#this isn't fair. why do i have to feel like shit for your comfort | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astermath · 2 months

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hiya! i’m a really big fan of your stranger things work and I was wondering, if youre comfortable of course, a steve x reader period imagine where reader tried to hide their period from Steve, but he finds out and is super fluffy and sweet about it? thank you!

HAHAH wow i have let this ask stew in my inbox since last year thats CRAZY im so sorry my dear,, i was going through old asks and i rlly like this prompt actually so here u go, i hope u enjoy!!!!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

tags: established relationship, obv mentions of periods / menstruation, reader is referred to as female, steve being dense at first lol, regular sized font below!

wc: 1.4K

notes: while the reader in this fic is female, i am well aware not everyone who has a period is a girl, and not everyone who's a girl has a period!

Steve is one attentive boyfriend.

It’s the early stages of your relationship, the golden era, the honeymoon phase. And while you’re a still a bit nervous about it all, you couldn’t be happier, because he does it all right.

He knows your favourite snacks, what music you like, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He’s starting to figure out your ins and outs, and it’s almost crazy how quickly he’s catching on. You have no reason to feel judged by him at any point, he truly is comfort poured into the shape of a person.

So then why are you staring at your phone right now, struggling to dial his number and just tell him why you can’t make it to your date?

It’s not usually this bad, at least it hadn’t been for a while, so why now, of all moments, must you be forsaken to be terrorised by your period?

You bite your lip, laying flat onto your bed, hand over your lower stomach. It's right where the pain is just gnawing at you, just like the guilt is. But you know you’d feel even guiltier if you just stood him up, he doesn’t deserve that. You sit up, a tad slowly to save yourself from another cramp, and swallow your nerves for now.

“I’ll just… Tell him I’m sick. Yeah… Yeah I can do that.” You think to yourself.

The combination of his number had started to feel natural to your fingers now, unlike how anxiously you pressed the buttons the first time, triple checking before finally pressing call. You're triple checking again now, more so because you're not sure you can handle hearing the defeat in his voice when you tell him you can't make it.

The phone barely gets a moment to ring before he picks it up, and his all too familiar sweet voice comes through the device.

"Hey babe, everything okay over there?"

You pause a moment before replying. "How did you know it was me calling?"

"Lover's intuition." He chuckles, and it makes your heart flutter. It's not fair how easy it is for him to do that to you, but you enjoy it nonetheless. "So, what's going on?"

"I, uh..." God, getting the words out is like pulling teeth. But you'd rather die than let him think you just got cold feet about your movie date. "I'm really not feeling too well right now, Steve... I'm-- I'm so sorry, I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight." Your eyes are welling up with tears before he even gets a chance to reply, just imagining his pretty face losing its bright expression when hearing your unfortunate news.

"Oh," damnit, he does sound sad, "that's okay, uhm... Is there anything I can do? What kinda sick is it?"

Shit, he's gonna make you say it, isn't he? You know Steve is a mature guy, he knows about periods, knows how they work, but you've been told to suck it up and get on with it before... A part of you is still disappointed that you just can't.

"U-Uhm... It's more like, a stomach thing, I guess?" It's the best way you can put it for now, hoping it'll put his worries to rest.

"Okay, I see..." You can nearly hear him thinking, the subtle noise of bags being moved and a fridge being opened coming through the phone. "Uh, how aboouuut... I come over to yours, and we just watch a movie at home? I still got a couple of tapes we haven't gotten to, and I can bring some light snacks that won't upset your stomach too much."

The thought of Steve caring for you while you're sick sends a warm feeling through your entire body. God, how does he just keep getting better? But you can't lie to him, right? It's not like you're really sick, unless you count the curse of menstruation as a symptom.

Before you get a chance to explain, he's talking again, and by the ruckus in the background you can only guess he's rushing to grab all his stuff. "I'll be heading out in a bit, I'll stop by the corner store too, stay put for me alright? See ya in a bit!"

You're sure he didn't realize he wasn't letting you talk, but frankly, you probably couldn't even come up with a response on time anyways. Right now, you just have to worry about looking somewhat presentable, and maybe figure out a way to tell him you're not actually sick.

By the time you've brushed your hair and brushed some mascara onto your lashes, you're already hearing the doorbell. You just manage to pull a fresh shirt over your head, before stumbling down the stairs and stopping in front of the door. With a deep, loaded, sigh you open it, to reveal your boyfriend.

Hair messed up, plastic bag in hand, jacket haphazardly thrown on. He clearly rushed to be here, still panting a little, but in your eyes, he's the image of your guardian angel, your saviour in need.

Before either of you know it, you're crying again, your freshly applied mascara now leaving thin black streaks over your cheeks. Your hands go up to cover your face, embarrassed, not even sure why you're sobbing all of a sudden. The feelings just hit you like a freight train, rocking you before you even have a time to rationalize.

Steve's expression falters, the bag he had in hand dropping to the floor in an instant, stepping in closer so he can carefully wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. Not too tight, he doesn't want to startle you. He's a bit distraught; he's really only seen you cry at a sad movie scene before, so he's a bit unsure as to what's caught you to be so upset right now.

"I-I'm sorry..." you manage to mutter through your incoherent sobs and sniffs, effectively ruining the front of his shirt in the process.

"Hey, hey..." His big hands go up to your face, gently cupping your wettened cheeks as he looks into your teary eyes. Hell, the image of you is almost enough to make him break too. "What're you sorry for? You can't help it that you're sick, right?"

The reminder of your lie makes you want to break eye contact in shame, but it's hard to force yourself to lose sight of that soft, caring gaze of his.

"I," sniff, "I lied, I'm so sorry Steve, I-- I'm not sick, I just... I have..."

He watches you expectedly, not upset, just curious. You'd surely have your reasons if whatever caused you to cancel is making you this upset.

"I'm... I'm just on my period and it-- it hurts really bad, it's not even usually this bad, and I felt like I was overreacting and I feel so bad and--" Your ramble gets cut short by his chuckle, the same one that nearly caused you to melt over the phone earlier.

"W-Wha... Why are you laughing?" You're not sure if you should be happy or worried, you're already experiencing so much at once, it's hard to pick one emotion to feel.

"Nothing, it's just, well," he picks up the bag he dropped, opening it slightly to show the bars of chocolate, candy and your favorite chips inside. "I had a feeling."

The sight of it makes you snap out of your state of distress, and you can’t help but crack a smile through your tears. “Seriously? How?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile adorning his face. “I told you, lover’s intuition.” He pulls you back to him and kisses your head. “There’s another bag in the car with chicken soup in case I was wrong.”

You both laugh, just hugging on your doorstep for a moment. You have to let it sink in, that maybe Steve just is that sweet and considerate of a guy.

“D’you wanna go inside, or does standing outside help with cramps?” He pulls back a little, and you fight the urge to poke him in the ribs for his sarcasm. You love it either way.

“Yeah, let’s go inside. We can watch When Harry Met Sally and I can cry my eyes out again. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

#tysm for the ask!#stevemath #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington writing #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington comfort #serpentwithatardis #aster replies

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bi-writes · 2 months

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it took the end of the world to bring you to where you were supposed to be. (18+, 5.5k words) ghost (+ johnny) x fem!reader (apocalypse au -> dark content ahead)

you know it is luck that you are still alive. in times of anarchy, it isn't the soft and weak hearts that remain. only the unfeeling stay alive. the ones that are willing to do what others are not. the lot that know what isolation feels like. the ones familiar with survival and everything that comes with the wounds it leaves behind.

the loneliness. the paranoia. the heat of hunger and the impossible itch of thirst, on top of the fact that running for your life is second nature to you now.

if it wasn't the sick and dead lurking in the shadows, it was the live ones that would take you. and you have seen what they can do, and you have watched what the opportunities of the unbecoming have given them, and you vow that you will kill yourself with your own dull army knife than let yourself succumb to that kind of death.

you'd rather be eaten alive by the things that don't understand than the ones that do, because they don't know any better, and the others do, and they know what they are doing isn't human, but they don't care.

whether they eat for survival, for pleasure, for power, it is becoming more and more difficult to discern between the sick and the healthy, and in that in-between, you've decided to be on your own.

you know the loneliness will eat at you from the inside. but you are comforted by the fact that you are not being eaten from the outside.

you sleep in the trees tonight. you climb, high enough to be out of sight, and then you use the rope in your pack to anchor yourself to the trunk. as soon as your head falls back, you fall asleep. you have been walking for days now, you think, and with nothing in your belly except for a few scavenged snacks, sleep comes easy.

when you wake up in the morning, you feel the crisp edge of the sky against your face, and you know it will rain soon.

if there is a god above, they will wash you away with it. you hope, at least. you don't know if this is how you imagined noah's ark--the cleansing of the earth, a flood great enough to wipe it of what they deem ugly and unimaginable and irredeemable. and god must be a man, because only a man would unleash something like this that comes with consequences he never intended--the fact that it didn't fucking work. in his effort to eradicate the fucked up pieces of shit he supposedly created by his own hand, he unleashed them.

he set them free.

and like a man, instead of fixing his fucking mistakes, he turns a blind eye. he forgets. he allows it to manifest, and now that it is out of control, he will blame the sins of what he's done on someone else, someone like you. the innocent. the unknowing. the small and the weak, the ones who he said would inherit the earth, where is he now that there is nothing to inherit? how come he's allowed to go back on his promises, and i'm not? what have i done so wrong that this is the lifetime you gave me?

you don't know why you care. you don't know why you've survived and why you keep trying to. you don't know what drives you forward, but there must be something. there has to be something waiting for you, because you don't think your life can fall any lower than this.

but fuck, there are other plans for you.

there's no one to hear you scream. they cut the branch, unravel the rope, and one of them has gotten ahold of your legs, and they're dragging you. you cry, you scream, you thrash, but all your clawing hands do is leave sporadic trails in the dirt. they laugh, you think, but you cannot hear them over the blood that rushes in your ears.

your nails are raw when they flip you over onto your back. they bleed from how you scratched to be let go, and you don't know why you fight this, but you just have this voice inside you that screams that this can't be how this ends. this can't be the way you go--this isn't the what you deserve, this isn't fair--

you vow to leave your mark. when they come closer, you don't let them come easy. you claw at their faces, rip out chunks of their hair, and when another comes close, you use your teeth, biting off chunks of their flesh, tasting blood, because i won't make it easy for you, i won't go silently, i'll leave you worse than you leave me, i'll take you with me if i fucking have to.

and when it stops, you sob. suddenly everything is still, and there are no hands on you anymore, and all you can see through the blood in your eyes is the sky above you, and how it is early morning, and there's a flock of birds passing by overhead. they fly peacefully. they have no idea what they're observing--the struggle of being alive, the humanity of your will to live, the defiance of dying at their hands, they have no idea that they are witnessing the death and rebirth of something fragile, something so delicate.

you sit up on your hands shakily, and you swallow hard as you look around. to your horror, your savior is a man.

bodies surround you. there's blood staining the dead leaves along the forest ground, trickling from sickening wounds in heads. in one hand, the man in front of you holds a dirty stone, large and jagged, and the sharp edge of it is darkened with red and drips on the tips of his boots. he has wild blue eyes, and while his hair is grown out, it is carefully cut along the sides. his dark hair falls in effortless curls along his forehead and at the base of his neck, and when he meets your eyes, he smiles, wickedly.

he wields other methods of killing people, but he chose a fucking rock. and you think he must be crazy.

you shake, and you find your balance, crawling back on your hands to get away from him, but you're only able to crawl a few feet before your back hits an imposing wall.

you gasp, jerking to the side, and you bow your head to cry when there is another man behind you. this one towers, broad and big, and he wears a sickening skull mask that shadows any human part of him. he might not even be human--maybe he's as dead as everyone else.

you hiss when your hair is pulled. crouching at your level now, the one that wears a real face stares down at you, still smiling. he's chuckling now, licking his lips, and you lean forward and spit at him. it lands on his cheek, a mess of saliva and blood, but his eyes seem to only sparkle. his smile widens.

"what do we have 'ere, LT?" he snickers, and you gather the saliva in your mouth and spit it at his feet this time. there's more of a mess of cartilage and blood and spit, but instead of disgusting him, he just grins up at the ghost behind you. "with a will ta live. ever seen anythin' like it?"

"she's dead fuckin' weight." even his voice has you shaking, low and gravelly, and you hold back a whine when you're let go of. the scottish one is yanked backwards by the scruff of his hair by his superior, who bends to growl in his ear. "she'll only hold us back. dunno why y'even had to intervene, she'll not make another fuckin' day."

"fuck you," you snap, wiping at your face with a trembling hand. you wipe at the tears under your eyes, coughing, and you stare back up at him. with the sun in his face, you can see his eyes. they are dark, and they are unforgiving.

he is one of the ones who is free. he is one of the ones that god intended to kill, and yet here he stands, stronger than ever. and even though you know he's a murderer, an undeserving, broken inside and scarred on the outside, he'll outlive you because he thrives in the anarchy of what is left behind, and you are consumed by it all.

