick last week?"

"... we skipped three weeks to make it your turn again."

The boys shake their heads at Landos' poor excuse. It's a miracle they managed to come out to the world on their own.

They don't end up watching a movie. Instead, they just talk. The four cuddled up on the couch together. The comfortable atmosphere making her nerves settle.

And she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she can make it through.

~

The next race comes around far too quickly. She's not fully recovered, but she knows she wants to race.

Christian takes his time with her. He doesn't know everything, but he knows enough. He made sure to tell her that her health and safety is their number one concern.

She convinces him that she's fine.

The weekend goes smoothly until Q3 of qualifying. The car decides to not stear as she tries to take a corner during a flying lap, sending her straight into the wall.

Nobody understands what happened. She had seen it coming and tried to adjust, but nothing helped. She felt useless.

All these times, she could have prevented these terrible outcomes, and yet it feels as though something is actively working against her.

Her race engineer and Christian are quick to reassue her that it's not her fault. Logically, she knows that. Mentally and emotionally, she keeps blaming herself.

It's almost as if the car is trying to kill her.

The same thing happens on Sunday during the race. The brakes malfunction, and she hits the wall at speed that makes the crowd go quiet.

Thankfully, she's fine. The boys continue their race, knowing she's okay.

The next race is filled with more of the same. All four wheels of the car manage to puncture and leave her stranded along the track. Then, during the race, she struggles to deaccelerate.

It's unsafe, and her team knows it, but she refuses to retire the care. She manages to cross the line in third in a heap of exhaustion. Nobody knows how she managed that one.

The notes have started showing up in random places around Monaco. She feels like she's being watched all the time.

They tried to go out to a party one night just for her to end up with a spiked drink and an unknown male figure trying to take her somewhere else.

The boys were quick to put a stop to that and take her home.

Race after race, it seems as though everything is working against her. She can't help her team or Max in regards to racing. She's left to just watch and celebrate whichever of the two championship contenders comes out on top of each race.

It's high, and it's low, and she is definitely ready for the much needed summer break.

~

Next ->

Tags: @styles-sunflower @purplephantomwolf @boiohboii @reblog-princess-blog @jjsprobablywrong @jayda12 @faithm120601 @eugene-emt-roe @lpab @yaaadii @80sloverry @spongebeck3101 @eviethetheatrefreak @jjsprobablywrong

@chanshintien

[hetalian-veteran]

Hetalia Feels Like Home

I initially sat down to write something that would be a quick and easy read. Something you could read in a minute or two before you continue scrolling. But the more I thought about what I wanted to say, and everything that ties into it, the more I realized that this was going to be a much longer post.

I want to talk about, what else, Hetalia. But more importantly, I wanted to talk about how this show, and by extension, it's fandom, has not only left a massive impact on my life, but me as a person. I have a lot to say here, so strap in.

I'm going to start by explaining where I was in my life when I first watched the series. Then I will move on to explaining what I liked about it and how it entertained me. I'll also go into the different interests and fascinations that branched off of it. After that I'll discuss my seven-and-a-half-year hiatus from the fandom and what it's been like coming back.

Like many fans, I was a tween when I got into Hetalia. Specifically, twelve years old, and just barely into middle school. And for a number of reasons, this was the first time in my life that I began to seriously struggle with my mental health. While I don't feel comfortable divulging too many details, I will say that my homelife growing up was fairly chaotic. I understood that plenty of other kids out there had it way worse than me, but I can't say I was doing too well either. (Sidenote: me and my family are doing great now, in case you were wondering).

At the beginning of sixth grade, I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and PTSD all in one fell swoop. This, on top of things at home, was already a lot for twelve-year-old me to handle. And having to deal with the stressful changes that came with a new school and puberty was the watery icing on the crummy cake.

