g00d--m0urning

[g00d--m0urning]

[g00d--m0urning]

Unnamed (Pt.6)

Daryl Dixon x AFAB!reader

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

Chap. Summary: Andrea shots Daryl, you're worried. You and Daryl finally talk (ish, they have a civil conversation, twice! Neither of them want to admit shit). And you fall asleep in the same bed 😏😏

TW: nothing major for this chapter, just Daryl getting shot, obvi, descriptions of injuries and reader is pregnant so they talk about that near the end

(slightly abrupt ending? The word count was getting higher than my chaps. normally are, so I feel like I cut it short).

The next morning, the rest of the group drives out to the farm. It’s a nice place: lots of land, quaint house, wells, all that farm-y jazz. It’d be a nice place to raise a kid, you find yourself thinking, but you put a quick end to that line of thought.

The group is introduced to the people who live at the farm: Hershel, Patricia, Maggie, Beth, and Jimmy. They’re all nice; Hershel doesn’t seem to be too pleased to have guests, but he’s nice enough not to voice it. 

“Hey.”

You turn around to find Maggie standing there, a brown cowboy hat perched on her head, and boy-oh-boy, she looks good. You set your bag down on the passenger seat, smiling at her in return.

“Hey. Maggie, right?”

“Yep,” she looks over your shoulder, eyeing the sleeping bag you have unrolled in the backseat, “You’re sleeping in your car?” she asks suspiciously, looking you up and down. 

“Yeah…Why?” you ask back; bet you can guess what she’s going to say.

“You’re pregnant… Right? I don’t want to assume, but…” she gestures at you and your slightly protruded stomach. You’re thankful your bump isn’t more prominent, but with your third trimester coming up, you can’t imagine it’ll stay that way.

“Don’t worry, I am, in fact, pregnant,” you assure with a laugh, running a hand over your stomach.

“We have the room. I can’t imagine sleeping in the car is good for your back,” she says, jutting her head in the direction of the house.

“No, no, I’m fine. You guys are already doing so much for us, I couldn’t intrude. I’ve been sleeping in the car for a long time, I’ll be fine,” you argue politely, shaking your head. 

“Exactly, you guys have been on the road for so long, your back has to be killing you. You can sleep with me in my room!” she continues to insist, ducking around you and snatching your bag from the car and walking off in the direction of the house, “No arguing!”

You freeze for a moment, shocked by her audacity. You snap out of it, laughing and chasing after her, “You are incredibly pushy, Ms. Mags.”

“It’s called being polite; you’re welcome,” she retorts, sticking her tongue out at you, slowing down to walk side-by-side.

You and Maggie chat on the way to her house, and while you get settled in her room, and when you join back with the group to find out what to do on the Sophia front. Rick and Shane are benched, so are you--by your own choice this time!--meaning Daryl is the one that is going out. You very pointedly ignore the worry you feel stirring in your stomach, pretending it’s the baby.

You spend the day helping around the farm, helping the group settle in, doing anything to keep yourself busy. You’re just about to bring Carol her dried laundry when you hear her talking with someone. It’s easy to recognize it as Daryl. He’s telling her about the Cherokee Rose; you remember the story, Meryl was high as a kite and rambling about every little thing he stumbled into thinking about, and for once, something he said made sense.

The conversation stops and you snap out of your walk down memory lane, looking around for a way to split, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. You make it down the first stair, but Daryl comes out the door, stopping just before he bumps into you.

“Hi,” you smile awkwardly, holding up the pile of laundry like it’s going to offer an explanation, “Bringing Carol her laundry, it finished drying.”

“Alright, she’s in there,” he says, either none the wiser or uncaring, walking around you.

“Daryl,” you call, watching him stop in his tracks and turn around, “that was sweet, the story,” you admit, the awkwardness in your expression melting into something softer.

“Eavesdropping now?” he asks; if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was teasing, “Thanks, thought she could use it. Never thought Merle’s stories would come in handy.”

“Me neither, guess the world really has ended,” you laugh, shaking your head.

The tips of Daryl’s ears warm, heart thumping in his chest at the sound of your laugh; he’s missed it, “Jesus, he never made a lick of sense, did he?”

“No, he didn’t! Honestly, I don’t think he was speaking English half the time. Didn’t he start randomly speaking German one day?” you agree, giggling at the memory of Merle shouting at the trees in German.

“He did. I think it was Rammstein lyrics,” he nods, laughing along with you.

Your heart does a little flip in your chest when he laughs, and for a moment, everything feels alright, almost normal, “Probably, god, he listened to those albums on repeat, I don’t know how he did it. I wanted to claw my ears out,” you concur, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“Trust me, I remember,” he mumbles, staring at you intently. 

“Yeah… I complained a lot, didn’t I?” 

“A little,” he shrugs, smirking slightly, and shuffling his feet around in the dirt.

“More than a little, but thank you for lying and being considerate.” you snort, rolling your eyes at his platitude. 

The conversation dies down, leaving you both standing there… Just staring at each other; longingly, one might say. The trance breaks when a door slams shut behind you; you step back a little when you realize you’d started stepping closer to each other.

“I should… Get Carol her laundry, sorry. Goodnight,” you stammer, stepping around him and hurrying into the RV.

Daryl watches the door, listening to you talk to Carol. His heart is palpitating and he wants to smack himself upside the head; he’s the one that fucked up and he keeps doing it. If he falls back into this--into you--he’ll fuck up again, fuck up you daughter. 

He runs a hand down his mouth, walking off to his set up at the edge of the farmhouse. He rifles through his bag, cursing when he can’t find what he wants. He flips the bag over, dumping the contents out onto the floor without a care. A photo falls out when he gives it one last shake and he sighs in relief. 

Daryl picks up the sonogram, rubbing his thumb over the image of his daughter. The daughter he said he didn’t want anything to do with. Fuck, he’s an idiot. 

“G’night, sweetheart,” he murmurs to the image, tucking it into his shirt.

-------------------------------------

“Ugh,” you groan, flopping down onto Maggie’s bed.

“Something wrong, doll?” Maggie asks with a chuckle, sitting down on the bed with you.

“Yes! I’m pretty sure I’m fucked,” you exclaim, covering your face with your hands.