"let's go, johnny," he spits, and you close your eyes. you don't know why you were spared your life. you don't know why luck has been on your side, you don't know why men are what punish you and save you, but you cannot escape them. they send you to slaughter, and then they pick you out of the pen, and you wish you had more control.

you want to be more than this. you want to be more than whatever it is you're made of. you are not meant to be here, you're not meant to be alive, but you are, and fuck, you're so tired of it.

johnny belongs to him. it's obvious, in the way that he lets that man pull on him and order him around, even if they are adorned in military fatigues. you imagine there is no authority anymore, but he listens to that beast anyway, because he's getting up onto his feet, letting it guide him away from you.

if you want to live, you'll have to tame that beast.

"i-i can be useful," you say softly. your eyes are wet and big, and you look up at them as they stand over you. johnny turns his head, looking at his handler, who tilts his head to the side and glares at you. he does not believe you, at least that's what it feels like, but you look right into his eyes and take a deep breath. "you'll just kill me if i'm not. w-what do you have to lose?"

the hum he lets out isn't an agreement, but he doesn't say no either. so when he turns to walk away, you stand, brush your bloodied jeans off, and you follow them. johnny trails, putting you between them. you're pretty, but he doesn't trust you yet, but you're also aware of the eyes you feel on you from behind. when you catch him staring at your ass, he doesn't pretend to look anywhere. he simply giggles.

they are a unit. they can speak without words. johnny tells you his handler's name is ghost. his lieutenant, a man of many talents, and you refrain from rolling your eyes at his sergeant's praise. but instead, you look up at him, and you smile, and you nod, and you give him those doe eyes that you can tell make him a little dizzy.

at night, they alternate keeping watch. they carry lots of gear, and while one guards in his sleep, the other stands in the shadows and keeps their head on a swivel. they take efficient rounds of sleep, getting their rest in while keeping their senses on alert. the first night, you aren't able to sleep. you are too afraid of johnny and how he smiles, because he's a dog, and you don't know when ghost will let go of his leash.

and you are too afraid of ghost, because he looks at you like he wants to kill you, and when he does, you'd like to look him in the eyes for it. you want him to know that you might not be strong like them, might not be the kind of survivors that they are, but you aren't a coward.

you aren't a man, and you'll die the way a woman should--with her fucking dignity.

the days pass easier. ghost hunts, and johnny cleans. ghost scavenges, and johnny kills. and when there is food, johnny feeds it to you, and you put on your best face, opening your mouth, letting him spoon you a mouthful of something that warms your belly. johnny eats your lies right up, but one look at ghost, and you know he sees right through you. with each lick of your finger, he snarls, and with each foot you step closer to johnny, he growls.

he doesn't believe you. you need to make him believe you.

you see your opportunity. it crawls towards him on soft hands, flesh spongy and quiet from the weeks of decay and rot. you see its mouth, black teeth sharp and ready to sink into the meat of his calf, and you lunge, pushing the vase off the table and watching the heavy clay fall until it squishes the head into a heap of rotten matter and dead meat.

ghost turns, looks down, and when he looks back up, he sees you gasping for breath, heaving. there's a desperation in your eyes. it trickles between panic and worry, and you don't know how it is you wear it so well, but it manifests into wet tears that gather at the corner of your eyes.

he's not a beast. he's just a man. and when he passes by you, he reaches up and grips your face hard, nearly shaking you, but it isn't like any other time he's touched you. he glares down at you, right into your eyes, and you melt, stepping just that much closer, sinking your nails into fabric of his tactical vest and gripping it tight.

i can be useful. it rings in his ears as he looks down at you, the burden he has been carrying with him, and suddenly he drags you that much closer, until your open mouth touches the front of his mask.

even your determined conscience can't stop your legs from squeezing together when you feel the warmth of his breath.

i can be useful. i can be useful. i can be useful.

you can be the thing that wakes what is dead inside of him. you can be the virus that infects his veins, the dagger straight through his heart, the heat of the sun, the thing that builds back up what he's buried so far down. johnny keeps him human, but you'll keep his blood pumping. johnny satisfies the itch of authority that ghost needs to keep, but you challenge the fire he keeps under his tongue, and fuck, those eyes.

you pretend with johnny. you play the damsel in distress. you fawn, let him coo over your soft eyes, keen at his touch, but it is a game you play, and he sees it, he sees it, but this time, it doesn't make him angry, and he likes it, and fuck, have you always been this pretty?

you swallow your smile. his grips tightens, and you know you have him.

he's yours. and he's going to keep you. the world ends, god doesn't answer your prayers, the salt of the earth runs free, but it doesn't have to be the end for you. you will learn the hymn of what makes monsters move, and you will sing that song until you can't sing anymore.

you will learn their language, and you will convince them of what you are not, and keep what you really are a secret.

the good, the easy, the soft, you'll keep it inside, because that isn't who lives at the end of the world--it's ghosts that remain, and this one belongs to you.

this one belongs to me, this one is mine, this one you can't fucking have.

and maybe it's selfish. maybe it's wrong to think this way, to take from your saviors this way, because that is what they did, they did save you, but this is the only way you can make sure you make it out of here, that you live. a man takes, and a woman gives, but wouldn't it be nice if it wasn't always this way?

because the dead are still moving now, and there isn't humanity in the living; this is what you are owed.

you think it will be difficult to pretend. when it is night again, and you are staring up at the blue of johnny's eyes, you think it will be difficult, but it isn't. despite what you know he doesn't have, even though you know there isn't anything good in him, he still smiles, and he's so pretty, and you let him kiss you.

it's easy because he's warm. his voice low, his breaths heavy, and it feels like love, and it isn't hard to imagine yourself somewhere else. in another place, meeting him in another time, falling in love with him because it is the only thing you really have to worry about. if you lived another life, you wonder if you still end up here.

you wonder if he would eat your cunt this way in that other place. like he'll never have it again. if he's just as aggressive, spreading your thighs, trapping himself between them, slurping at your folds until you are nothing but a wet, leaking mess underneath him. you wonder if he would groan the way he does, gripping you tight enough to bruise, taking his fill because everything that begins has to end, but maybe if i keep making her see fucking stars, she'll let me stay here forever--

johnny's so much easier to control when he's pussy drunk. anything you whisper in his ear, he just nods, licking into your mouth, mumbling incoherently. he'll say yes to anything you say, and when the gruff call of his name pulls him away from you, he struggles to leave. it isn't obvious, the power you have over him, not to him at least. but it's real, and because he watches you even as he goes, you know he'll do anything for you.

he'll do anything for me. he'll live for me. he'll kill for me. but will he do it even if ghost tells him not to?

because that is the only question that matters. if you and ghost stand on either side of him, who will he go to when his name is called?

if i call both of their names, will they come to me?

if he calls my name, will i come to him? am i just the same? do i wear the collar, am i the puppy, is it me that fell and not the men i hate so much? how do i tell the difference between what the fuck is real and what isn't?

you don't know what time it is. it's dark outside, it must be the middle of the night, but you can make out ghost's silhouette in the doorway. you've been holed up here for some days, and he takes turns with johnny covering the perimeter. your legs are tired, and so are they, and the bed in this house gives way to a comfort and peace that you haven't felt in a long time.

you tilt your head to the side as you watch him there. you sit up, your hair falling around you, and you watch the shadow of him shift in the hallway there.

"scared of the dark, ghost?" you ask softly, and the way he stills tells you he didn't realize you could see him. he steps into the room, and the candle that flickers in the corner deepens the shadows that dance along his masked face.

"nothin' scares me," he murmurs, and you find his eyes in the dark. it unnerves you every time you stare at one another--his gaze is always so intense. he always looks in between all the layers you hide, and it's hard to remember what you are doing here when he looks at you this way.

"i don't believe that," you counter, and he narrows his eyes, shuffling closer, and you tilt your head back to look up at him. "you're terrified."

"not of wot y'think," he pushes back, but you shake your head.

"don't lie, simon," you whisper, and at the sound of his name, he reaches for your face--cups the underside of your jaw, grips the base of your throat, bends down to growl against the skin of your cheek. "are you jealous? is that what it is?"

"of wot?" he mutters, and you hold your breath when he grips your neck firmly. "of m'pet 'n his little lamb?"

"yes."

"nothin' to be fuckin' jealous of," he laughs, but it holds no humor. "what's his is mine."

"says who?" you breathe, and he pulls back to look at you again. there it is--the thing in your eyes that he cannot escape. he doesn't know what it is, but there is something there, and he craves it. he wants it more than anything else--more than food, than water, than survival, he wants to have it, to own it, to command whatever it is there because it's what he thinks he deserves.

he saved your fucking life, and this is the price for it--he gets to have the thing that lives in you that makes his fucking head spin, and you will give it to him, so help him god.

you kiss soft. he hasn't taken his mask off in a long while, but you move it up easily and without resistance, and now you're kissing him, and he moves without thinking. he hasn't even let johnny this close--he hasn't let him underneath his skin, not this way, and here you are, sighing against the scars he wears and kissing them anyways.

the ugly and the irredeemable, that is the skin he wears, and you love it anyways, and the ringing he always hears is gone because you don't seem to care. you caress his face, and you tug on the front of his vest, and then he is with you, and--he doesn't know if this is real.

when you pull away to look at him, his eyes flutter open. you don't say anything as you climb into his lap. the look you share, you don't know how to explain it, but you are almost afraid that it is understanding.

because it's the end of the fucking world, and he isn't capable of love, and you are only here to survive, and yet there is something here that you can't explain. god isn't real, he's just a man, but you think for a moment that that man might be simon riley because what the fuck is happening to me?

"simon--"

he kisses you this time. hungry, all-consuming. if there is anything you've learned about him in the weeks you've spent beside him, it's that he does everything with purpose or not at all. he has a will, a will of what you don't know, but of something, and he does everything with his entire chest. you've heard him talk to johnny when they think you're asleep, the pillow talk that you aren't supposed to be privy to, and suddenly you wonder if this is what johnny feels like--like the only person left in the entire world. because to matter to someone like lieutenant simon riley means you must've done something right, because he doesn't care about anything, and he doesn't love anyone, and--fuck.

he fucks like it, too. he fucks like he won't live another day, and maybe he won't. he fucks like it's the last time he'll ever see you, and it could be, and maybe that's why you're crying. you're sweaty, naked under him, and he can't stop kissing you. he breathes you in and swallows your breaths like it's what keeps him alive, and maybe it does.

"simon--" you cry, because it feels good, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. your hand rises, slipping under the mask, and your nails scratch over his shaved head underneath. god, it feels sacrilegious to feel him this way, to know what's under it, but it doesn't matter.

"know wot y'r doin'," he hums, and you claw at his back when he slows down. your knees try to widen to accommodate the width of him, and he puts two big hands on your thighs and pushes, nestling himself deep and pressing himself right up against your pelvis. "know y'r playin' tricks on johnny, on me--" you cry, and he tsks, shaking his head, "'s pathetic, luv...thinkin' y'could fool us both."

"i-i--"

a particularly rough thrust shuts you up, and you arch your back, pebbled nipples hard against the warmth of his chest as he chuckles, laughing at you, so mean.

he leans down, and all you can do is whine as he mutters into your ear. "johnny's so fuckin' distracted by y'r cunny, swee'eart. and fuck, i get it, 's such a sweet pussy, luv--" you whimper, grinding up against him, needing him to move, but he puts both hands on your hips and squeezes, holding you still. "--such a nice cunt, make a bloke forget all his fuckin' troubles, but i know--"

you yelp when he reaches up and grabs your face. his palm cradles the lower half of your face, squeezing your jaw, and he squeezes your cheeks as he looks down at you and snarls.

"i know wot y'are. wot y'r here for."

"you--" you sob. "'m here for you--"

"can lie to johnny all y'like, luv, but don't you ever--" you whine as he shakes you gently, "--don't y'ever fuckin' lie to me. y'r usin' us. known since we found ya."

you let out an exhale, a deep one. you find his eyes, and he looks down at you, and you swallow hard. because it's true, in a lot of ways--you could never love them, right? this could never be a real thing. the only men that are left are god's mistakes. when man broke off his rib to make a woman, he didn't know a beast like this would come from him someday, did he?

did he know his sons would try to kill each other? in each and every generation? is he watching the dead roam the earth and wondering why those ones died and ones like this one are still living and breathing?

the thing that you don't understand yet is that nothing will kill ghost. his father couldn't kill him, the dark couldn't kill him, the earth he was buried in couldn't kill him, and every bullet that scarred him had missed the vulnerable places of him by just that much. the virus couldn't kill him, and he has an inkling that even if he was bitten, somehow, he would still live because that's his fucking fate.

his fate is to live, to endure, to grieve, no matter what happens around him. the world collapses, and he watches, and he picks up pieces as he goes hoping they will last, but he knows they won't.

he doesn't know how johnny will die, but he will. he doesn't know how you will die, but you will, and he'll be there to watch. for some reason, there's a little comfort, because at least this means they won't be alone. johnny wouldn't handle being alone well, and neither would you, because johnny is a mutt, and you are a leech, and neither survive without a keeper and a host, something else to keep them alive.