As mentioned in a previous post, it was a new friend I made that introduced me to Hetalia. You can read about it here, but in short, I was sent into the show completely blind and found myself both lost and confused. I initially decided the show wasn't for me, but after some convincing from my friend, I gave it another shot. I returned home to watch the show again and tried to have an open mind.

And it was then that it clicked for me. This show was about events in world history and geopolitics. And the countries of the world were all being portrayed as their own personified characters. Greatly stereotyped characters, to be sure. But it was still an interesting concept. One that was new to me. Not to mention, after I got over the initial whiplash and understood the abnormal flow of the almost non-existent narrative, I discovered something. Not only was this bizarre show a comedy, but it was freaking hilarious! I remember sitting at the computer laughing my head off with every episode. When I finally understood how the show worked, it became a fun, wild ride.

And more importantly, it made me happy. During a very dark time in my life, right at the beginning of adolescence, I found a show that managed to make me smile. All during a time where I felt like I forgot how to.

And then I discovered the fandom.

Now, I was not new to fandoms. As someone who grew up deeply invested in the Warriors series in elementary school, and who happened to have access to the internet, I was exposed to fandoms at about the age of ten. Heck, probably even earlier, seeing as I am from a family full of nerds. But the internet definitely gave me a much more immersive way to interact with fandom.

I don't know exactly how I found the Hetalia fandom specifically, just that I loved finding and reading fanfiction, as well as looking at cool fanart and headcanons to add to my Hetalia board on Pinterest. But goodness, if the show hadn't gotten me totally hooked on Hetalia content already, the fandom certainly did.

Now, I made it a point to not be social online growing up. Mainly because I managed to be socially awkward not only in real life, but on the freaking internet of all things. Not to mention my elementary school teachers showed us videos about the dangers of talking to strangers online as a kid, and that scared me straight. As a result, I never talked to anyone online about Hetalia. I was part of a Facebook group, but that was it. Instead, I was just lurking around and taking in all kinds of fan content. And it was the fan content that really dug its claws into my brain, as this is how I learned about all of the fanon.

I saw all the different ways people interpreted the characters, and all the different ways the characters could be depicted regarding different ideas and concepts. Once I realized how versatile the characters could be in fan content, my own creative brain went into overdrive. While I never posted anything, I found myself creating my own fanart and fanfics. And without realizing it, started to construct my own versions of these characters in my head. Characters that began to feel more personal to me individually. As if I knew them.

But Hetalia didn't just get the creative juices flowing. As is the case with many fans, I became deeply invested in world history as well. I wanted to know everything there was to know. I began watching WWI and WWII documentaries frequently. I found myself researching the formation of Europe after school for fun. I endlessly researched the history between Austria, Hungary, and Prussia. I became deeply invested in learning all I could about the Kingdom of Prussia and the Teutonic Knights. It got to the point where my mom got me a book on the entire history of Prussia in seventh grade, and I was over the freaking moon about it!

Hetalia also managed to get me interested in my ethnic background and where my ancestors are from. I began to research my ancestry and was ecstatic when I learned that I potentially had family that hailed from the Kingdom of Prussia. I also got super invested in learning about all the cultures that made up my background, and since then I've been learning all I can in an effort to connect with them. Especially since as an American, that's a part of me I'd often felt disconnected from. Hetalia truly inspired me to dig into my family's history!

Not to mention that the character songs for Hetalia absolutely slapped. A lot of them are certified bangers, and you cannot convince me otherwise. Songs like 'Aiyah 4000 Years', 'Mein Gott', 'Pub and Go', and many others would play in my brain on repeat.

Ah yes. Hetalia truly had me in its grasp. I was deeply obsessed and invested in Hetalia and so much of the content within the fandom.

I mentioned earlier that there was a lot going on growing up, and that I struggled with some pretty severe mental health issues for a tween. The reason I felt the need to bring that up was because I genuinely feel as though this played directly into why I got so into Hetalia. In a world where it felt like everything was falling apart around me, Hetalia gave me a reason to laugh and smile. It gave me new creative outlets to further explore. It helped create new interests, hobbies, and passions. It gave me characters I came to deeply love and find enjoyment and even comfort in.