“Any particular reason why?” she drawls, pursing her lips to contain her laughter, “does it have to do with a certain redneck?”

“Wha, w-hat, what? No. No. No, why would you think that?” you stutter, shooting upright into a sitting position, staring at her wide-eyed.

“I might’ve seen you guys staring at each other through the window,” she admits, smirking at you knowingly.

“That’s…creepy, you’re a creeper,” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at her, “but…yeah, shit. It’s stupid because it was literally just a conversation, but my heart is pounding like I'm a teenager with a crush. And Daryl is the worst possible person for me to start falling in love with,” you trail off, tearing up.

“Why?” she’s quieter now, setting a hand on your back.

“Because…It’s happened before and it ended…shittily, to say the least,” you whisper, staring at a picture frame on the wall; it’s a little girl, who you assume is Maggie, and an older woman, her mother, possibly. 

The realization seems to dawn on her and her jaw drops, “Is he the…” she gestures at your stomach hesitantly.

“Mhmm.. He is. We were together before the world ended, we broke up four months before it happened. It didn’t even know that I was pregnant when I left.” 

“Oh, doll… Why Daryl?” she asks, seeming genuinely a little concerned about your relationship.

Despite your melancholic mood, that makes you laugh, “He’s sweet…When he wants to be. He’s misunderstood--even by me, sometimes.”

“Well, as long as you were happy,” she pats your back, shaking her head slightly.

“I was… We were,” you mumble, smiling sadly, “Ok, I’m too tired to keep talking about my depressing love life,” you sigh, laying back down on the bed.

“M’kay, goodnight, doll,” she hums, standing up to seemingly go somewhere else.

“You can sleep in the bed with me; I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed,” you tell her, smoothing a hand over the expanse of the bed.

“You sure?”

“Positive! I’m lucky enough to be in a bed, I can suck it up and share it with a pretty lady.”

“You flirting with me?”

“Depends, is it working?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yes ma’am.”

She snorts, fondly rolling her eyes at you and crawling back into bed, “Go to sleep.”

You did. You really did. It didn’t take long; being on a real bed is so nice, orgasmic even. By the time you woke up, the sun was already blinding through the windows. You slip out of bed, heading into the kitchen to find the girls hanging out in the kitchen.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Maggie teases, passing you a cup of coffee, “sugar’s in the cabinet and creamer in the fridge.”

“Aha, you could’ve woken me up, y’know” you retort lightly, preparing your coffee. Unlike last time, you’re glad they let you sleep in.

Coffee is in your veins, you got a full night’s sleep, and your back isn’t absolutely fucked: it’s going to be a great day.

It was going to be a great day, until you learned Daryl went out to look for Sophia again, so you’re stuck in a weird anxious state. Why are you anxious over Daryl? He’s a great woodsman and it’s not like you care about what happens to him… Not at all. 

It’s still going to be a great day; you refuse to let the anxiety eat you up! You busy yourself with helping around the farm, Carol and Lori want to cook a dinner for everybody as a way of saying thank you to Hershel and his family, so you help with that when the time comes.

You’re halfway through peeling a potato when a shot sounds outside; everyone immediately drops what they’re doing to rush onto the front porch, looking around to see who was shooting and what they were aiming for. 

Andrea is at the scene of the crime, rifle in hand, but you can’t tell what she was shooting at. Rick is yelling from across the field with a gaggle of men; they pick something off the ground and through the sun you swear you see Daryl in their arms.

As they get closer, your fear is confirmed: Andrea shot Daryl. Lori manages to get words out before you, and thankfully it was just a graze and he’s simply unconscious. You follow the herd of people into the house, lingering in the doorway while Hershel stitches up Daryl.

He’s filthy and apparently he got stabbed, somehow. What the fuck happened out there? You don’t return to the room until after he’s asleep again, settling into the armchair tucked against the wall. 

He stirs a little while later, rolling onto his side with a groan. It looks like he’s about to go back to sleep, but he pauses his shifting when he notices you. His eyes crack open, adjusting to the low light.

“Hi,” you smile slightly, giving your own nerves away when it wavers.

“Hey,” he greets back, staring at you like he’s not sure if he wants you here or not, “How long you been sitting there?”

“... Not long,” you shrug, leaning back in the chair. An hour isn’t that long at all!

“That chair ain’t uncomfortable?” he asks, adjusting his weight onto his palms and attempting to push himself into a sitting position.

“Ah-ah-ah…be careful, stitches,” you warn, wincing when he does, his brows set deeply.

“Couldn’t tell,” he grits, leaving himself half propped on the headboard. 

Silence falls over you two, not dissimilar to yesterday. You’re staring at him with an annoying softness, while he stares at the wall. He’s thinking about something, you just wish you knew what.

“I found the girl’s doll today,” he whispers, almost talking to himself, “‘m close, I can feel it.”

“I know you are; you’re gonna find her, Dee,” you whisper back, the nickname slipping out before you can stop it.

His head jerks to the side, remembering you’re still in the room, “Been a while since you’ve called me that,” he points out and you swear you can see his eyes light up a little.

“I guess it has been, sorry,” you apologize, clamming up underneath his gaze, “just slipped out.”

“You don’t hafta apologize. Just surprised me, ‘s all,” he assures, shrugging slightly and bringing his hand up to his mouth, chewing on a hangnail. 

You’re interrupted by Carol knocking on the door, peeking in to see if Daryl is up. She smiles at both of you, setting his dinner onto the bedside table, “Are you hungry, sweetheart? I can get you a plate,” Carol offers while she checks in on Daryl.

“I’m alright, Carol. Thank you, though,” you reject, smiling at her sweet offer. She’s a great person, too sweet for a world that’s falling apart.

She nods and exits the room as quiet as she came in, leaving you and Daryl in silence again as he eats. 

“You eaten yet?” he asks through a mouthful of potatoes like he’s a heathen. 

“No not yet, not really hungry,” you answer truthfully, shifting around in the chair to try and get comfortable again, “and don’t talk with your mouth open, it’s gross.”

“Bullshit, you ain’t. Yer pregnant, eating for two,” he scoffs, scooting over in the bed, so he’s closer to the edge.