"'s olright," he licks over your bottom lip. "'m keepin' you, luv. but let's get one thing straight, aye?" you grunt when he turns you roughly under him, forcing your face into the mattress and caging you underneath him. you can't move much, all you really can do is sit up on your knees a little and push back against him, burying him deep inside you again as he presses his hips flush against your ass. he tangles his hand into your hair, pulling your head back, and he plants a chaste kiss against your throat. "y'r not above me, pet. you can order around m'mutt all y'like. bet he'll like that..." you hum when he cants your hips, the tip of his cock hitting a nice, warm place inside you, "but y'r gonna do as i say. and be a good girl."

you open your eyes, looking up at him over your shoulder. you plant your palms against the mattress and push back against him again, moving just enough to encourage a few slow, wet grinds.

"anything you want, simon," you whisper, pressing your face into his neck, and he grunts as his hand disappears underneath you to cup your mound, hissing as he feels the place where his cock is moving inside you. "can have whatever you want, please--" you whine in his ear. "i won't lie to you! i-i...i won't lie..."

with his other hand, he cups your breast, squeezing, his thumb circling your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"gonna be a good girl?" he asks. "gonna let johnny fuck ya? let my mutt have his fill?"

you nod, panting.

"are--" you sniffle. "--are you gonna take care of me?"

ghost laughs, as if it's a stupid question. he maneuvers you onto your knees, and as you start to push back against him more eagerly, you start to hear the jangle of the dog tags he wears. you want to turn around and pull on them, want to see his face when he comes, but you tell yourself that's for another time--that right now, you need to get him cumming and agreeable.

he leans over you, picking up the pace, punching his hips into your ass. the sound of your skin against his is wet and quick, and as you press your chest into the mattress, he starts hitting you so deep, the air feels tight in your chest.

"need to see you--!" you gasp, and when you're on your back again, you grab for his face. your knees spread again, welcoming him deep, and you force his eyes to stay on yours as you feel the rough grind of his hips starting to build up that sweet, soft feeling in you.

fuck--he's so big. every part of him, it swallows you, and this isn't any different. you come when you feel him, so much of it that it's leaking down your thighs because he stuffs you so full, and there's tears in your eyes, but he isn't sorry.

looking at him this way is jarring. you have really only ever seen his eyes incredibly dull, nothing in them except a void that you aren't able to understand. but you are using him, and he is using you, and you smile, because now you can read him, read what's reflected there.

when ghost shoves his cum-soaked fingers into your mouth, you don't fight it. you keen, arching your back as you let your tongue swirl around his thick fingers, and he tilts his head to the side as he watches you. he's making sure you're doing as he wants. he's making sure that you will be pliant and good, that you will do as you are told and nothing else because that is what he asks of you.

he's making sure that even though he knows you are not the submissive puppy you pretend to be, that you will be it anyways because if you don't, you won't like how he bites.

you and ghost are the same. you are equals, even if he will never admit it. you trade different parts of yourself, but this isn't about preservation, it's about survival, and you are willing to give yourself for it. you are willing to say yes, ghost, of course, whatever you want, because you aren't supposed to be alive anyways, but you might just have a chance if you hide in his shadow.

you're still on the bed when he dresses himself. he straps his vest back on, zips his pants, and you watch him lick his fingers clean before putting his gloves back on. you reach down, your mouth falling open when a glob of his cum slips out and dampens the sheets, and ghost has a hint of a smirk on before he rolls the mask back down.

"don' worry, luv," he mutters, reaching over and gripping your jaw rough. you pucker your lips, and he snickers. "soap'll fix you right up."

"soap?"

"mmm. the fuckin' thing is useless unless there's a mess to clean up, yeah?"

will you take care of me? will he take care of me when it's time? will he keep the dead out of my eyes and my blood inside?

he never answers your question. and deep down, you're certain it's because he would kill you, and maybe johnny would, too, because johnny does whatever he says, even if it isn't good for him. and you aren't sure if it's because this is his lieutenant or because saying yes is the only thing that make's sense anymore.

i can be useful. i can be useful. i can be useful.

when you are not useful anymore, you'll need to be the first to strike then. because maybe you don't deserve to live, but neither do they. god is a man, and he makes mistakes, and ghost is one of them, and he's eaten johnny's soul, and if you go down, you will take them with you.

god is a man, and he was a fool to think he could've cleansed the earth by himself.

it was the flood that cleansed it the first time, and mother nature always does her fucking job.

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just-some-trans-nobody · 9 months

Text

Naga boyfriend head cannons

Gender neutral reader

Warnings:light NSFW, brief mention of kink choking, biting, mentions of eating rodents, snakes

Minors Don't Interact!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

You are his personal heater I'm sorry I don't make the rules. Your body is warm and he wants that warm. It's a bonus that it comes from you, he loves you.

Ha you have cold hands? So does he don't worry about it.

Oh you have warm hands? Let him hold them. Hold his face in your hands he will melt into them this poor touch starved man.

At the start of the relationship he couldn't stand you touching him. It wasn't that he hated when you touched him oh no no no he absolutely loves when you touch him. He's just scared he's not used to being touched so gently before and he's terrified that he'll hurt you with his large size and not realize it. It doesn't help that once he started to get sexual feelings for you everytime you touched hin turned him on. Your pinkie could have lightly grazed his shoulder and he would hve grown aroused.

Further into the relationship he knows how much you can handle you and will absolutely man handle you. You'll be walking past him and he'll use his tail to swoop you in so he can cuddle you. He still gets turned on real easy but it's more tame now. Doesn't mean he won't be tame when having sex though.

Home boy is kinky will choke you if your also into and biting is a must. If it's agreed too and he's not venomous he'd love to bite you, really sink his fangs in. There will be times you'll be completely wrapped up in his tail will he fucks you.

If you manage to top him he'll be leaning on his own tail draped out on it begging and panting. He didn't know he could be so sensitive before.

Times he's being a grumpy pants he'll snap right out of it if told you'd top him. Instant good mood.

Whenever it gets even slightly cold he's super clingy. Will do grabby hands at you until you set down whatever your working on and come cuddle him.

Owns 700 heating blanket, hope one or both of you have a good paying job cause the electric bill is oit if this world.

Don't insult him by offering to feed him mice or rats thats gross. Guinea pigs have more meat on them any way. Just give him a BLT you weirdo he eats normal foods.

Hates broccoli though. Introduce him to cheesy broccoli and it's a whole new ball park for him.

Will be so confused on why you have a pet reptile, doesn't see the appeal.

Pet snake you say? Your mistake that's your guys child. Will refer to as himself as dad when talking to the snake.

"Now Junior be a good boy for dad and let me change out your water. Junior? Junior please get out of your water... Yes I see you blowing bubbles it's very cute."

The snakes name isn't junior he just keeps calling him junior.

Will get himself a shirt saying number one dad and wear it any time he picks the snake up.

Loves soaking in the tub, join him he'll love it.

He'll wash your hair and die from bliss if you wash his it feels so good.

Shedding is a cranky embarrassing time for him please be patient he's feeling very uncomfortable. If it's early in the relationship he won't want you near him, it's not you it's him he's not comfortable enough to have anyone bear him during this vulnerable time. If it is further into the relationship he'll be more comfortable with you being around him but just don't get to close to him, just be there for emotional support. Now if the relationship is a good amount of years in he'll act all spoiled asking you to peal his shed off for him after he soaked for a few hours at the least. He'll get all whinny and clingy demanding cuddles and snacks.

Bundling in a ball with way to many heated blankets on, this man is a fire hazard. Fire men hate him.

Can't cook for shit. Will order every meal out if you let him. Hates doing the dishes but he's good at vacuuming and dusting. Likes tidying up, not a fan of messes. He'll make sure he does his fair share of the chores and if he sees your having a bad day he'll take on more chores. Will buy your your favorite foods and snacks in hopes of making you feel better.

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hyperfixatedbastard · 3 months

Text

one must grab the titty

Soft!Adam x AFAB!Reader

It's no surprise that Adam's big on physical touch, but you expected it to be - well, sexual. Turns out that this clingy, hypersexual douchebag actually likes innocent, nonsexual intimacy. Like holding your boobs just 'cause they're nice to hold.

Word Count: 926

WARNINGS: SFW (I think?), AFAB!Reader with gender neutral pronouns, mentions of sex, no sexual content, nonsexual intimacy

A/N: I kinda hate this but I'm tired of working on it, so here ya go! Apologies if you have no tits, but let's be honest, that wouldn't stop this bastard.

Dividers

Adam has some… odd habits, at least by Heavenly standards. Sometimes you wonder just how exactly he’s an angel, but you’ve learned to not question it. He may be a douchebag and an asshole, but he has his moments. He’s sweet with you, at least. You never expected him to be a doting, clingy boyfriend, but he certainly proved you wrong.

No matter where you are or what you’re doing, he’ll have an arm around your waist, or one of his wings loosely wrapped around you. Adam is a possessive guy (after hearing about the whole Lucifer debacle, you can’t really blame him), and he makes it clear with the way he interacts with you in public. And in private, he’s arguably worse—you’re lucky to sit down without him draping an arm over your shoulders to pull you in close, or practically pulling you into his lap. He’d never admit it, but you think he needs the reassurance that you’re still there, that you haven’t left him.

You’re not so sure about that theory once the touches go past cuddling.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

"Adam," you begin in a suspicious tone. "What are you doing?"

The angel in question blinks back at you owlishly. His mask and robes have been traded out for some sweatpants and a t-shirt that reads ‘I Got ADHD’ with the subtitle ‘A Damn Hard Dick.’ The two of you are cuddling on the couch in your shared apartment, with some shitty action movie playing on the TV as you sit wrapped up in his arms and wings with your back to his chest (you didn’t think that action movies would be allowed in Heaven considering the murder and whatnot, but once again, you don’t question it).

"Hm?" he hums innocently. "I'm watching the fuckin' movie, babe."

You glance down to where his hand is shamelessly groping your boob over your shirt. You debate whether or not to even confront him about it, considering he isn't actually doing anything other than just holding your tit, but you ask anyways.

"Why is your hand on my boob, then?" you prompt, your eyes shifting between his face and where his hand is idly groping your chest.

Adam chuckles and breaks out into a smug grin. "What? Can't a guy hold his partner's tits?" He gently squeezes your boob for emphasis.

Your face heats up at that, and your eyes narrow in confusion. "Why do you want to?"

"Uh, because they're fucking great," he answers incredulously, like you're the weird one here. He then brings his free hand up to hold your other boob. He gives them both a gentle squeeze, but doesn't do anything more than that. The lack of a sexual innuendo, joke, or proposition doesn’t make sense to you—it feels out of character for Adam, even after learning about his love of cuddling.

You just look at him, confused. Sure, you've always known that he's a boob guy, but this doesn't strike you as Adam's usual horny antics. But if it’s not sexual (which you still find hard to believe), what the fuck is it?

He seems to realize that his original explanation isn’t good enough. "Look, hot stuff, boobs are just nice to fuckin' hold, y'know? All soft n' squishy n' shit."

You raise a brow at that. It’s a fair point, you suppose. "So, what, my tits are like stress balls for you?"

Adam laughs—not that loud, boisterous laugh he does when pranking some poor soul, but that more genuine, softer one few people ever got to hear. "Yeah, pretty fuckin' much, babe. They're comforting!"

You roll your eyes at him, albeit fondly, as a smile pulled at your lips. "Whatever works for you, I guess."

His smirk grows, and he squeezes your boobs a little firmer this time. "Oh, these beauties are fucking workin' for me, sweet cheeks."

You scoff, albeit lightheartedly, and swat at his shoulder. "Shut up and watch your damn movie."

Adam doesn’t respond, but he pulls you a little closer and gives your tits one last good squeeze before returning his attention to the TV—for the most part, at least. His hands don’t leave your chest, but they don’t really do much either. They’re just resting there, occasionally groping or giving a light squeeze. Damn, this really isn’t a sex thing for him, is it?

You’d already been shocked when you’d first realized how clingy Adam is. You were even more surprised to discover that he’s a fan of nonsexual intimacy in general, like cuddling and hugging without it leading to something more. And here he is, surprising you once again by doing something that should surely be sexual in his mind, yet treating it casually and barely even making sex jokes about it.

A few more minutes into the movie, you can’t hide your curiosity anymore. “This really isn’t a sexual thing for you?”

Adam’s eyebrows raise, and he looks puzzled at your question before breaking out into a smirk. “Why, do you want it to be?”

You scoff and shake your head. “No, I’m just… surprised, is all.”

“Hey! I can appreciate some nice boobs without it being sexual,” he protests, and he sounds at least partially serious.

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” you assure him with a soft laugh. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“Good, ‘cause I fuckin' like this,” Adam remarks, once again squeezing your boobs for emphasis. You just fondly roll your eyes at him and go back to watching the movie.