But most of all, Hetalia became a safe space for me. An escape when things got too difficult or scary to deal with in the moment. A space where I felt comfortable. Where I could be myself.

And then, after four years of being deep into Hetalia and its fandom... I lost interest.

Now, this might sound a little odd, considering how much I emphasized the importance of Hetalia in my life up until this point. But for some reason when I was going on sixteen years old, I just fizzled out. I can't explain it, but over time, I slowly began to care less and less about Hetalia. Not because I hated it, but because I just... Sorta dropped off. I remember having this feeling of, "I've already seen everything the fandom has to offer," so I suppose that could have been the reason. Either way, I started to drift away from the series and fandom that had previously brought me so much joy.

And it was weird. For a solid week there, I was both parts accepting of my losing interest and panicking over it. Again, this only lasted for a week before I fully took off from the fandom and series. But losing my interest in Hetalia felt like losing a dear friend. Which, at the time, was also happening with the friend who got me into Hetalia in the first place. Life took us in different directions, and we drifted apart. And for some reason, my love for Hetalia went with him.

And then I was gone from the fandom for about seven-and-a-half years. Everyone would say that Hetalia was the fandom you couldn't escape from, but I really didn't think that was true for the longest time. I mean, yeah, I would find myself humming 'Pub and Go' once in a while, but other than that? I didn't think about Hetalia at all. I never thought about the characters, I didn't think about the series every time I looked at a world map, and I certainly wasn't shipping countries together. But even so, the effects of my time in the fandom were still there. And over time, I began to dislike it.

Not the effects, but how deep into Hetalia I was back in the day. Like many others, I cringed looking back at my middle school self. Still do, honestly. But in high school the annoyance for my middle school self was unreal. I was irritated by what a freaking weird kid she was. And after I found out about some of the controversies that somehow went completely over my head? I became deeply ashamed of having ever liked Hetalia and being in the fandom. I didn't think about it too much at the time, but there was definitely this feeling of, "I cannot let anyone know I was into Hetalia." A phase common among old Hetalia fans.

And yet, somehow, against all odds, after years of being away from the fandom and Hetalia itself, even after a new season came out... I came back just earlier this year. Several months ago as of writing this if we want to be more precise.

But what was it? What brought me back? Well, I'd say it's a combination of two things.

First off, the theory of Germany being HRE came into my mind. I don't know why this happened, or how this came up. But either way, my brain was now fixating over that theory, as well as the interesting writing ideas that can branch off of it.

Second off, and I think this may be the most important one, is that I had recently gotten into an accident at work that temporarily took away my ability to write and draw for several months. The two things I am most passionate about, and were my number one stress relievers, were now inaccessible to me. And as medical treatments did nothing to help, and my condition got progressively worse, my mental health took a steep decline as well. I began to fret over the idea of not being able to write or draw ever again. I would lay in bed sobbing over the idea. (My hand is better now by the way).

And it was during this difficult time that Hetalia somehow came back and found me again. After Hetalia came back to my mind, I decided to look it up on TikTok just because. And I was floored when I saw how many Hetalians were on there! I even checked back in with the Tumblr side of the fandom and saw that, sure enough, you were here as well! I had seriously believed that the fandom was dead and gone, but it was still alive and kicking to some extent.

And so, I decided, "Why not?" And rewatched the entire series. And next thing I knew, I found myself diving into the fandom once more. I created this blog to try and connect with other fans, and I'm so glad I did. This blog has not only been doing wonders for my mental health, but it's been so fun and wholesome to see the fandom as it is today.

I find it interesting that I found or came back to Hetalia during difficult times in my life. Maybe there's a reason for it, or maybe it's just coincidence. Who can say? But what I can say is this.