“Ok, that’s not a valid argument. Just because I’m pregnant does not mean I’m hungry all the time,” you correct, narrowing your eyes at him as he moves. You really don’t want the dumbass to rip his stitches.

“Eat,” he orders, holding a forkful of food up, seemingly for you to bite from.

“No,” you deny, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Eat, ya stubborn ass,” he orders again, waggling the fork at you.

“No, you stubborn ass,” you mock, pushing the fork towards him.

“Don’t mock me,” he snorts, rolling closer once more, “eat the damn potatoes,”

“I don’t want the--” and suddenly there’s potatoes being shoved into your mouth. Very hot potatoes, “ow, ow, hot,” you gasp with a halfull mouth, trying not to spit the food out.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s gross,” he mocks you from earlier, smirking because he knows he won.

You chew angrily, glaring at him. The potatoes are actually really good; the first bite of fresh, seasoned food since the world decided to end. The two of you share the plate; at some point the fork was forgoed and replaced with fingers.

The plate is empty and Daryl sets it aside on the bedside table. He leans back, setting a hand on his stomach, “Damn, that was good,” he comments, rolling his neck.

“Yeah, I forgot how good home cooked meals were,” you agree, stretching out in the armchair. You aren’t the only one getting comfortable; the baby shifts in your stomach, finding a good position for herself.

“The kid bugging you?” he asks, noticing the way you set a hand over your stomach, groaning a little.

“No, she’s just moving around a lot,” you tell him, a little surprised he’s asking about the baby, even if it’s just to see if she’s bothering you.

He pauses, looking between you and your stomach. It looks like he wants to do something, but is too scared, or hesitant. 

“You wanna feel?” you ask quietly, scared that you’re reading the situation wrong.

His eyes seem to instantly light up, the offer igniting something in him, “Can I?” he asks back, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or take the offer back before either of you do something you regret. 

“Yeah,” you confirm, moving the armchair closer to the bed.

He reaches out, gingerly setting a hand over your stomach. The baby moves again, bumping against Daryl’s palm.

“Doesn’t that feel weird?” he asks, his focus entirely on your stomach, on the growing life in it.

“One hundred percent; I mean, there’s a living thing doing somersaults in me,” you grimace, trying to ignore the way your brain keeps trying to compare your baby to a Xenomorph.

“Have you…Has it been easy?” he asks, frowning slightly.

Your brows furrow slightly, unsure what he’s asking about, “Has what been easy?” 

“The pregnancy,” he clarifies, looking up at you with an almost guilty look, “Y’know, morning sickness, hormones, or whatever it is pregnancy causes.”

“Really, you care?” you scoff, unable to keep the bitterness out of your tone. He’s the one that said he didn’t want anything to do with her.

He winces slightly, eyes downcast, “Yes, I do. Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little bit,” you mutter, looking away from his and his stupid sad, puppy dog eyes.

“Right… Listen, I… Would you tell me?” he stammers, trying to find the wording. He can’t bring himself to apologize; he doesn’t know if you would accept one, “Or how ‘bout the book, is it helpful?”

You sigh, searching his face for something, anything, “No, it isn’t. Not that it’s the author’s fault, I doubt she could’ve guessed the world would fall apart,” you say, laughing a little at the absurdity, “I can’t even imagine trying to write a parenting book for the apocalypse.”

“‘Raising a Baby in the Apocalypse for Dummies: How to Make Sure Your Kid Doesn’t Get Eaten’,” he titles, using a ridiculous announcer voice.

That makes you chuckle, “‘101 ways to use your natural surroundings for baby-raising in case of emergency: the guide,’” you suggest, smiling like an idiot.

“Mine was better,” he declares, causing you to scoff.

“Was not!” you argue, sticking your tongue out at him like a child.

This leads to a book naming debate, taking turns shooting off names for books, each name more ridiculous than the last. Somehow this turns into talking about books you read while stuck in your apartment at the beginning of the apocalypse and eventually the conversation turns into…well,  a conversation!

It’s nice being able to talk to him again; bullshitting with him like that reminds you of before. Daryl moved over in bed, so you could sit with him after you complained the armchair was killing your back.

At some point, both of you fell asleep; Maggie pops into the room, coming to see if you’re coming to bed, only to find you and Daryl asleep in bed together.

 She smirks at the sight, walking over to turn the lamp off and cover you up, “Goodnight, you crazy kids.”

[g00d--m0urning]

I really want to give baby Damian Martha Waynes eyes.

And then take them away before Bruce has a chance to see them.

Just like for one reason or another the Batfam ends up having to go to the League and Damian is sent off by Talia to join his peers in morning katas while the elder family members meet in her office for something.

And of course all of the Batfam are little snoops so they walk around her office and look at the documents and few pictures she has. And then suddenly Tim notices something.

"I thought Damian had your eyes Talia?" Tim says staring down at a picture of a 3 or 4 year old Damian with muddy green eyes rather than the bright almost toxic ones the family is used to.

"No, not at all, I don't even remember what color my eyes originally were." Talia responds barely digging through some files that Bruce needs.

"What does that mean?" Dick asks harshly.

" You didn't truly think the Al Ghul eyes were truly the Al Ghul eyes did you?" Talia scoffs "They're Lazarus eyes, why do you think Jason's eyes match ours?"

"I. I didn't think of that, huh" Jason mumbles dragging his hands along the different books Talia keeps.

"So... So when did Damian die?"

That brought silence to the room.

Jason stopped walking, Dick stopped breathing, Tim was looking sadly at Talia, eye shifting to Bruce as he stared at a wall.

"About 3 months before his 5th birthday, it was before my Father and I started to actually train him. An assassin snuck in after infiltrating the guard for a few months. Apparently he wanted Damians death to be slow. He perforated a lung, I managed to get there and kill the bastard, but Damian couldn't be saved without the pit." Talia says robotically.

"I do miss his eyes though, such a soft green" she almost whispers.

Bruce walks over to Tim, lightly taking the photo.

His breath shuttered for a moment.

He stroked his fingers over the eyes that he will never see again, that were taken from him far to soon. Both times.

"Those are my mother's eyes." He says

"He had my mother's eyes."

He stares, unable to do anything but mourn what he didn't know he lost again.

"Do you have more pictures from before?"