Having a clingy boyfriend is pretty nice, actually.

Taglist: @3sire-777

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #adam x you #adam hazbin hotel #adam x reader #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel oneshots

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raginglesbian2006 · 4 months

Note

what is your vision on Alastor with a Male Reader who is the opposite of him? Rarely smiles, isn't very chatty and is kinda rough? Maybe, since Alastor loves dancing and singing, Reader or feels shy about it and doesn't like the way he dances and sings or doesn't hate it and watches Alastor dance and sing

ooh, this is a fun ask, lets go

Alastor with a male reader who's the complete opposite of him

So you joined the Hazbin Hotel out of genuine curiosity

You had died fairly young, almost in your late twenties. You have never figured out why you ended up in hell

So it is safe to say, that when you heard of the Hazbin Hotel, you were eager to join, albeit a little skeptical

Of course, it came with your fair share of anxiety when you knocked on the doors of the hotel and were greeted with the ever-smiling radio demon

It spooked your little heart TO THE CORE

Ah well, fast forward a few weeks later and you were adjusting well

Angel Dust was quite protective of you, claiming you to be his younger brother

Niffty initially took to you since she thought you were a "bad boy" but hey, at least she considers you as a friend now

Charlie and Vaggie have been sweet to you and so have Husk and Sir Pentious

Of course, you'd have trouble trying to bond with Alastor

Alastor was loud, boisterous, and loved to scare the living shit out of people whereas you were quiet, reserved, and soft-spoken

Alastor didn't even pay mind to you that much. To him, you were insignificant

All that changed when he tasted your food though. You cook a mean jambalaya. (You were surprised to find Alastor's plate clean when you just turned around for one second)

After that, the radio demon hung around you from time to time and you started growing comfortable with him as well

You were not a fan of him pulling you along to dance on random occasions when jazz played through the radios

Still, you tried your best to keep up with him. You weren't into all the swing dancing so you resolved to just watch him do all the work lol

You aren't that chatty of a person so you just listen to Alastor blab about anything and everything. He once told you that you were a good listener and patted your head

He gave you a personalized radio one day. He bragged about how he came up with the immaculate design but you were too flustered to notice

So it seemed was the rest of the hotel

The big bad radio demon gave you a gift??? Are we talking about the same radio demon here?

It didn't stop there. You were bombarded with gifts every other day. Sometimes it was books, flowers, tea cup sets, or a full-on attire (He gave you a coat that looked just like his, except with the colors reversed)

You asked Alastor about his...frequent gift-giving and he very bluntly stated, "Why, my dear, I am trying to court you after all. "

Error 404

He took you out on a date after you recovered from your slight panic attack

You realize you don't mind being the radio demon's boyfriend

He even started being respectful of your quiet nature. He quite likes the peace anyway

Vox is foaming at the mouth and plotting to kill you as we speak

A/N: This turned out a little different than I'd hoped but I hope you enjoy it!

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x male reader

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tojisbbg · 7 months

Text

𝘽𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚

❝close your eyes slowly and feel the wind, the bonfire is fading out.❞

♡ sukuna ryomen ♡

a/n: ugh, the sukuna brainrot after the new episodes are driving me insane.

reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated <3

content: sukuna ryomen x fem!reader, fluff, minor angst, hurt with comfort, lots of teasing (it's sukuna lol), not edited.

---

"hey! that's mine." you whined, watching the demon who sat next to you steal your last mochi.

"not anymore." sukuna smirked before shoving the ball of goodness in his mouth, humming in content.

"stupid demon." mumbling under your breath, you sent a glare towards his way. sukuna stopped chewing, narrowing his eyes at you.

"you got a problem, human?" he snickered.

"yeah, stop eating my damn food and go find some humans to munch on. i know that you don't even like the taste of human food, you do it to piss me off." you rolled your eyes, earning a mocking chuckle from him.

"i'll munch on you." sukuna threatened emptily, making you snort.

"yeah okay." you murmured to yourself, watching over the distance from the cliff both you and the king of curses sat upon. it was close to sunset and the warm summer breeze blew past your hair.

"what's wrong with you?" he scowled, making your head turn to face him with furrowed eyebrows.

"the hell do you mean?" you scoffed, making sukuna stand up as his tall figure towered over yours. however, you remained unfazed, staring back into his gaze.

"you've been acting like someone shoved a stick up your ass ever since we've got here. it seems like you've forgotten your place, human." sukuna spoke in a low tone, making chills run down your spine.

"forgotten my place? i've served you for a thousand years and this is the thanks i get? how absurd." you sarcastically replied, a fake smile plastered on your lips. the king of curses eyed you without amusement, clearly not enjoying your sudden change in behavior.

"do you know how stupid you sound? why should i be thanking a pathetically mere human like you? you should be grateful that i've spared your life. you should be kissing the ground that i walk on for even considering you to be worthy of my time." he harshly responded, making your heart crack as every word of his felt like a knife stabbing you in the chest.

you knew that his lips never once touched honey, his words were always crude and cold to the ear. however, after spending nearly ten centuries with him as a companion, you grew used to his snarky remarks.

though others feared him, you saw him as a friend.

"i never asked you to spare me. what stopped you from killing me, huh?" you boldly spat out, and within seconds you were lifted off of the ground. a yelp left your mouth as sukuna lifted you by the collar.

"nothing's stopped me from kill you, perhaps the fact that you've fascinated me with your unhinged personality. however, it seems that my generosity has no meaning to you. i could kill you in a matter of seconds." he smirked, the tattoos on his face glowing under the sunlight as he pressed on of his sharp talons against your neck.

"then do it. kill me, sukuna." you blurted out nonchalantly, catching him off guard. his eyes widened at your words, before narrowing them.

"oh? accepting defeat already? this isn't like you, y/n. since you've obediently served me for many centuries, i'll give you a change to beg me to spare your life and apologize. i think that's fair, no?" an evil grin danced on his lips, grazing his sharp talon against your flesh, which drew a drop of blood.

"beg? and by what means should i beg someone like you to spare my life? in my eyes, you're nothing but a sack of shit. i didn't beg a thousand years ago nor will i beg now. stop being a coward and kill me, you stupid curse!" you yelled at him, making his face fume with anger as he raised you up to his eye-level.

"what did you say to me?! keeping you alive for those many centuries was the biggest mistake that i have ever made! you wanna die that bad? fine, i'll kill you with my own hands." sukuna's voice echoed throughout the forest, before he dug his talons a little deeper on your neck. you closed your eyes, wincing a little in pain as you waited for your end to come.

however, after a few seconds, you no longer felt any pressure on your flesh. you opened one eye only to see his face full of hesitation. sukuna noticed your stare and let out a heavy sigh.

"i don't know what's gotten into you today but sleep it off. i'm being nice only this time, but i'll actually kill you next time if you pull this type of shit again." he warned you, placing you back on the grass before walking away to place some distance between you two.

"what? don't have the balls to kill me? fine, i'll make your life easier." you gave him a sly smirk, watching him turn his back to look at you.

"what?" sukuna sneered.

and without warning, you ran towards the edge of the cliff before jumping off. you felt your heart drop, as you didn't do well with heights.

sukuna ran after you while screaming your name, not expecting you to actually jump. he quickly jumped off the cliff, trying to reach you as fast as possible before your stupid human body collided with the cold water below.

the curse knew about your fear of heights and large bodies of water, since you couldn't swim. but, to his dismay, you already came crashing down in the water.

sukuna panicked, quickly diving as he swam in search of your body. he saw your hand in the distance and quickly grabbed it, pulling you towards his body before hugging you tight as swimming up to the surface. he leapt back up on the cliff with your sopping wet body that was now cold to his touch.

sukuna placed you down on the grass as he watched your body being non-responsive.

"y/n? y/n! fuck, wake up." his breath hitched as he tried to use his cursed technique to help you recover but your pulse was as weak as ever.

"stupid, stupid, stupid brat! why did you do that?" he cursed under his breath, now being swallowed in a massive hole of regret. you regained your consciousness, your ears picking up his deep voice wallowing.

"ryo...?" you weakly asked, making his head shoot up at the nickname you always teasingly called him by.

"y/n!" sukuna breathed out in relief, picking up your body in his arms to hug you tight. the warmth of his large figure engulfed your body and you couldn't help but silently cry as he shoved his face in the crook of your neck.

"why would you do that, you stupid human? i-i.... god, you're so stupid!" his voice was shaky, his hold on you was as if he was scared that you'd run away if he were to let go.

"you could always replace someone like me." you sniffled, eyes welled with tears that made your vision blurry. you didn't see the puzzled expression that was now drawn on his face.

"i could never." sukuna swore.

"the girl from the market. you seemed to take a liking for her. she even complimented your markings." you swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, sad eyes looking into his.

"is this what all this about? some incompetent, foolish girl? i'll kill her at once if that is what you want." he sternly said, stroking your hair as you cried on his chest.

"did you really mean what you said? that i was a mistake to have around?" you nervously asked, chewing on your bottom lip.

you've never once regretted spending those centuries with the king of curses. every day was a new adventure that you both took on. you are confident that no spot on this earth has been left untouched by you two. sukuna has always shown you kindness in his own cursed way. whether that was letting you to tend the garden by his room, which allowed only his entry. or letting you speak to him however you wished to and call him that stupidly yet fond nickname; ryo.

no one has ever addressed him by that name.

you've accepted him for the monster that he was. he showed you his true form, which many found horrific and hideous. a wooden like mask that covered half of his face, four eyes, four arms and a huge height.

yet, you were not afraid and didn't see him any different. you gave him your annoying hugs, poked him while he napped, ate from his plate and in return he protected you. sukuna made sure to shade your stupidly tiny human body with his large figure, caging you in his four arms.

you always had what you wanted.

"i never meant a single word, y/n. you are not a mistake and i'll rip out my own tongue to show you how sincere and sorry i am." he looked at you with apologetic eyes, his hands moving towards his mouth. you quickly halted his actions, shaking your head.

"it's okay, i trust you." you offered a soft smile.

"don't ever scare me like that again, you hear me? i chose you as my companion to spend the rest of eternity with. you're my soulmate, you can't escape me. if death ever comes upon either of us, we'll meet each other in hell." sukuna gently stroked your cheek, wiping away your warm tears. the words coming out of his mouth would sound insane to any sane person, but to you, they meant even more than 'i love you'.

"you know, no matter how many times i kill myself, i won't die. you cursed me with immortality, so i can only die by your hands." you chuckled, making his eyes widen as realization hit him.

"do you... do you really wish to die? i know that not everyone enjoys living for so long and i kinda did force this upon you. if you want, i can lift the curse and you'll.... you know, almost immediately." sukuna gulped harshly, not being able to even say the words of your death.

you cupped his face before pressing a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. you could feel his cheeks becoming warm, as he leaned into your touch.

"i've never once regretted spending those thousands of years with you, ryo. i have never been happier and you know why? it's because i love you. god, i love you so much, and i'd happily spend a thousand more years with you." your eyes glistened with nothing but pure love and adoration for the curse in front of you.

and for the first time in your life and sukuna's life, his eyes became glossy as if it held a thousand oceans. feeling a little insecure about revealing such raw emotion to you, sukuna buried his face in your neck.

"and i love you. so, don't ever leave me, okay? you stupid human." his voice was muffled into your clothes, but it rang clear in your ears as you laughed.

"look at me, ryo." you requested, and he obliged. you traced the lines of ink on his face before giving him a soft smile. without wasting another second, you crashed your lips onto his. the sudden kiss knocked the wind out of his lungs, but it wouldn't take for the king of curses to melt into the taste of your lips.

you gently ran your fingers through his peach colored hair, feeling his fingers rub slowly at your sides while you both kissed. you felt him smile against your lips, pulling away only to press another tender kiss.

"i'll make you my queen, y/n. you're mine, forever and always."

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bananastarion · 8 months

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Rambling headcanons about how Astarion's trauma could manifest in your relationship.

Disclaimer: I am not fetishizing trauma or PTSD here. I have C-PTSD myself, and have dated others with it as well. So some of this is (loosely) inspired by my own experiences. It's not pretty, it's not fun, but I'd say it's pretty realistic. So yeah, fair warning! Anyway, let's gooooo

Astarion isn't fazed by much, but he IS claustrophobic- having to claw your way out of your own coffin, being trapped in a mindflayer pod and being trapped in a tomb for a year straight would do that to anyone. If he is ever unfortunate enough to be stuck in a small space again, he'll go into a blind panic. He'll hyperventilate and try to force his way out any way he can, and if he can't get out in time he'll just completely mentally shut down for a bit. If you plan to pull him into a little broom closet for a sneaky fuck, just forget it ok? You will probably get your eyes accidentally clawed out.