Hetalia, and more importantly, its fandom, have been a massive comfort to me in my life. It has affected so many of the things I now love and find enjoyment in. It's impacted my absurd sense of humor. It's impacted the person I am now because I engaged with it on such an intense, visceral level. I find so many of the characters to be comfort characters for me now. No matter what, I'll always have them.

Hetalia truly feels like home to me. And I think that's largely why I ended up coming back after all these years. Now, however long I'll stay this time around is anyone's guess. But even if I do take off again, I know I'll be back. At some point or another, I'll be back.

Because Hetalia makes me happy. Because it gave me reasons to continue laughing and realize that life doesn't end just because something bad happens, or because life is painful. Because it gives me endless creative material to use and draw from whenever I want. Because connecting with Hetalia and its fandom feels like reconnecting with an old friend.

Because Hetalia feels like home.

[coupleoffanfics]

Ranting about a possible fanfic I'll write.

Anyone reading this hear me out. There are some Yandere Batfam x neglected reader that I love. Basically, the reader is a part of the family and is ignored by everyone until some event happens leading the family slowly becoming yandere. I just love the angst.

Okay, so what if she has a boyfriend before the whole family starts going off the rails? Right, okay, so what if her boyfriend was one of the Valeska twins? Both would just fuck everything up for the family and I'd love it.

Regarding which Valeska y/n would end up with I'd see y/n dating per-spray Jeremiah. Could see him only dating y/n because she is a Wayne. I see him being the more narcissistic one out of the two even though they both are. Slowly developing an obsession with y/n as I could see her being attentive toward anyone who shows her positive attention. And that could feed into Jeremiah's narcissism.

So when y/n opens up or Jeremiah realizes that she doesn't have a strong relationship with Bruce, he'd be more inclined to dump her. He plans to get a wealthy job at Wayne Enterprises and live a luxurious life, unlike his upbringing. So dating the daughter's CEO would give him an advantage, that's at least what he thought.

He'd gently put her down so that he could focus more on other things, but…This underlying obsession made it impossible. Now he's like fuck, I actually like her what do I do now? (y/n is definitely one to say I love you first.)

I couldn't see Jerome and y/n dating just because of her upbringing. She has strong morals having been trained by Batman and formally being Batgirl for a few years. She would have had to meet Jerome before he murders his mother since that leads him down this psychotic path.

Regardless of which Valeska she dated, I'd say that she has some loyalty toward him. Seeing them as more of a victim of circumstances rather than a villain. Though that would be thrown out once Jerome or post-spray Jeremiah start harming or worse killing civilians.

I just love the idea of the when the family is or turning yandere are just like y/n who the fuck is this and why are they trying to kidnap you? Meanwhile, the Valeskas are just screaming and throwing shit that they have to deal with more bullshit to get to y/n.

y/n's Personality

Loyalty would be one of her trades as she'd do almost anything for her loved ones that actually care for her. It doesn't mean she's blindly loyal to anyone who shows her kindness.

Empathy and consideration are strong ones as y/n has a big heart. She'd be understanding why the family is busy and how much work they'd do as they are not being close. But that doesn't mean she's not hurt or frustrated when Bruce blatantly shows favoritism. Yet she doesn't want to be an inconvenience or get in the way of their vigilantism.

Inferiority complex. Being the only family member to quit being a vigilante has taken a bit out of y/n. She is justified in her reason, but that doesn't stop her from feeling less valued. She wants to be seen as valuable, so she doesn't often go to anyone for help. Fearing that it would make her look less valuable to whoever.

Depressed. y/n may smile and laugh, but that doesn't mean she's not dealing with depression. Having trouble getting out of bed and whatnot was one of the factors that made her quit being a vigilante.

People pleaser. Trying to show her value as a person by doing what most say. Or just trying to avoid as much conflict as possible.

Notable Things About y/n

Art is what she uses to express herself. Drawing or writing (totally not self-indulgent) are the primary examples. Won't or couldn't bond with Damian over this because he doesn't like her already and she's too afraid of opening herself up to him.