"Of course beloved, I'll make you copies"

The room remained silent spare the shuffling of papers and the drag of Bruce's finger over the glass frame

[g00d--m0urning]

Unnamed (PT.5)

Daryl Dixon x ex-cop!reader

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

WC: 3157

A/N: reader is pregnant guys, but otherwise gender neutral. The slow burn is finally starting to burn!!

TW: alcohol use, vague puking, needles

A bright light shines as the doors slide open with a loud hiss. Nobody wastes any time, barreling into the room. You feel a presence right behind you and you look over your shoulder, expecting to find Glenn, but instead Daryl; who immediately backs away when he notices you looking. 

An armed doctor comes into the room, waving an automatic weapon around and shouting something at Rick, who is trying to negotiate with him. They come to an agreement, which you miss, and everyone is led down a hallway, an elevator trip, and into a lower level.

The agreement was blood drawing, apparently. You end up second to last in line, sandwiched between your baby daddy and your actual baby daddy. Glenn talks your ear off until it’s his turn and by the sound of it, he’s doing the same to the doctor.

It doesn’t take long for Glenn to finish, so it’s your turn… yay. You enter the sterile room, sitting down on the metal table.

“Now, this’ll be easy. I’m just going to stick a needle in you, draw some blood, and you’ll be done,” Jenner tells you, prepping a new needle for you.

“Yeah, I know how it works,” you tell him, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

“Perfect. Now, you’ll feel a little pinch.”

You grit your teeth as he sticks the needle in you, counting down the seconds until he’s done. Once he is, you stand up and leave the room, joining everyone in a dining room. Everybody seems happy: shelter, promise of food, even hopes of a cure or whatever Jenner is doing here.

Jenner comes out around thirty minutes later with food and a bottle of wine in tow. Everyone finds seats, piling food onto their plates, and filling their glasses with wine. It’s a nice time, people are laughing, people are fed, safe. 

And then Jenner says there’s warm water. Thankfully, there’s enough rooms and showers that nobody has to wait, you just have to keep it short. You take as much time in the shower as possible, drawing it out even after the water starts running cold- it’s just nice having running water again and being clean!

You’re just about to lay down when someone knocks on your door. You groan, but get up, expecting Rick or Glenn, but finding Daryl.

“Uhm.. Hey?”

He doesn’t respond, stumbling into the room instead. He spins in a circle before settling down and looking at you, coming back to pull you into the room and close the door. You realize by the flush of his skin and the muttering under his breath, he’s drunk. Lightweight.

“I was… I was wrong,” he pants, waggling a finger at you, “that baby, I wan’ it- her.”

“Daryl--”

“No, no, listen… I’m surry--sorry ‘bout before. I didn’t know what ta do when you showed up, and then the whole pregnacy, prenancy, preg-cy--baby thing. You broke mah heart, leaving, but I know I deserved it,” he rambles, tripping over to you, setting his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. 

Up close, you can see the tears in his eyes, and the way his hands tremble slightly. You’re close to crying too, this is the most he’s talked to you, and he’s drunk.

“You’re drunk, Daryl. You don’t mean it; go back to your room,” you say softly, trying to peel him off of you, pushing him towards the door. 

“I mean it, I wanna be there.. Fur you, ‘nd the baby, our baby girl.. Do you have one of those…” he trails off, narrowing his eyes as his drunken mind tries to remember the word.

“Yes… I do have an ultrasound picture. Stay right here.”

You prop him up against the wall, disappearing into the room for a quick moment, and returning with the sonogram. You hand it to him, watching as he stares at the black and white blob in awe, running his thumb over the image.

“Tha’s her?”

“Yeah, that’s her. She’s a little bit bigger by now, it’s been over two months since that was taken.”

“You should have Doc. Fancy-Pants take a new one.”

“That’s a good idea, but I don’t know if scientists do ultrasounds, but I’ll ask.”

Not for him, though. You doubt he’ll remember this come morning. You take his arm, leading him down the hall to the room he claimed. You lay him down in bed, in which he promptly conks out.

“I despise you, Daryl,” you murmur, brushing a hand through his damp hair.

You sit there for a moment, mulling over the entire interaction with him. He was the heartbroken one? He’s the one who ignored you. And there’s the whole ‘I want to be there for you and the baby’ thing. Does he mean it? Will he still mean it when he’s sober?

“Jesus…Goodnight, asshole,” you whisper, leaving the room.

For the first time in a while, you get to sleep on a bed, which does wonders for your back. The morning is nice, Glenn and Rick are hungover--Glenn swears off all alcohol for good--and breakfast is served. 

Jenner joins us a little later, and eventually we all make it into some fancy lab with a video of an infected person’s brain scan playing. It’s depressing and explains jackshit about what the virus actually is.

People are disappointed by Jenner’s explanation- or lack thereof, but their focus gets pulled by a timer on the wall and when asked, Jenner clams up and makes a brisk exit. VI explains that once the generators run out, ‘facility-wide decontamination will occur.’ Which doesn’t sound good at all. 

“I need a drink,” you announce, getting you odd looks because it’s well established by now that you're pregnant, “kidding, my god.”

You look over at Daryl, who’s very much avoiding your gaze. You roll your eyes, leaving the room to join Carol and Sophia in the rec room. It’s nice, books, games, the whole lot.

“Hey,” you greet, nodding at Carol, walking over to the bookshelf, “any parenting books?”

“Hi and no, I don’t think so, sorry.”

“Haha, don’t apologize, I was just hoping. I honestly have no clue what I’m going to do when she comes. I was barely prepared for a baby in normal life, let alone in the apocalypse,” you admit with a quiet laugh, frowning at the bookshelf.

“You’re gonna do great, sweetheart. The fact that you’re so concerned right now means you will,” she consoles, setting a hand on your shoulder.

“...Thanks.”

“Of course.”

With no books, you settle with playing a board game with Sophia for the time being. The AC blows, Carol flips a page in her book, Sophia moves her piece. The AC blows…No it doesn’t. Why’d it stop?

“Why’d the air stop?” Carol voices your inner question, standing up to check on the vent.

“Maybe it’s on a schedule?” you suggest, but don’t believe it yourself, “let’s go round up with everyone else.”