There is a long period in your relationship where Astarion is gradually getting more comfortable with being vulnerable around you, but he's also very self-conscious about it. He doesn't want you to pity him or think he's weak. You will be tempted to give him lots of validation and praise to make up for all of the psychological abuse he endured, to reassure him that he's finally safe and free, and that you love him for more than just his body. That his problems won't ever drive you away, and that you don't judge him. He appreciates your words deeply, he wants and needs them more than he cares to admit. But at the same time, they completely overwhelm him. Finally being in a good place with a caring partner is such a stark contrast to what he's been through, that it forces him to see even deeper into the void inside him and recognize just how badly he was treated, how deprived he's been. They hit him hard in both good and bad ways, and sometimes he'll tell you to stop because he just can't handle feeling so much right now. It's best to stick to mostly surface level stuff and ease carefully into the deeper, more meaningful observations.

The sweeter your words, the more his mind races with fears that you are idealizing him and eventually you'll come to see him for what he really is- and then abandon him. Fears that he'll come to depend on your kindness only for it to be ripped away, whether by you or by circumstances beyond his control. Fears that you don't really mean it, that you're just manipulating him the way he did to others. Deep down he hopes and trusts you're sincere, but it's just so hard to accept when Cazador's voice is in his head, countering all of it. This is all so new to him, so unknown. And the unknown is terrifying. He gets frustrated that your kindness does this to him, he wants to be able to embrace your words, he's so impatient to heal and finally be over this shit already. He judges himself so harshly for still struggling with all this. Cazador's dead, he is free, he has someone who truly loves him- why isn't that enough?! Why can't he fully appreciate it, is he just going to feel broken forever? He worries he'll take too long to get over his past, and you'll get tired of it and leave. Expect to give him lots of reassurance about all of this.

He doesn't like to cry around you, but over time you will lower his guard enough that he'll stop fighting back the tears quite so much. Sometimes it's a bad dream, sometimes you say something that just hits him hard (even if it's in a good way), and sometimes he has no idea what triggered it. You tell him he can wake you up any time if he needs you, but often he chooses not to wake you and just suffers through it alone. When it happens while you're both awake, at first he would roll over and face away from you when the tears started flowing if he couldn't collect himself, and you'd just hug him from behind. But eventually he feels comfortable enough to bury his face in your chest and just let it all out. When it's really bad, he'll be trembling and hugging you so tightly as he sobs into your shirt that it's almost hard for you to breathe. The best thing you can do is just be there with him, stroke his hair, caress the tears off his cheeks. It can be dicey, but eventually you learn to read him well enough that sometimes stroking the scars on his back very gently can be healing for him. There are other times though, when this will be too much for him. Same goes for kissing. Also, don't even think about telling anyone you've seen him like this. But of course, why would you?

Don't go into therapist mode with him when he's that vulnerable, and if he decides to talk, just let him talk. Hold space for him and be there with him. Afterwards, help ground him in the present and reconnect him to his senses by pointing out things in the room, remind him that it's not all happening to him right now. Realize how special it is that he feels safe enough with you to be so vulnerable. There are times when he even breaks down during sex, and he'll say that he's fine and you can keep going, but it's for the best to stop what you're doing and check in instead. He often dissociates when he's triggered, and doesn't realize something is wrong until it's too late.

Trauma isn't always pretty, and there are times when it does strain your relationship. When he's really triggered, he might take it out on you. He'll try his best to push you away, and say terrible things he doesn't mean. Perhaps things Cazador said to him. His articulate manner of speech can be sharper than his blade when wielded against you in the heat of the moment. He doesn't believe you can love this side of him, that he is fundamentally broken and unlovable, so it's a test of sorts to prove his own fears. He doesn't necessarily realize what he's doing, he's just lashing out from a point of pure fear. Trauma is an explanation for this behavior, but not an excuse, so it's important you set very firm and consistent boundaries when he gets like this. He might not appreciate it in the moment, but he will once he calms down.

It takes some time for him to feel truly secure with you, but he's getting there. In the meantime, he's starting to get a little clingy and codependent. He's not used to having so much freedom, and doesn't always know what to do with himself when you're not around. Being in your presence is when he's closest to feeling safe and at ease, and being apart for too long can cause his mind to race, especially when he has nothing to distract himself with. It drives him crazy that it gets to him so much- he's never been dependent on anyone before, and this side of him surprises himself. He hates it, which only stresses him out more. He tries to play it off, but it's very obvious he is struggling with separation anxiety. You don't want to overindulge him, but to ease his fears you decide to get a pair of magical rings. You can make each other's rings glow whenever you want- so if Astarion is feeling lonely, he can make your ring glow and you can make his glow back. Sometimes, just that is enough to get him through a rough day without you. Once he has done some more healing, eventually he will come to enjoy his alone time in a way he's never gotten to before in his life, and as much as you enjoy spending time with him, you'll be so happy for him to finally have that.

#astarion #headcanons #baldur's gate 3 #astarion/tav

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schlattsdoll · 2 years

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Heyhey! Can I ask you about headcanons (or whatever you feel like writing, the format isn't really a problem) of Eddie with a girlfriend who shares the same interests as him, like she loves metal music and knows well how to play D&D and she's also strong and often snap at Jason and people who talk shit about him?

I need some comfort :')

his other half - e. munson

:pairing: eddie munson x popular!fem! reader

:warnings: minors dni, eddie being a menace to society and we love him for it , mentions of bullying (typical s4 faire for our beloved freak), semi-popular reader not fitting into cliche’s, you are responsible for your own media consumption!

:a/n: i have limited d&d knowledge so please be kind if i got something wrong! i made a whole ass character sheet trying to help :’( also i made a heather’s reference bc i can’t be helped

it was hard to believe that the resident freak bagged one of hawkins golden children, and yet here you were; thursday nights spent in an old drama class room helping eddie run his sadistic campaigns over his party.

they couldn’t tell who had a worse mean streak, sure eddie was brutal, but you? when you helped him dm, it was a match made in hell for the party.

“holy shit dude. we haven’t been slaughtered like that since the first week of vecna’s campaign.” dustin said, looking down at the miniatures laying on their sides

you really did try and be nice and save them. with a deep sigh you changed your tone from your dm voice to the mom friend they’ve grown to love. “um, everyone, make a death saving throw.”

all the d20s on the table added up to a whopping fifteen. eddie smirked at you and sat back down on his throne. “and that, my dear gentlemen, is why you shouldn’t complain about my campaigns. my queen wrote this one all herself.” he kissed you quickly as he pulled you into his lap and then dismissed the club.

the next day at lunch they were all still talking about how brutal you were. “can’t believe little miss sunshine has a mean streak like that.” “what did you expect? she’s eddie’s girl. they’re practically the same person.”

smiling as you made your way to your favorite freaks, you feel someone tap your shoulder to see jason staring down at you. “can i help you?”

“y/n, why do you hang around those freaks so much? you’re too pretty and popular for them. come sit with who you belong with. got a spot on my lap with your name on it.” he winked and you audibly gagged.

“news flash jason, i enjoy my freaks, and i’m proud to be one. i love d&d, i love metallica and crue, and frankly, i love not being harassed by the men i surround myself with. so run along and go back to the future gas station attendants of america club, and i’ll be happy over here with my nerds.”

eddie walked up behind you, only heating half the conversation. when you felt his arms wrap around you, you eased into his touch and jason scoffed and walked away. “bitch.”

you rolled your eyes and laughed as you and eddie walked back to the hellfire table. “princess, that was hot as fuck.” your boyfriend smiled at you in awe of how you stood up to his tormentor.

you were truly the momma bear of the outcasts, not afraid to defend them with your life if you had too. eddie and his “sheep” as he lovingly called them were the most targeted and it struck a nerve with you every time.

“just wait until he says something about you or the kids again. you’ll see how hot i can get.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson x female reader

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slayfics · 2 months

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Hii babes can I get a Katsuki comforts a self-conscious reader if you can do plus size that’s amazing if not it’s okay thehe

Katsuki explodes your insecurities.

800 words

You let out a heavy sigh as you got ready, brushing your hair in the mirror. Every so often you’d have one of those days where your hair looked hideous no matter what you did with it.

That was just something everyone dealt with from time to time, and usually you could brush it off and keep moving. However, today wasn’t proving to be so kind.

The longer you messed with your hair in the mirror, the more you felt dissatisfied with your appearance. Today all your flaws seemed to be screaming out at you.

You took a deep breath and did your best to swallow your insecurities. You couldn’t just shy away from today’s responsibilities and hide away because you felt unattractive. Yet, a sting hit your eyes as you continued your morning routine.

“The hell is that look for?” Katsuki asked, leaning on the doorframe of the restroom.

You jumped by his sudden appearance, “Nothing- just getting ready,” you lied.

Katsuki clicked his tongue at you, “Why do you even bother lying to me. Tell me what’s on your mind,” he demanded.

You sighed, setting down your brush. How could you even begin to explain that you felt hideous to your extremely attractive chiseled by the gods boyfriend? Surely, that’s not a feeling he could relate to.

“Just not feeling well today,” you said, only a half lie this time.

“Mmm, your nose isn't running- and you look fine so, what do you mean?” He questioned further.

“But I don’t look fine!” You snapped, regretting it the instant you said it.

“Hah?! Course you do! The fuck you talking about??” He raised his voice in response.

“Nothing. Just forget it,” you said and tried to brush through him to exit the bathroom.

“No,” he said stubbornly blocking your way. “You’re going to tell me what’s going through your head.”

You let out an annoyed sigh. Why did Katsuki have to be so damn observant all that time.

“Sigh all you want. I'm not moving till you talk,” he said.

“Fine- I just… don’t feel attractive today. That’s all,” you finally admitted.

“The fuck? That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” he barked at you.

“Maybe to you! You’re always hot as hell, you’ve probably never had one self-conscious day of your life!” You spat back.

“That’s not fair,” he said in a voice much lower. “Course I have. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean you. You’re hot as hell to ya know?”

“Thank you for saying so but- sometimes I don’t feel like it,” you said honestly.

“Why?!” He grunted. “Have you been looking at those damn influencers again or something?! You know that shit is all fake,” he said.

“I know I know, but it’s not ugh-,” you sighed in frustration feeling your emotions heighten, “it’s not just that- it’s like everywhere and everything reminds me that I could look better and be better. From ads on my phone for beauty products, to friends talking about their diets. It’s exhausting feeling like I’m not keeping up,” you spoke and felt a bubble rise in your throat, “or that I’m not enough,” you said softly. and the tears finally broke through.

“Come here,” he said, gently wrapping his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. The protection that his embrace offered caused the pent-up emotions to rush out, you sobbed freely into his chest.

“Quite down, there’s no need to cry,” he spoke, his best attempt at soothing you. His arms still tightly around you, he kissed the top of your head.

“Ya know- a lot of places make a good amount of money for making people feel this way. Make ya feel like ya gotta buy this or do that to be hot but- it’s all bullshit,” he spoke, as your sobs lessened. “You’re perfect the way you are, and if you aren’t gonna believe me then, I don’t know who you’d believe. Because you know I’m not a damn liar and, I especially don’t sugar coat things to no one. So… believe me.” He spoke.

You pushed off his chest to wipe the remainder of your tears, as he continued.

“Just gotta tell all those thoughts to fuck right off. It takes a lot of courage to ignore all that crap and be confident. But you’re the bravest person I know so- I know you can do it. You’re a goddamn sexy person inside and out. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, especially yourself. Got it?”

You nodded sheepishly and looked up, your eyes catching the damp spot on his shirt from your tears. “Sorry,” you muttered.

Katsuki clicked his tongue once more, “that’s another thing- stop apologizing so much. You’re allowed to feel and take up space and… that’s what I’m here for so- come to me anytime you need. Don’t make me drag it out of you next time… promise?”

“Promise.”

Thanks for the request Mint! I think we all need blasty to grab us and tell us we’re beautiful just the way we are 🥹🥰! Hope you enjoy 🫶~

tags: @queenpiranhadon @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @bakugouswaif @reneinii @zanarkandskylines @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55 @that-one-fangirl69 @b134ch-m4h-ey3z

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yuquinzel · 1 year

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❛ ‧˚ IDLE TOWN — mikage reo.

notes ⨾ hurt / comfort, [ 1.6k wc ] i basically wrote this for practice but I'll post it bc i need feedback + my first attempt at actual angst so idk here have some reo angst i promise i'll make up for it with fluff later :P

you are leaving, for good. and reo knows he cannot stop it.

pause. rewind. he came back home three hours ago, everything was fine. or so he believed. he took note of your silence much quickly. you were talking, yes— but you were silent. he finds silence in your empty glances, less words and more hums for responses. you speak but your words are nothing more than incoherent blurbs of sound. you're silent when he asks you about your day, because you do not ask him the same.

he knows you well. too well to simply brush this of a result of exhaustion. the room he is in is cold, he winces because he does not find you in his arms and because that means you must be cold too. he knew to give you space, sometime to collect your thoughts as he does his.

but an hour or so has passed, reo wants to see you now. he can never always leave you to your thoughts for long lest you need a second voice to become the comforting reminder of not being alone. but if he's being honest, then this is more of a selfish act than a serving one. maybe more than you, he does not want to be left alone with his thoughts.