Baking things with Alfred if he has the time. It's therapeutic and helps combat anxiety. She also loves giving sweets to others seeing them enjoy it and showing that she’s not completely worthless.

Probably in a big sister program to provide support to those younger than her and prevent others from feeling lonely like her. As she isn’t able to help the family as much as she used to. Might even be a soup kitchen volunteer.

Hopes to have a job that’s in the creative field and move far out of Gotham. Will try to get into a college out of Gotham once she’s done with high school.

Either has a few or just one friend. Often spending the night at their place, so that she’s not alone.

Wants a normal, quiet life. Get married have kids or adopt if her partner wants to.

y/n as Batgirl

Let's say she was adopted by Bruce when she was 8. Taking about 2 to 3 years to train before even being allowed to patrol.

Become Batgirl before Jason gets killed and was probably somewhat close to Jason. His death showed the dark reality of vigilantism but wasn't what made her quit. Though it made her think of what the future would look like.

Meeting Tim, she wasn't malicious or anything. Quite the opposite and she was probably closer to Tim than Jason given that they were the same age. Didn't like the idea of having him become the next Robin since Jason's death was still recent, but didn't want to start an argument with Bruce.

It was kinda painful to see Tim dressed up as Robin as he almost looked like Jason. y/n coping that this is just keeping Jason's memory alive and she was the weird one for feeling uncomfortable.

Seeing how quickly Tim was able to gain the role of Robin while it took her a few years made her feel inadequate. Maybe she wasn't made for this but quickly got rid of that thought. Everyone learns at their own pace and Tim happened to be faster.

Jason coming back had y/n squealing out of pure happiness until he tried to kill everyone including her. Could see y/n being the one who nearly gets killed by Jason simply because she's never been a fighter. Too passive for her good. Also, she couldn't bring herself to punch him even before hearing all that he's been through.

There probably wasn't a traumatic event that led her to end her time as Batgirl. Just slowly realizing that this wasn’t her passion, feeling like an inconvenience when her depression knocks her down, and her insecurities. After quitting she avoided everyone as she couldn’t stand them trying to persuade her to not quit or expressing their disappointment in her.

By the time Damian comes around, she is not at all involved with Batman or the others. He mocks her, believing that she couldn’t handle the heat of being a hero which is partly true. If she has any inhuman power then I feel that Damian’s mocking would be more intense. Thinking that she has an advantage that one of them has yet still wasn’t enough and is wasting her power by being a civilian.

Going back to the Valeska twins. I think y/n would be more inclined to be loyal to Jeremiah if dating him rather than Jerome. Mainly because it takes him longer to harm innocent people while Jerome is just stabbing people for shits and giggles. She'd probably hope that there is a cure for the laughing toxin. Any horrible thing post-spray Jeremiah could be blamed on the toxin despite him stating otherwise. Her loyalty and hope would slowly be crushed by how the heinous acts are getting.

(I'd like to think that Jerome made the spray to change his physical appearance to look more like the Joker. Could see the Joker taking in Jerome to become the next "Joker". Was going to use it on himself until y/n expressed her distaste for the Joker. He wasn't going to stop working with or for Joker just because of that, but he wasn't going to use the spray. Which sucks because he worked so hard on it. Then just decided to use it on his brother for 3 reasons. 1) He didn't want it to go to waste. 2) He thinks it'd be funny. 3) Fuck Jeremiah.)

Having a break up with either Valeska is going to have y/n balling her eyes in her room. So the yandere family is just going to break down the door and act like they cared the whole time. "What are you talking about y/n? Us ignoring you? No, that isn't right, we hang out all the time." y/n would have liked the fact that her family cares enough to check on her, but it overwhelmed and freaked out by how sudden this is.

The family would encourage force y/n to start training with them regularly since there are two psychopaths after her. Not only will they be able to keep an eye on her, but also be able to catch up on all that time they missed.