Sophia huddles by Carol’s legs as you leave the room, joining everybody else who are hounding Jenner already. Daryl peaks out of his room, half-empty bottle of liquor in hand; he looks at you for a very brief moment before focusing on Jenner. 

Jenner is refusing to give a clear answer, walking away towards the big room. Everybody is panicking now; Jenner is mumbling and drinking and that godforsaken timer is still ticking. It finally hits thirty minutes, VI oh-so-helpfully announces.

Ricks starts telling everyone to get out, but the door locks, keeping everyone trapped inside to explode. This cannot be how you die. Shane and Daryl start an assault on the door with axes, doing absolutely nothing in the process. They quickly realize that and Daryl takes a swing at Jenner’s head.

His ax privileges get revoked while the group either a.) cries or b.) continues to try and negotiate with Jenner to let us out.

“Would you quit pacing? It’s stressing me out,” you hiss at Daryl, who’s pacing like a caged tiger.

“I’m stressing you out? I’m so sorry,” he retorts, sneering at you, but you notice that he does stop, leaning against the computers.

“We’re getting out of here, ‘m not letting this bastard blow us up.”

You look up from your lap, looking around for who he’s talking to before you register that it’s you. He’s acknowledging you, kindly. Wow, you really are dying. He seems to hesitate for a moment before setting a hand on your shoulder. Nevermind, you’re actually already dead.

“Yeah,” you nod, setting your hand over his, closing your eyes for a moment. 

Said moment is over when Daryl removes his hand, picking up the unaccompanied ax aside to start batterning at the door again. Someone said something because Jenner finally gives in and walks over to the keypad and unlocks the door.

The group starts rushing out the door, minus Jacqui and Andrea, who seem to explode ‘peacefully’. You stop in your room to grab your bag, freaking out when you can’t find your sonogram- Daryl, you gave it to Daryl. He better still have it or you’re going to strangle him. 

The windows refuse to break: axes, chairs, shotguns, nada. A lightbulb appears over Carol’s head and she starts rummaging through her purse, pulling out a grenade. Rick’s grenade, the one who nicked from the dead soldier. That works!

Walkers are gathering in the center, so you have to deal with those as you all make a break for the cars. You dive into your front seat, fumbling for the keys. Dale and Andrea appear from the window, sprinting to get cover.

They make it, barely. The CDC blows up; it’s hot, super fucking hot and it probably just attracted every undead thing in a hundred mile radius.

-------------------------------------

Over the next two days, it’s boring. Glenn ended up in your passenger seat because he got tired of being stuck in the camper with a bajillion people. The cars come to stop in front of you, so you park the Impala and get out. The highway is blocked, big surprise. 

Apparently, a hose or something is broken on the RV, so now everybody is playing ‘pop the hood and search for car parts’. You end up looking through cars for anything helpful: meds, food, clothes, that stuff, y’know?

You slide open the door to a minivan, ignoring the twinge in your heart at the sight of the empty car seats. You find a backpack, searching through it for anything. There’s not much in it, but there is a parenting book. You stare at the dusty cover, brushing your fingers over the smiling baby picture.

“Might as well take it, right? I don’t think the original owner would mind.”

You jump, shocked out of the trance you were in, turning around to find Carol standing there with a soft smile. 

“Yeah, doubt they would.”

“Are you ok?” 

“Yeah, yeah; I’m fine. It’s just hitting me that I’m going to be raising a kid in the middle of the apocalypse,” you confess, tucking the book under your arm.

You’re going to be raising a cute, innocent little baby in a world where the dead walk and want to eat you. How are you supposed to do this? Kids are loud and messy and so much work in the normal world; you can’t do this.

Carol sets a hand on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze before departing. You follow shortly behind her, heading to your car and sitting in the backseat, contemplating life and the life in you.

You don’t know how long you sat there, absentmindedly flipping between pages before someone comes barreling into you, forcing you into the car and slamming the door shut.

“Stay down ‘nd shut up.”

Daryl barks, wiggling his way onto the floor, between the seats. You stammer, taken entirely aback at what’s happening. It doesn’t take long for you to figure it out as walkers start bumping against the car, making it sway back and forth.

“Jesus Christ, where’d they come from?” you whisper, watching the undead pass by. The streets were just empty.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, chewing on a thumbnail, like he’s nervous or something, “What’s this?”

“Dunno,” you mock, resisting the urge to smack the baby book out of his hand when he grabs it from the seat, “I’ve got a kid coming in three months, figured I might as well try and understand what’s coming,” you explain, flinching when the car rattles.

He just grunts in response, setting a hand over your stomach protectively. You don’t know if he did it on purpose, or simply on instinct. The baby kicks against his hand, which clearly shocks the both of you. He yanks his hand back, cradling his palm to his chest.

“I..uhm..”

“She..”

“You--”

Both of you stammer, unable to figure out what to say to one another. Neither of you have to figure it out because someone screams. Both of you exit the car, sprinting over to the group, just in time to see Sophia run away from a walker. 

Rick and Daryl immediately go after her, so you focus on Carol, grabbing her before she can go with them. She’s a mess and you can’t blame her. Your training kicks in as you take her to sit down, speaking to her calmly and talking her through her panic attack.

“Rick was a cop and Daryl is the best tracker I know. They’ll find her, I promise,” you tell her, petting her head and letting her rest her lean against you. 

It’s after dark before Rick and Daryl return, with no Sophia in sight. It sends your heart to your stomach; that poor little girl is lost out there, hurt or worse. The night is rough; everybody is paranoid from the horde and worried about Sophia.

You can’t sleep, too wired from the day to even try and think about it, so after a couple hours of tossing and turning, you settled on flipping through the parenting book. It’s helpful-ish; it honestly doesn’t feel like you’re actually comprehending any of it.

At some point, you apparently fell asleep because the next time you’re up, the sun is shining and your book is dropped on the floorboards. You get up, going to look for everyone else. Almost nobody is around, Dale and T-Dog are the only one’s around, fixing up the RV.

“Where is everybody?” you ask, squinting through the sunlight.

“Out looking for Sophia,” Dale answers, looking up what he’s working on.

“Why didn’t anyone wake me up? I could’ve helped,” you scoff, looking around like it’ll make someone else magically appear.