“hey,” a caffeinated sort of anxiety washes over him when he enters your shared bedroom. the air isn't awkward, but it is not comfortable either, “what're you up to?”

you are still silent, preferring a low and dismissive hum instead. he sits himself on the edge of the bed, hesitant as the way you'd approach a storm. he waits for eleven heartbeats— he knows because he can hear his heart— you don't say anything.

“talk to me, something's on your mind.” reo says. he feels your gaze scan him over, you are searching for something in him. that's the most of a response he's gotten out of you tonight. he hopes you find whatever answer you're looking for, an answer you've decided you won't find in his words.

“i don't know reo, i just— i'm exhausted.” you're lying. he can tell, you don't sound exhausted. you sound defeated. he also knows you are not lying to him, but to yourself. but he does not know what to say, maybe— maybe you still need time. it's okay, he reminds himself. we're okay, it repeats in his mind.

“then let's just get to bed, ’kay?” he can taste the desperation in his voice, it lingers like a bitter aftertaste. why he feels so unsure, he does not know. all he knows is that he doesn't like this — whatever this is — it's hollowing him out from the inside.

his hand instinctively comes to brush back the strands of hair behind your ear. he freezes when you recoil. “i— i'm gonna sleep in the guest bedroom tonight.” his heart stammers in his chest like your voice. you don't give him the luxury of a momentary pause, instead quickly standing up on your feet.

reo's just as quick. his hand envelopes your wrist, you wince a little from the harshness of his hold. “w-what? — no, you can't do that.” his voice is a little raised, long gone is the tenderness he always brings with himself. he's scared. he knows you are too. he looks at you, in hopes of a waver in your composure. you have been oddly calm this entire time, it settles uncomfortably in his stomach.

“i'm not asking you reo, i just need to be alone. just— just let me be.” there's a finality in your meek voice, reo winces at the biting tone.

but he's firm on his words, “this isn't fair, y/n. something's obviously bothering you and instead of talking to me like an adult, you're just giving me the fucking silent treatment? well, shit. i can't read your mind. talk to me— you always do.”

you have to look away, “i'm not doing this with you right now.” you wrestle your wrist out of his grip, walking out of the room with heavy steps that reo follows all too quickly— but you don't really walk into the guest bedroom as he'd feared. you stop. reo sucks in a deep, cold breath.

“what do you want from me?” your voice unfurls in shades of hurt, exhaustion and defeat altogether. reo furrows his brows, his heart beginning to pick up its rhythm, “no, what do you want from me? what did i even do wrong?”

“where were you today, reo? what was your day like?”

your question takes him aback, confusion weaving through the lines on his forehead. “what — you already know that, i texted you i had plans. you read my message, you replied.”

he pauses when a bitter, short-lived laugh leaves your lips. “right, you still don't remember.” your voice feels as empty as your null expression.

“we had a date today, reo. the date you promised to make time for, the date which was an apology because you haven't been home lately. that date — you forgot in favor of hanging out with your friends.” you are breathless now. reo can so clearly see the tears collecting in your eyes, and he also knows you're trying to keep them from falling. he knows you too well, after all.

reo feels lost. his shoulders slack in defeat, his thoughts blur altogether trying to make sense of your words. a heavy, stinging lump claws at his throat. it scratches him from inside until his voice bleeds in the form of quick and staggered breaths, “why — why didn't you say anything?”

this is where the tears trail down your cheeks, reo feels the ache to wipe the damp trails they leave in their wake. but he wills himself against it, he can not. he's afraid you'll burn if he touches you and he's not really ready for that. “i waited — i thought you'd remember. i was waiting for you.”

you don't wipe your tears yourself. because reo has always done that for you. he regrets his prior hesitance, and reaches out his hand to caress the side of your face. you're kind with that. you don't step back, you let him pad his thumb across your skin. he's grateful.

“i'm sorry,” he says. its heavy, but he doubts it carries much wait. “i'm sorry, i — i'm sorry. i'm such a fucking idiot. it just— ” he stammers, voice stuck in his throat. reo feels like he's choking on his words. he knows there's no way to undo the hurt, he knows you won't just forgive him with a few worded apologies. he knows he does not deserve it either. it took until your silence for him to finally hear you. it took until you decided to leave, for him to realize he would give up anything to make you stay.

“i don't want your sorry's reo, i'm tired, i — i want to leave.” a shaky exhale leaves you. next you're walking towards the main door instead of the guest bedroom. reo's feet are stuck to the ground. he swallows back the rising bile in his throat.

“no, wait, it — it's midnight, y/n, love, we still need to talk —”

“what's there to talk about now? what can you say besides you're sorry?”

you are leaving, for good. reo knows he cannot stop it.

but still he finds his feet following your steps. he finds his hand grasping your in attempts to get you to just wait, just— just listen. he finds his knees strike the earth, and although he's scared, he looks up at you once more. he finds himself at a loss for words yet with enough urgency to say something — anything — that it scorches his lips.

“please don't— please, i know i fucked up, i know.” he begins, and you're not so cruel as to walk away this time. “i know i can't say anything besides that i'm sorry, i'm so sorry i made you feel like you weren't important. i'm sorry i promised to do something about it and broke it. i'm so sorry i love you so much that i'm still too selfish to let you go—” you shiver with the slightest tremor in his voice, the crack in rushed breaths that's so very uncharacteristic of him. “— but stay. please stay, y/n. let me show you that you deserve better. please. i don't want to lose you, not like this.”

“reo, get up.” you breathe, voice still as shaky. reo's scared. he's scared to have said something wrong, scared that he pushed you even further way. scared that he has already lost you. but he gets on his feet back up.

it takes a few uncounted heartbeats before you speak again, “you promised reo, after you'd barely been home the entire month. and i waited like an idiot— i love you, so much that i don't know what to do with this anymore.”

reo consumes you in his embrace. it is nothing firm or strong, but just something to keep you close. it's grounding. reo feels all your breaths as they come and go, “we can figure it out. we'll talk, about everything. like we always do. you said we make a good team right? we can — we can talk about it in the morning.”

reo is afraid you'll disappear if he lets you go now, and you're finally holding on to him as well.

“i'm exhausted reo,” you whisper this time. but you are holding on to him, with something akin to the sincerity and the hope of being held the same way. so he does.

“i know, i love you. it's okay,” reo hums, he feels breathless. “we'll figure it out in the morning, yeah?”

it takes a weak nod from you to make his shoulders relax, all the worry lines of his forehead unwinding and as he rakes his fingers through your hair — he hopes it does the same for you. it has always calmed you down. he hopes that hasn't changed.

this is where he hooks an arm under your thighs, the other so gently wrapped over your shoulder as he lifts you up in one swift motion. you cling to him. reo is grateful.

he knows you have much to talk about. but when you let your head fall to rest on his chest, when you tell him you like the sound of his heart, when you still say you love him as he lays you down on the bed, the warmth pooling the sheets as much as your eyes — he knows the two of you will be alright.

you stay — and that's all reo cares about.

i don't really like this :D but okay anyway i hope you did + I'm tagging @venusbby @inariezaki @hyomagiri @rinnahhhh @kyoghurts @luvether and i still believe taglists are scary ^_^

#❛ ‧˚🪐 — the dusk renditions.#mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo x you #reo mikage x you #blue lock angst #blue lock fluff #reo x reader fluff #reo angst #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #ive decided i hate writing angst for my precious munchkin

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auteurdelabre · 7 months

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Something to Fight For (SERIES) Part 11

Word Count: 7.0

Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no age or physical descriptions)

WARNINGS: Sexual innuendo, sad angsty shit.

A/N: The story is gonna twist and turn and you may want to jump ship. But I hope you can trust that as your captain I’m gonna get our two leads to a safe and happy shore.

Being with Tess is easy.

She likes the same movies as Joel, drinks the same beer, and has a kid the same age. She hates sardines and black and white movies. She's a nurse, so nothing much fazes her. She fits well with Joel.

Sarah and Daniel don't know Joel and Tess are dating. As far as the kids know it's just play dates more often and the occasional dinner.

Tess has every other weekend free. Daniel goes to visit his dad then, plus half the summer. On those weekends Tess comes over after Sarah is asleep. She stays the night in Joel's bed and leaves before Sarah wakes up. She's aggressive in bed which is a nice change of pace for Joel.

She tells Joel everything. What she loves about her job, her hopes and aspirations. She confides in him when she's anxious about Daniel being at his dad's. There's nothing hidden, nothing secreted away.

It's only been a few weeks but Joel likes it. It feels comfortable. He doesn't worry that Tess will stop calling. He doesn't worry that Sarah is getting too attached.

He just exists in it.

And if he thinks about you sometimes so what? If he stands in the shower, water running down his back in rivulets as he thrusts into his fists and comes holding in the moan of your name, so what?

It doesn't mean anything.

But then last night. The horrible thing he said to you. The way you'd looked at him with such disgust in your features.

"I'm not her mother"

"Damn right you're not."

He wakes the next morning with a stone in his stomach. His bed is full of Tess and her sweet smelling hair and her sleepy smile when she rolls over. But he can't smile back. He can't do anything because he's hurt you. He hurt you in a way that wasn't fair. And you're mad at him and why shouldn't you be? He had so many ways of approaching it, so many ways he could have told you and instead he fell back into what he always finds familiar; irritation and anger. Those emotions are safe, those emotions keep him strong.

But then why does he feel so weak right now?

He wants to phone you but knows how that went the last time.

He presses an absent kiss to Tess' temple as she leaves at dawns first light.

Then he rolls over, curling into himself, hating every moment of the last twenty four hours.

But mostly, he hates himself.

////

"YOU'RE FUCKING ENGAGED!"

"I'M FUCKING ENGAGED!"

You and Maria are jumping up and down in her kitchen, holding hands and giggling like you're teenagers again. She keeps spinning and holding her hand up to look at it.

"Isn't the ring perfect?"

"More than perfect!"

“I didn’t see it coming at all,” Maria enthuses. “I still can’t believe it.”

Your face is hurting from all your smiling. Seeing Maria so elated, so over the moon is making your heart expand bigger and bigger.

"We're gonna do a little engagement dinner in a few weeks," Maria tells you. "With our best man and maid of honor!"

You do a little mock bow. The wedding is going to be a quick one. Maria and Tommy have never been over the top wedding people. Just something simple with family and a few friends in a few months. You know that this will mean more time with Joel and to your credit you don't wince or act horrified when Maria mentions about you and Joel being in the wedding party. You smile and hug her and say that you can't wait.

But memories of that last conversation you had with Joel are seared into your brain.

And while everything in you commands you to run and hide from the conflict, you raised the phone to your ear later that night, breathing shakily.

You're not losing Sarah.

You may have lost Joel in all this bullshit, but you're not losing Sarah.

Your hand is trembling so severely you hit the wrong buttons on your phone and have to redial.

"Hello."

"Joel, we need to talk. I know you're busy so I'll keep it brief," you say trying to quell the panic creeping into your voice at his flat greeting. "It's about the other night."

There's a long sigh.

"It was fucking horrible of me to say. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I tossed the money at you like that, like some fucking asshole.” You can hear him and he’s pacing, the familiar creak of his kitchen floor sounding over the phone. “I’ve been thinking about it since you left last night and I’m fucking sick about it. I just. . . I wanted to call but I thought you’d want me to leave you alone and I just. . . I'm so fucking sorry, please forgive me.”

He trails off and you stare at your phone. You weren’t expecting that. You think you’d been ready for him to be more defensive. So it throws you, causing you to speak stilted and stumble over your words.

"W-well, It’s just… I just wanted. . . yeah, I forgive you. I wanted to say that I'm sorry."

You can hear the delay in his response, the surprise in his voice. "Wait… You're apologizing to me?"

"Yeah," you nod even though he can't see it. "I mean at first I was really pissed off. And I still am about some stuff. But, then, I thought about it and I think I can see why you were upset. I didn't talk to you or Sarah the whole time I was gone."

Joel gives a small hum in response.

“It was wrong of me to do that.”

And suddenly you can't speak because now there’s a knot in your throat that you're having trouble swallowing through. You hear him moving back and you imagine that he's moved to sit on his sofa. The silence stretches on to an uncomfortable length and you hear Joel clear his throat.

“S'okay if I say something?”

You choke out a sound of agreement.

"Michelle said she'd always love Sarah," Joel says in a voice of quiet solemnity. "But if that were the case it wouldn't have been so easy for her to leave."

You find your voice at that. "That was different, Joel."

"Not to Sarah. You know how she is about her Mom. She barely knew her and she’s still devastated about it. The photos, the stories help but there will always be that missing piece in her that I can’t fix.” His voice catches before steadying. “It's easy for some people to say they love a person. It's the sticking around that's hard."

"I know."

"And I know you say you had your reasons and I know you never would do anything to hurt Sarah on purpose but the fact of the matter is you did." Joel sounds like he's taking a shuddering breath. "You know she asked me why you hadn't come around? When I told her I didn't know she asked if you were mad at her."