I'm ending it here for now because I have other things to do. But I swear I'm going to get this written. No one's gonna read it, but I'm going to write cuz why not. Possible cover art for the story.

[kteezy997]

What do you do when you are fixated on a celebrity and you’re a fan fiction writer but there are no fanfics about that celebrity? You write one(:

He's Out of My League: Part 1 // matt rife

It was the night that your favorite comedian was in your city, but due to his popular demand, you were sadly unable to score tickets to see the show. So, you and your friends went out instead. They wanted you to feel better and have a good time instead of being at home and sad about the comedy show.

It was after 11 p.m., and you were at a club with the lights down low. The music was loud as hell, of course, and there were people all around. You sat and sipped on your Amaretto sour, just people watching for a bit. Your friends were on the dancefloor and they barely let you get away for a breather.

Now, you were kinda wishing you weren't sitting there watching all the hot girls in there barely-there clothing. You'd never have the confidence to wear such cropped tops and strappy bralettes. You started to feel conscious of your own figure and your feelings of insecurity.

You looked across the bar, where several women were flocked into one spot. You wondered what the commotion was about. And then, someone moved, and you saw him.

It was Matt motherfuckin Rife.

You had to blink a few times, as you though your eyes were deceiving you. But it was him, and naturally, ladies-if you could call them that- were fawning over him. But who could really blame them? He was even more beautiful in person. You couldn't believe that he was actually there and you were seeing him with your own eyes and not through your phone or tv screen. He and his crew must have come out for drinks after his show. You never thought you'd be in the same room as him.

You wanted to talk to him, but probably not in the same way as the other women wanted to talk to him. You wanted to thank him for bringing you so much joy, and making you laugh, even when you weren't in the mood to. You had struggled with depression, anxiety, and negative thoughts for years, but Matt's personality and comedic timing had the power to bring you out of your head, and make you smile.

You certainly didn't want to annoy him, but you could see how humble he was by seeing all his content online. Usually, you were too socially awkward to approach anyone in a public setting that you didn't know, but this was different. You may never get the chance to see him again. It would mean a lot to you for him to hear how grateful you were to him.

You walked up to the bar, standing in a near vicinity of where Matt was. You waited for the bartender to come over so you could buy another drink. You felt nervous, and your body begin to tremble a bit. You took some deep breaths, in through the nose and out the mouth. Just start a conversation, you told yourself, it's not that big of a deal. Just a minute of his time, and that's all.

"Can I get you something, love?" asked the sweet bartender, startling you a bit.

"Oh, yes, um another Amaretto sour, please."

He nodded, "Of course." He grabbed the liqueur, and then began mixing it with the grenadine. He must have noticed you glancing over at Matt, because he said, "Oh, yeah that's Matt Rife. Dude's hilarious and chicks love him."

"Yeah, I'm a fan actually. Of his comedy, not just the way his face looks."

"Awe, that's sweet." He poured your drink into a chilled glass. "You know, you should go talk to him. I'm sure he'd love to talk to a genuine fan, and not just some girl that’s try to get him to take his shirt off.”

"Ya think so?"

The bartender plopped a cherry into your cocktail, "Go for it, honey." He winked before sliding the drink across the bar to you.

That was it, you were going to do it.

You took a drink, and nonchalantly looked over and saw that Matt wasn’t accompanied by any females at the moment. It was just him and a couple of his friends. You just hoped he wouldn’t be annoyed by you coming up to him.

Thankfully his back was to you, so he wasn’t watching you coming over to him. You carefully tapped him on his toned shoulder.

Matt stopped talking to the guy he was sitting with and his body turned toward you. The first thing you noticed were his icy blue eyes. Then his bright white teeth that peeked out some when he grinned at you.

Gonna tag my besties on here bc why not

@gatoenlaciudad @meetmyothersouls @ducktapebar