“Well… You’re pregnant, we all decided to let you rest,” Dale says, hesitant like he’s waiting for you to have some hormonal outburst.

“I’m pregnant, not useless. I was a cop for christ’s sake, I can track,” you fumed, throwing your hands up. You could find Merle Dixon holed up in some crack shack with your eyes shut; you can help find Sophia!

“It wasn’t my idea. I was all for waking you up,” he agreed, raising his hands in surrender, “Dixon was the one that brought it up. Everyone else agreed.”

You’re going to kill that redneck, you swear, strangle him with your bare hands. You huff, going back to the car. Who does he think he is? Benching you like he has any damn say in what you do. 

The groups shows up a little later and you join them, ready to chew Mr. Dixon out, but then you hear them explain what’s going on. Carl is shot, there’s a farm, Lori’s there. Glenn gets tasked with taking T-Dog to the farm while everyone else is staying, just in case Sophia manages to find her way back.

“You’re going with ‘em,” you hear Daryl say, looking up to find him staring directly at you.

“No, I’m not, thank you,” you shake your head, smiling pointedly. 

“You’re preg--”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll knock you on your ass. You said you don’t want anything to do with my child, so you don’t get a say in what I do or do not do,” you snap, stuffing your hands into your pockets before you do something stupid.

“I’m staying.”

He shakes his head, looking like he’s going to argue again, but he makes the smart decision not to. You storm off, muttering under your breath. Andrea, Carol, Dale, and Daryl all shack up in the RV and you’ve never been happier that you have your own car. 

It may be shitty to sleep in, but at least you’re alone. It’s another sleepless night, stuck rereading chapters from the book. There’s a knock on your window and the door opens; Daryl leans into the car.

“I’m gonna look for the girl, you wanna come, copper?” you can hear the mocking tone in his voice, but you’d rather walk around the forest with him than be stuck in the car reading about how babies can get sick from even the slightest of things.

“I do, actually, douchebag,” you retort, grabbing your flashlight and knife, sliding out of the car, “let’s go.”

The two of you walk in silence; it’s familiar, almost nostalgic. You remember a time when the two of you would walk through the woods, hand in hand; sometimes Daryl was hunting, others you would head down to the creek.

“You were right.. Earlier, when ya said I couldn’t tell you what to do,” he grumbles, pushing back a tree branch for you guys to pass.

“Pardon, what was that?” you ask, trying not to smirk. Daryl Dixon just admitted he was wrong; hell has frozen over.

“‘M not repeating myself,” he snorted, looking over his shoulder to glare at you.

“Fine, fine,” you grin, looking away from him, so he can’t see your smile.

Silence falls back over you, but it feels much less tense than before. You guys stumble across a campsite, which appears empty until you hear a growl in the trees. Oof, poor dude.

“Do you think we should… I don’t know.. Put him down?” you ask, eyeing the hanging man with disgust.

“Nah, he made his choice, too bad he wasn’t smart enough to shoot himself,” Daryl shrugs, ducking into the tent to make sure there’s nothing of use in it.

“That’s cruel, even for you,” you grimace, gagging as it swings in the wind.

“Oh poor you, gonna puke?” he teases, stepping out of the tent empty handed. 

“Yeah! It’s rancid,” you nod, flipping him off.

He snorts, clearly enjoying your misery, but he lifts his crossbow and shoots the man, “Waste of an arrow.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, turning away to take a deep breath.

He hums in response and he starts heading back in the direction you came from. You follow behind him, catching up, so you’re walking side-by-side. Your hands brush together; neither of you pull away.

[g00d--m0urning]

[g00d--m0urning]

“Son he never actually knew”

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x son!user

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: prolly nothing lol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,9k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: English is not my first language so I’m so so sorry for any mistakes, if there is something wrong or mistake just let me know guys!! I’m open for requests so let me know 💗

────୨ৎ────

It’s not that John never wanted children. He did. The thought had always lingered in the back of his mind—sometimes quietly, sometimes loud enough to ache. He could picture it in fragmented daydreams: a small hand gripping his finger, laughter echoing through a quiet house, bedtime stories told with a voice softer than he usually allowed himself. But wanting something and believing he deserved it were two different things. John knew he didn’t want to become a father until he’d made peace with the ghosts that followed him—ghosts that walked silently beside him in the morning and shouted in his dreams at night.

War changes a man. It doesn’t just leave scars on the body; it rearranges the soul. The battlefield had molded John into someone he didn’t always recognize. In the mirror, he saw a soldier, a survivor, a man built on discipline and damage. But a father? A protector, a nurturer? He wasn’t sure that person was still in him. And if he ever was, he had been buried somewhere under layers of grief and guilt and grit.

But life has a way of laughing at his plans. And then—you arrived.

You were small. Fragile, even. He remembered the first time he held you, how terrified he was of dropping you, of breaking something so impossibly soft and new. You opened your eyes, and he saw something in them that unmade him: hope. And for a moment, he let himself believe he could be what you needed. Not a soldier. Not a shell. Just… Dad.

From the outside, it probably looked like you were the center of his world. Neighbors waved and smiled when they saw the two of you. Friends, even men from his unit—hardened, cynical, weary—would clap him on the back and say, “She’s your spitting image,” or “That boy’s your pride, huh?” And John? He let them think that. He smiled. Nodded. Said all the right things. But behind that smile, the truth sat heavy in his chest.

He loved you. That much was never in doubt. He loved you in a way that was fierce and automatic, like a reflex. But love didn’t always translate to connection. There were days he felt like he was trying to hold onto something he didn’t fully understand—like trying to read a book in a language he hadn’t yet learned. He didn’t always know how to love you in the way you needed. There were moments he feared he was failing you, that his past would bleed into your present.

You were never like him.

Even when you were small, he could tell. While other boys in the neighborhood played rough and stormed through yards like miniature commandos, you stood apart. You liked your toy tanks—but not for the explosions. You named them. Created intricate battles with elaborate narratives and backstories. You gave them voices, emotions, arcs. You weren’t interested in conquest—you were interested in meaning.

John watched you, sometimes from the porch or a cracked door, and wondered how someone so gentle had come from him. He respected it—deeply—but he feared it too. Because the world was not kind to boys like you. It was not built for softness. And he didn’t know how to prepare you for that.