Sarah had thought you were mad at her? You could not feel worse if you tried. You take a steadying breath, your eyes slamming shut.

"I'm sorry," you say, your throat tight. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Now the tears come, soft and silent. You're so thankful Joel can't see them over the phone. You can hear him sigh gently and it's the sigh of a man whose walls are coming down.

"I know," Joel says soothingly and if he were there with you, you just know he’d be holding you in his arms. "I know you are. And I'm sorry too. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Its just she's my kid and hearing you say you love her was terrifying. All I could think was how heartbroken she’d be when you never came back."

"I understand."

You hadn't wanted to talk about this. Hadn't wanted to bring up the horrible trip back to Chicago. But you can feel Joel slipping away from you and you panic.

"If you give me a chance I'll explain what happened when I was gone. I'll tell you everything."

Pathetic hope flares in you. If you explain maybe there's hope. Maybe he'll --

"I don't want you to do that. Don't want you feeling like you have to talk about something that'll upset you.”

“You wanted to know,” you say with a panic in your chest.

“But there's no real point, is there? Doesn't change anything," Joel murmurs. "What's done is done n' I'm with Tess now. I don't want you dragging stuff up that'll make things hard. I don't want you hurtin'.”

Don't you fucking sniffle.

"Right, yeah," you answer him through tightly closed eyes. "Of course."

Don't let him hear you cry.

He's with Tess. There's no confusion there, no wiggle room. You dig your fingernails into your palm to keep from crying, leaving tiny crescent moons in the flesh of your hand

"Just know that I'll always be there for Sarah," you swear this oath ardently. "As long as she needs me, I'll be there. I know you don't trust that right now and that's okay, I don't blame you. If I was her parent I'd probably feel exactly the same. But I need you to know that I mean it. I love her, I really do. I wasn't lying about that."

Joel is silent and you can imagine him looking off into the distance in that silent, introspective way of his.

“You mean a lot to Sarah and to me too. Even if we can’t be together like I thought, you mean something to me. I don’t want you gone from our lives. You asked if we could be friends and . . .” You hear him inhale sharply. “I wanna give it a shot.”

Is this what heartbreak feels like? This searing pain that goes through a person’s sternum? It sure as fuck feels like it. More acute that anything you felt with Paul, stronger despite the shorter time frame you’ve had with Joel. Well, you had nothing with Joel did you? Not even a day.

"I want that too. I know what it's like to feel abandoned by people you care about," you offer, your fingernails digging into your palm further. "I would never want to do that to Sarah."

"I know that," Joel assures, and his voice holds all the warmth of the world. "I know you never meant to hurt her. And again I’m sorry for what I said; it was a horrible fucking thing to say and I didn’t mean it."

All you want is to be there in that house in his arms.

"I'm sorry too. I really am. I hope one day you and Sarah can forgive me."

"Forgiveness was never the issue," Joel replies softly. "You had that the minute you asked for it. It's the forgetting that's hard."

"Yeah."

The forgetting.

///

Time has a funny way of making you remember.

You thought you'd never see him again.

Never see the way his black hair falls into his blue eyes. Never see the shy way his mouth quirks when you say something funny.

And yet here you are at a nearby coffee shop talking to Paul. Paul, the man who broke your heart.

He looks better than you remember. He finally got a better haircut. He seems calmer than before as well, his lithe body leaning back in the chair regarding you as the cafe bustles around you.

You've just finished telling him about the sanctuary and he responded in exactly the way you wanted, with a kind of truthful enthusiasm that made you fall for him in the first place.

"That's amazing," he enthuses shaking his head in disbelief. "Scratch that, you're amazing. Look at how much you've done for that place."

"Not just me," you insist, feeling guilty about taking all the credit.

"Ah yes," Paul takes a sip of his coffee. "How is James?"

"Alex, actually. James resigned."

"Oh wow," Paul looks shocked by this. You consider talking to him about James being a big booger sugar fan but then decide against it. But you do tell him about getting kennels built and how your office has been renovated.

Paul has always had this ability to make you feel like the most fascinating person on the planet. When you talk he really listens.

You've missed that.

When his face grow sober and he puts the mug next to yours on the table, you immediately tense. Paul means across the table, his hand clutching yours. You note this with passivity.

"I'm so sorry for what happened. Your mom told me."

"How?"

"She called me." Paul is tilting his head slightly, a habit that always reminds you of the dogs you see at work.

"Why would you be in contact with my mom?"

"We talk sometimes."

"You do?"

"Of course," Paul replies softly. "Until this most recent one, you weren't returning any of my texts and I was worried. I wanted to check up on you."

Irritation goes through your veins like a drug. You pull your hand back from his, wrapping it around your mug.

"You broke up with me, Paul, remember? Why would I be responding to your texts?"

"Because it's not like we broke up because we stopped loving each other," Paul insists. "We just wanted different things at different times."

You lapse into silence, considering this. He's not completely wrong, you surmise. For you, it had been the bitter end of a relationship, for Paul. It seems it was simply a pause.

"I told you I'd always love you," Paul continues. "And I meant it."

"You also told me we were drifting apart."

"its how I felt at the time," Paul answers honestly. His eyes trace your face in a way that feels tender. “I wanted to go on tour, I wanted to bring music to people. You used to want that too.”

“Yeah, well,” you clear your throat, moving back in your chair and shrugging. “Things change. I changed.”

“I know something about change,” Paul offers with a shy smile. "I got a job teaching music. Doesn't pay a ton but it's reliable."

This shocks you. Paul had been so dedicated to his music, so invested in making it his everyday reality by touring all over.

"What about Jack and the band?"

"Weekends," Paul shrugs. "A hobby."

You’re gobsmacked. A year ago you had needed to split up because of Paul’s unwavering belief that touring with Jack was what needed to happen. That he would live the rest of his life unfulfilled if he didn’t.

And now he sitting here across from you, offering himself up as the exact man you wanted him to be?

Timing is everything.

Fucking timing.

"A lot has changed in a year," you say coolly.

"A year without you has felt longer," Paul confides. "Thought I knew what I wanted. But playing music and touring? It's not the same when you don't have your person to come home to."

You hate the way your treacherous heart lurches at that. Your bruised heart you’ve tried to mend.

"I missed you, baby."

You feel all the hurt from the past few weeks with Joel heavy on your heart. The realization that yet another relationship didn't work out for you. The thought that maybe there’s a reason things never work and maybe it has everything to do with you and being unlovable.

"I missed you too, Paul."

And it's true, you did miss Paul. You'd loved Paul for so long. And even though that love is buried you think that maybe, just maybe, there's a chance for revival if it’s cared for and nurtured.

You talk for a long time. You talk about what it would mean to be back together. You talk about your fears and what it would look like to be a couple again. You talk until the woman who runs the cafe politely tells you to leave.

Paul wants you, even after everything. Paul is here, not Joel. It will never again be Joel.

So later that night when Paul gently guides your mouth to his you let him. You let him hold you and kiss you and you think that this is all you can hope for.

This is all you deserve.

///

You and Maria pull into the parking lot of the restaurant to celebrate the engagement. You're thankful it's not the shitty Italian place you had your first 'date' with Joel. This place is more casual with a pub-like ambiance. Despite this, you've dressed up a bit. Done your hair nicely and pressed perfume to your neck.

Maria thinks you're all done up for her for her engagement party and remarks how beautiful you look, but this isn't true. You did it because as his best man, you know Joel will be there.

The thought of a whole evening with Joel would have intimidated you a week ago, but after your phone conversation you feel excited to see him. Plus he's undoubtedly brought Sarah and she is the brightest of bright spots.

"Over here!" Tommy calls and as you turn your head to follow Maria you see Joel sitting at the table beside a beautiful woman who smiles up at you as Maria and you approach.

He brought Tess?

The minute he sees you, a look crosses Joel’s face. A look that you can’t actually decipher. He murmurs something to Tess and then he’s moving from the table towards the washrooms. You don’t bothering watching him go.

Tommy offers you and Maria your seats next to his at the booth. You’re directly across from Tess and Joel. You want to hold in a groan.

“Hi, I’m Tess,” the woman says with a small wave from her side of the table. You wave back, introducing yourself. Tommy pushes a menu towards you and you busy yourself reading the specials, trying to stop the galloping of your heart.

“Joel says you're the best babysitter," Tess enthuses with a broad smile, determined to talk to you. "And Sarah never stops talking about you. I feel like I'm meeting a celebrity."

"Mmm." You feel sick to your stomach. "Where is Sarah? I thought she'd be here."

"I convinced Joel to let my mom take care of the kids tonight," Tess explains. "Took a lot of convincing though. You know how stubborn he can be."

"Oh sure," you say glumly.

Tess seems to want to say more but Joel has returned from the washroom and slid into the chair next to Tess and across from you. You could be mistaken but his temples look damp, like he splashed water on his face.

"Did I miss anything?" he asks, looking between you and Tess.

"Just saying how my mom is babysitting the kids so we could come solo tonight," Tess smiles at him.

You toss back your drink. "Does she have her first aid?"

"Huh?" Tess is looking at you confused.

"Your mom. Does she have CPR training?" You continue. "Can she drive at night if there's an emergency?"

"Hey." Joel's voice is a low warning, his eyes narrowed.

But Tess's face has broken into amusement and she's laughing in a way that can only be described as musical. She rubs Joel's arm with affection.

"Joel she's kidding."

"Yeah," you say with a forced smile. "Kidding."

"Maria told me you were funny," Tess acknowledges. You don't know what to say to that. You give a polite nod before everyone's attention is drawn to the end of the table. Maria and Tommy are seated there. Tommy has his arm around Maria and she's nestled under his armpit like she was made to be there.

"Thanks for coming out," Tommy says raising a glass. “Just a little something to celebrate us getting’ engaged. Nothing fancy but let’s raise a glass and…Well, except maybe you. You keep your glass on the table.”

Tommy winks at you as he motions to your pint, the meaning obvious and Maria lets out a barking laugh, turning to you and shaking her head.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“Tommy!’ You defend, your cheeks flaming. “You told her?”

“He couldn’t stop laughing telling me,” Maria informs you. Tess and Joel are looking at the three of you dissolving into giggles, confusedly. Tommy sobers quickly, raising his glass once more.

“To finding the right person,” he says warmly. “To love.”

You raise your glass along with the rest of the table, tapping it gently against Tess’s glass when she leans over with her glass extended. You ignore Joel when his tips towards you. Instead you drink deeply, letting the hoppy ale coat your tongue.

You learn more about Tess because she never seems to stop talking. She's a nurse. She's a beer fan. She's nuts about horses. Of course she is. She probably has a secret collection of flannel shirts too.

With every new detail you find yourself pouring another glass of beer from the communal pitchers. The beer momentarily makes you feel more affectionate towards the group, even annoying ol' Tess who seems determined to talk the entire fucking night.

She's pretty. Closer to Joel's age and very confident. That's the only word you can think to describe her. The way she carries herself, the way she can just interject comments into the conversation all night as if she's been part of the group forever.

“We’re going to the site tomorrow morning early,” Tess enthuses now. “Can’t wait to see it.”

"Oh, are you a construction worker as well as a nurse?" You don't mean for it to sound snarky, but it comes out harsh and ugly.

Maria and Tommy shoot you a similar surprised look with raised brows. Joel is glowering at you and Tess is laughing awkwardly.

"I just mean," you scramble, trying to salvage your faux pas. "You seem to know -"

You watch as she wraps a hand over his shoulder, resting her chin there and looking at Joel fondly.

"I just wanted to see where my man spends all his time."

My man.

Thankfully the waitress is there with pitchers of beer for the table before you can say something hideous. You throw yours back by the time everyone is just finishing their first sips. Maria is still looking at you incredulously.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Tess asks you politely. And now you can feel so many sets of eyes on you, it causes your skin to crawl. You think about your audience, unsure if you should answer.

But then you feel like there’s this overwhelming air of pity around the table as they look at you. You suppose this is what motivates you to answer how you do.

"Uh, yeah," you nod looking at your dinner. "His name's Paul."

There’s the sharp clattering of cutlery and you wince. You just know that Maria heard you.

"Wait, did you say Paul?" Maria is leaning forward to see you down the table. You can feel her eyes on you. "When did that happen?"

"Maria," Tommy says placing a calming hand over hers.

"Sorry," Maria says blinking rapidly and forcing a smile. "I just didn't know. Just caught me off guard."

"Wait, Paul Paul?," Tommy says now as his mind finally connects the dots. "The guy you dated before? The musician?"

Please stop. Just stop asking me-

"I thought this whole dinner was about celebrating your engagement," Joel says coolly. "So let's talk about it. Mainly, how much do I have to spend on your bachelor party when you did fuck all for mine, Tommy?"

The tension is broken for the moment and the group laughs before it falls into a comfortable pattern of chatting. For a moment you’re suddenly grateful to Joel for diverting the conversation.

You begin to like the beer, even though you've never been a big drinker. You like it because it makes you feel fuzzy and warm.

You try your best not to look at Joel through the dinner. But he's across from you so it's hard. His kneecap brushes yours at one point and you nearly jump out of your skin. It's when he shifts, putting his arm on the seat behind Tess, letting his hand drift lazily against her shoulder that a sudden anger unleashes itself in you.

All the goodwill you have for Joel from that phone conversation seems to be ebbing away with every pint you throw back. He's sitting there practically rubbing it in your face that he's with Tess!

Fuck Joel Miller. Fuck him for thinking its fine to tell you how much he cares about you and then find another woman so easily. If he liked you so much why were you so easy to replace?

The meal is almost over when you get a buzz on your hip. You pull out your phone under the table and see Paul has sent you a message.

C u at home gorgeous. I'll bring dessert.

You swallow thickly before placing the phone back in your pocket. You feel eyes on you and glance up to see Joel studying you from across the table. You pour yourself another beer.

"How many is that?" Joel murmurs in a low voice only you can hear. The rest of the group is chatting at the other end of the table.

"Last time I counted it was..." You adopt a contemplative look, pretending to add in your head before your face drops. "Oh right, none of your business."

You throw the drink back with renewed gusto. Joel watches this silently, his face revealing nothing, before his attention is back to the group.

You start to understand why people love beer so much. It makes you numb to the fact that Maria looked horrified at the thought of you being back with Paul. It makes you impervious to the sight of Tess caressing Joel's forearm in front of you, as if she's purposely trying to rub it in.

"Maria I forgot to tell you, I found the best charity shop by the boulevard."

"Please tell me it's nothing like the last one you dragged me to," Maria says with a chuckle. "I'm still finding glitter all over my closet!"

She and Tess break into high pitched giggles. Your fork stills on your plate at the sound.

Wait. Maria and Tess have been hanging out just the two of them? It's not enough that she's taken Joel, now she's gonna come for Maria too?

A coiling tendril of insecurity and anger starts to move through you and as if she can sense it, Tess turns and smiles in your direction.

"You should come with us next time! Maybe we can find some good stuff for the wedding."

She's coming to the wedding?! She's known Maria and Tommy for what, a month, maybe two, and now she's invading the wedding? A sickening sensation is taking you over. A sensation that has nothing to do with Tess’ offer and everything to do with wanting to slap Joel fucking Miller across his beautiful, horrible face.

"I'm busy," you mutter.

Tess's smile is fading and the rest of the group is now staring at you awkwardly. Except for Joel, he's openly glaring at you. You can see the muscle in his jaw working overtime as he pins you with his gaze.

Tess glances at Maria and then back to you giving a weak laugh. "But, I didn't say when we were going."

Fuck.

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You want to be anywhere but here. You hate the pitying look Tommy is sending you even worse than the open hostility that Joel is.

Maria seems to sense your discomfort because she's talking loudly about dessert. Everyone agrees that a tart sounds great.

You take this opportunity to slink off to the bathroom feeling properly admonished. You move with a slight wobble as you stand, finding it much harder to walk now that the restaurant is so packed and the room seems to be tilted.

You stand outside the washroom door, hidden behind the wall for a few moments. Is it too late to just run? No, fuck, your purse and phone are back at the table. Maybe you can tell everyone you got food poisoning?

"The fuck are you doing?"

Your eyes dart to the approaching figure of Joel. He rounds the corner, stalking towards you like a creature of terrifying grace. He comes to stand inches from you, so close you have to tilt back a bit to see his face.

"Whadda you mean?" You say trying to keep the slur from your voice.

"Being a bitch to Tess for no reason? Getting wasted?" Joel replies pointedly. "In all the time I've known you, I've never seen you have more than one drink."

"I'm not drunk," you counter even as you struggle to focus on his increasingly blurry face. "You don't see me all the time Joel. You don't know if I drink or not. You actually don't know me at all."

"I do know you," Joel replies in a voice so dark and low it feels siphoned from the soles of his work boots. "You think all you deserve is that asshole that left you."

You give a scoffing noise. Joel Miller of all people is trying to give you relationship advice?

Joel continues, his neck bending so he can keep your eyes. "Hell, I don't think you even like him. He's just convenient."

You want to scream in his face. You want to pummel his strong chest. And you want to hug him, to have him hold you. It's so complicated being around Joel and it infuriates you that you still feel this way knowing you can't have him.

"What do you care?" You shoot back, holding the door to the washroom to keep your balance. You make sure to pitch your voice low and quiet so the table can’t overhear. "You have perfect Tess and now you'll have a perfect family and a perfect life. How perfectly fucking perfect for you."

You know you sound absolutely crazy as you say this to him, your eyes half closed in a drunken stupor as you sway in place. Joel looks exasperated.

“You said you wanted to be friends.”

"You guys sleep together yet?” you say over him, not hearing what he’s just said. “You tell her the same stuff you told me that night?"

Joel's gaze hardens. His shoulders are shaking as he breathes in and out at a rapid pace. You want to punch something. Mainly Joel’s face.

"You tell her that you want her for your own? That you need to taste her? You probably do. I was such a fucking idiot."

You go to walk away but Joel is stopping you, his hand on your shoulder keeping you there by pressing it to the wall. He does it lightly and you know if you pulled away from him he’d let you go. But his eyes pin you to the wall, keeping you there.

"Tess doesn't walk out when things get tough," Joel tells you in a low whisper. "She doesn't tell me how she feels and then leave and ignore me for weeks."

"Nope. She's perfect."

"She doesn't need to be perfect. She just needs to talk to me, to not run away from me." Joel is inches from your face. "Do you know how I felt when I heard from Tommy that you'd been talking to Maria the whole time you were gone?"

You're surprised by this. You weren't aware he'd known anything about your trip away, including who you talk to.

"I told you how I felt about you and then you pick up and leave," Joel says in a voice that feels dragged from the base of his abdomen. "And I was the one here panicking, calling you, begging for you to call me back like a fucking loser."

"You’re not-"

"You never called once."

"I couldn't."

"You called Maria." Joel defends.

"Maria is like my family," you say with a deep frown, irritated that you have to defend yourself. "I've known her since we were teenagers."

Joel is silent, his face drawn into a cold frown.

"Joel, I couldn't call you. We were so... fresh, so new." You run your hands through your hair, tugging. "I couldn't stand the thought of dragging you down with me."

His eyes are searching yours. "That wasn't just for you to decide."

"Yes it was!" you insist, your voice wobbling. "I get to decide when and what I share, Joel."

"You do," Joel replies airily. "Just don't expect everyone to be waiting around for you when you finally decide to do it."

"You certainly weren't," you bite back. "How long after you told me about all those feelings did you go running off to Tess?"

Silence.

“C'mon Joel," you demand, your drunkenness feeding your ire. "All those feelings you claimed you had churning up inside you. Where did they go so quickly? Be honest."

If looks could kill you'd be dead five times over. He pulls back, his hand moving from your shoulder and falling to his hip.

"Or maybe they weren't as strong as you led me to believe," you say swaying as you try to keep your gaze focused. "Maybe you just liked the attention, Joel. And now you have someone new, someone easier, someone who doesn’t know that you ran just as quickly as I did."

Joel shuts his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath, it's slow and even and you are terrified at the sound of it. It's as if he's a giant balloon releasing all the hateful tension of the last five minutes.

“I wanted you so fucking badly. I told you things I’ve never told anyone. Ever. Not even Tommy.”

You feel sick to your stomach listening to Joel because in all the time you’ve known him you don’t remember him sounding this defeated. Then his eyes open and it's like you've been kicked in the gut. All the hatred and the fury you'd been expecting is gone. Instead all that remains is a naked sorrow that makes you do a double take.

“And I get to your house that morning and you won’t look at me and your bag is packed and all I can think is that it’s Michelle all over again. So yeah, I fucked up and left. I’m sorry.” Joel’s breathing is unsteady. “But you don’t get to act like it’s the same as what you did to me. I called you how many times that day to apologize? And I didn’t expect you tell me everything. I just wanted to know you were okay. I wanted to be there for you. And you shut me out.”

Please Joel. Please don’t look at me like that. Not with eyes that sad.

“And you don’t want me. That’s fine. You tell me you want to be friends? I agree to it. I moved on with a woman who has made it clear that she wants all of me and you’re mad at me for it?”

Are you mad? Its what you wanted wasn't it? Less complication? Joel as your friend?

So then why are you this fucking angry?

"I. . . I thought you wanted us to be friends," he says in a voice so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

You stare up at him, blinking as his words register with you. Friends. You can't be friends with Joel Miller. Not when you like him this much. Not when the sight of him still makes your stomach do cartwheels.

But there’s still a fire in your belly, multiplied by the alcohol but definitely not reliant on it.

"I don't want to be your friend," you bite back. "I don't need you using me as free babysitting so you can go off with Tess and get your dick wet."

This is the ugliest thing you've ever said to him. Maybe to anyone. It's such a cruel, twisted thing to say to a man who has done nothing besides not wait around for you to decide whether you like him or not. Joel stares down at you with a look of such disappointment you're convinced you could shrivel away to nothing under it.

"That was a shitty fucking thing to say."

You wonder if he's going to yell at you or slap the wall beside your head. You never find out because Maria rounds the corner to see you both locked in a mutual glare.

"Hey guys, was wondering where you got off to," Maria says eye-balling you both. Its clear there is tension, made even more obvious by the seething glare Joel shoots you before stalking back to the table.

You both watch him leave and then Maria is staring at you with a look of someone solving a very large and very obvious puzzle.

"You like Joel."

You want to shake your head and insist that she's wrong. You want to deny everything and force a laugh. But instead your head drops forward onto your sternum and you're holding in tears.

"Yeah."

Maria brings you stumbling into her arms and guides you to exit the restaurant. She's brought your purse and she holds you steady as you weave out the doors.

"I'm taking you home."

"The dinner -"

"Over anyway," Maria insists as you both buckle in. "The dessert was disgusting."

She lets you sit in silence the entire drive home but inside the suite after leading you to your sofa, Maria fixes you with a stern look.

"So how long? And you better be fucking honest with me now."

"A while," you admit.

You tell her about the butterfly's at trivia. You tell her about the kennels he spent hours making for you. You tell her about the ice cream and the park. The way you’d felt when Joel took your hand in his, driving you home after James. You tell her about his finger tracing your lip. You tell her about the kiss at the party. You tell her about how beautiful he kisses and how he told you how he felt. You tell her everything because she’s Maria and not telling her has been hurting you more than you realized. (You don’t tell her about after the party though because. . . Well, some things are sacred to you alone.)

She holds you and she wipes your tears when you tell her about what you said to Joel at the party.

“I am not team Joel by any means, but why didn’t you just call him?”

“I couldn’t, Maria,” you say with a quivering chin. “I just couldn’t let him know that part of my life. Not yet. And now look how quickly he moved on. I was gone for what, a month?”

“Honey,” she says in a way that feels far too maternal coming from a woman near to your age. She pulls you into her arms again and you cry there, hating everything about that night and how much it has ruined. “Look at it this way, he admits everything to you, you leave and don’t call for six weeks. He thinks ‘oh fuck, she doesn’t want me like I want her. I’m an idiot. Plus I have a kid who’s grown attached. I better get out now.’”

“And get with another woman?”

“Joel is a guy. Guys are simple,” Maria explains flatly. “He has an ego and you crushed it when you left and ignored him. So he found a woman who built it back up. Made him feel good. A woman who he can see without it being weird for Sarah. A woman who, let’s be honest, is hot and cool and doesn’t really demand much of Joel aside from his time and attention.”

Maria is right. You know it. Tess is a better fit for Joel and Sarah.

You think back to your childhood, sometime between the good and bad years. You were no more than seven and you came upon an abandoned kitten half buried under leaves in the park, left by its mother. It was small, a runt, and probably hours away from dying.

You'd rushed home with it in your jacket, your little heart pounding as you brought it to your mother. A wise woman with a sensitive heart to animals. Of course she helped you bathe it, feed it, nurse it back to life. For two weeks you and that kitten were inseparable. You held him tightly to you, warming him. You read him stories and you sang sweet melody's as he slept. And he grew, his mewls turning from sad yips to mighty meow's. He began to follow you around the house, playfully nipping at your heels as you squealed with delight.

You told everyone at school about the kitten who you named Marmalade because of his orange color. And one Wednesday two weeks after you discovered him you arrived home to see his blanket at the end of your bed was gone. The carrier you'd bought was missing from the hall closet and when you ran to your mother terrified she had told you what you would ultimately come to know: You'd thought love was enough and it wasn't. The cat needed more. A family that could take better care of it.

You'd sobbed for hours with your mom rocking you in her arms.

"They have lots of money and room for him," your mom had told you as your face pressed into on her shoulder sniffling. "That kitten is going to have a better life then most people. Letting him go was the kindest thing you could have done, sweetheart."

You think of that kitten now as Maria mentions Tess and you realize that once more your love is not enough. Joel will be better off.

You can't keep him.

He's not yours.

308 notes · View notes