He noticed your quietness. Your curiosity. The way your feelings lived right under your skin, impossible to hide. He caught you once, crying at the end of a movie—something animated, something with a talking animal—and it had stunned him. Not because you cried, but because you didn’t hide it. And for a moment, he envied that. You didn’t wear armor. You didn’t seem to need it. And yet, you were vulnerable in a way he didn’t know how to protect.

He tried to shield you from the worst of his world, but life in uniform doesn’t offer many hiding places. There were days the babysitter didn’t show, or you were sick, or he simply ran out of options. So he brought you to base. His fellow soldiers—rough, loud, irreverent—eyed you with a mixture of amusement and confusion. They called you “sensitive.” Mocked the way you curled into your headphones and tuned them out. You didn’t respond. But he saw the way you shrank just a little smaller every time.

And John—he should have defended you. Loudly. Fiercely. But he didn’t. Instead, he laughed along. Ruffled your hair. Acted like it didn’t matter. But it did. It always did.

As you got older, the quiet gaps between you stretched longer. You struggled with things he couldn’t name, couldn’t fix. Anxiety. Loneliness. You drifted into your own world—of books, of games, of art. You found sanctuary in things he didn’t understand but wished he did. He tried, sometimes clumsily. He fumbled through awkward conversations, bought you the wrong kind of notebooks, tried to connect through half-remembered video game references. You were growing up faster than he was catching up.

Then one morning, something changed.

It was a Saturday. Calm. John was nursing a bitter black coffee, the weight of the week still hanging on his shoulders. He was half in uniform, the camouflage pants looking strangely out of place in the peaceful quiet of the kitchen.

You stood in the doorway. Hesitant. Older than he remembered, suddenly.

“Dad?” you asked, almost too softly to hear.

He looked up, surprised. “What’s up, kid?”

You hovered there for a moment, then stepped in, uncertain. “I… I need some advice.”

He set the mug down. Slowly. “Yeah?”

“I got invited to prom,” you said. Then a pause. “And I think I need a suit.”

He blinked. Stunned. “Prom?” A huff of laughter escaped. Not mocking—just amazed. “When did that happen?”

You shrugged, sheepish. You weren’t quite smiling.

He smiled instead. “So… who’s the lucky girl?”

You paused.

And in that pause, he felt the earth shift.

“Actually…” you began, breath catching, “it’s a guy. He invited me.”

Silence. Just for a heartbeat too long.

John didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise his voice or look away. He just… sat there, processing. Slowly. Carefully.

“You saying you’re gay?” he asked, gently. No accusation. Just an open door.

You shrugged again. “I… think so. I’m still figuring it out.”

And then, without a word, he reached out and took your hand. It was rough—calloused from years of training, of holding rifles and carrying weight—but steady.

“Kid,” he said, “I’ve seen a lot in my time. I’ve walked through hell and back. And I’ve learned this: it doesn’t matter who you love. What matters is that you love bravely. That you stand in your truth. That you don’t let anyone shame you for being exactly who you are.”

Your eyes welled with tears. Not from pain. From the sheer relief of being seen.

“I love you,” he said. “Exactly as you are. And I always will.”

You exhaled, shaking. “Thank you.”

He smiled, rough and warm. “Now let’s go get that suit. Gotta make sure you look better than Captain America in formal wear.”

You laughed—a real, free, full laugh.

And in that moment, something between you healed. Not perfectly. Not all at once.

But it was a beginning.

────୨ৎ────

Let me know if you want to be tagged!!! Reblogs and comments are appreciated 💗

[g00d--m0urning]

Unnamed PT. 4 (Daryl Dixon x AFAB!reader)

Part one Part two Part three

TW: reader is pregnant, so afab, but gender neutral aside from that. Mainly canon compliant, lots of dialogue, not proofread, grammar mistakes, apocalypse shit, foul language (lemme know if I missed anything that needs tagged

Author's note: I'm pretty sure people don't enjoy heavy dialogue in fanfic, but I love it/love writing it, so you're getting heavy dialogue! (in the tone of 'you're getting SLACKS' btw) Also does anyone have name suggestions for the babe? I was going to go with Arlo.

He says your name, disbelief thick on his tongue, and per your request, he’s stalking towards you. Shane pulls him into a chokehold, making him grumble something about it being ‘illegal.’ Once Shane deems Daryl calm enough, he releases him, leaving Daryl muttering and mumbling as he walks off.

You start to go after him, but Glenn grabs your arm, shaking his head, “Maybe let him cool off?” he suggests, trying not to shrink under the glare he’s receiving.

“I shall do as I damn please,” you scoff, yanking your arm from his grip like it offends you, “and I am currently pleased to not go after him.”

Glenn snickers, rolling his eyes as he wanders over to where Rick and Shane are talking in hushed tones. It seems like they’re going back into the city for Merle. Which is stupid in your opinion; it’s Merle, why the hell would you want to waste time, energy, and supplies trying to get through the city for him?

The answer reemerges a couple seconds later, crossbow slung over his shoulder as he joins the group that now consists of Glenn, Rick, and Daryl. Shane seems utterly displeased with this and he shares that:

“That's just great. Now you're gonna risk three men, huh?”

T-Dog joins the group, arms crossed over his chest, “Four,” he corrects because he’s going to, apparently. He must feel guilty; he shouldn’t.

“Five, actually,” you add, joining the group because why the fuck not?

Everyone seems to be against that. Rick says no, Glenn says no, Daryl doesn’t say no, but makes some smartass comment, T-Dog doesn’t give a shit, and Shane shoots evils at you. Nasty motherfucker. 

“I’m going, end of story and anyone who disagrees can kiss my ass,” nobody argues further after that, so that’s settled. 

It takes mentioning guns to Shane on board with the overall plan, but eventually, everyone loads into the van. Daryl is very clearly the one driving, considering he seems to hit every damn pothole in the road--the man can ride a motorcycle and never hit a bump, but the second he’s in a car, it’s all over. 

“Ugh, fucking Georgian streets,” you groan under your breath, setting a hand over your ever-jostling stomach. Your little bug has been incredibly active these past few days, probably from stress.

“You’re not gonna hurl, are you?” Glenn asks, eyes flitting from your stomach to your face, which must have an unpleasant expression on it if he thinks you’re going to puke.

“No, I’m not going to puke, Glenn.”

“You sure? Does pregnancy make you nauseous.. Or something?”

“You mean morning sickness...?”

“Yeah! That!”

“No, dipshit, I don’t have morning sickness. I’m just not enjoying having my entire body tossed around because we’re hitting every godforsaken bump in this road!”

“Well.. damn. Apparently, your hormones are high,” he mutters under his breath and you have to resist the urge to slap him for that.

“Ok, one: fuck you. Two: double fuck you,” you retort, sideeying him because he might, possibly be a little, tiny bit right. Also, that’s rude to say to a pregnant person! 

Glenn sniggers, knowing he’s won, “My bad,” he raises his hands in mock surrender, avoiding your gaze, a smirk on his stupid face.

Silence falls back over you, which is fine, you don’t want to talk. You set a hand over your stomach, feeling little feet kick against your hand. It’s still weird feeling her kick; like, you’re growing a full-ass human in your body! And she’ll be here in three-ish months! Giving birth in an apocalypse wasn’t on your checklist.

“Why’d you come with us? I mean, you’re pregnant and risking your life for Merle Dixon, who you obviously know somehow, but I’ll ask about that later,” Glenn asks, brows raised as he looks in your direction.

“Ha! Yeah, no. I did not come with you guys for Merle. I’m coming because I want my car back,” you inform him, shaking your head like he’s crazy because he is. As if you’d break your back bending over to help Merle. 

“Oh, that makes it better: risking your life for a car instead!”

“Hey! My car is my baby. I can’t let her rot in the streets of Atlanta!”

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned about your actual baby?”

… He’s got you there… “Shut up! Stop asking stupid questions.”

“Ohhh-kayyy.”

“What’re you naming him? Or her? Do you know the gender? It’d suck if you didn’t,” god, he never shuts up, does he?

“Yes, I know the gender, I’m having a girl. No, I don’t have a name for her; I’ve just been calling her ‘bug’ in my head.”

Glenn nods, then the van jerks to a stop. The three of you in the back all jerk around in the back, bumping into each other. You’ve barely got time to untangle before Rick is opening the back, momentarily blinding all of you. 

Everyone climbs out, recuperating themselves, rubbing spots from jabbed elbows and bumped foreheads. The others start arguing about which route to take, which would be easiest, yadda yadda. You grab your bag while they talk, walking off in the direction of the highway.

“Where the hell are you goin’?”

You turn around to find Daryl staring at you, a deep crease in between his brows, “Oh! You thought I came to help you find Merle?... Funny. No, I’m here for my car.”

It’s Rick that speaks up this time, concern furrowing his brow instead of general grumpiness like a certain someone, “You came for your car?”

“Yes, I’m here for my damn car, is everyone going to ask that?”

“Considering it’s a little stupid: yeah,” T-Dog answers, scoffing like you’re an idiot. 

“Ok..Well, fuck you all; I’m going now, you have fun risking your lives for Merle,” you flip them all off, tightening your grip on your bag straps. 

As you try to shimmy through the group, Daryl grabs your arm, yanking you backwards a little bit, invading your personal space.

“The hell’s your problem?” he hisses, tightening his hand around your arm when you try to pull it free.

“Other than the fact that you won’t let me go? I don't have one, thank. you. very. much,” you spit, ripping your arm from his hold, wiping his sweat off of your skin, “and don’t touch me again, you don’t have the fucking right anymore, Daryl. In case you forgot.”

You finally walk off, not catching the way Daryl’s ears redden or the way his heart rate sped up at the sound of his name falling from your lips for the first time in a long time.

-------------------------------------

It’s an easy-ish trek back to the highway; minus the three deadends, four blocks roads, and five zombies you had to kill. Easy-peasy! Now you just have to remember where exactly you had to stop on the highway. That should be easy too… Not like you used to forget where you parked in store parking lots at all. 

After for-fucking-ever, you finally find that beautiful specimen of a car. Who has a new scratch in her paint.

“Oh, my poor baby, did the mean ol’ zombies scratch your paint? I know, I know, they’re so mean,” you coo at her, rubbing your thumb over the tiny scratch. 

You hop into the driver’s seat, grabbing the keys from the front pocket of your backpack and inserting them in ignition, turning and…

“Yessssss; listen to you, Baby,” you groan, listening to her rumble alive with great satisfaction. You don’t have to walk anymore, hallelujah!

It takes some work, but you manage to wiggle your vehicle off the highway and down the side strip that’s relatively car free. The drive is nice, peaceful, with the sounds of Lady Gaga’s The Fame playing quietly; it reminds you of late night drives, when you’d pop the cd in during late night drives and Daryl would bitch and whine, but you’d catch him singing under his breath by Pokerface. 

You’re almost passed them, but you catch sight of a melancholic looking group of men trudging in the direction back to the camp. Merle must’ve stolen the car, that motherfucker.

“Who’s stupid now?” you ask mockingly, rolling the window down, a victorious smirk on your lips, “Get in losers, we’re going shopping!”

“Mean Girl reference, nice,” Glenn snorts, piling into the backseat with Rick and.. T-dog!

The passenger side door opens and Daryl slides in, avoiding all eye contact. He settles right in: arm on the center console, leaning back in the seat and staring out of the window like the brooding passenger princess he always has been. 

“Oh! I love Lady Gaga! Her music is lit, I used to listen to her albums on repeat while I was delivering pizzas,” Glenn says, singing, incredibly off-key, to Paparazzi.

“You used to deliver pizza before this?” you ask, looking at him through the rearview and he nods.

“I used to work at a church, lotta volunteer work,” T-Dog says because this is apparently turning into a share circle!

“I was a cop, but everyone knows that,” Rick adds to the conversation with his father-standing-by-the-grill-on-bbq-weekend-flipping-burgers laugh.

Neither you or Daryl add to the conversation; you under the guise of being focused on driving and Daryl genuinely just doesn’t care. 

The drive is not at all silent; thanks to the three men in the back that are chattier than southern mothers come book club Saturday™. Arguments ensue when they find your CD collection:

“We should listen to Katy Perry,” Glenn's suggestion. 

“What are we, teenage girls? We should listen to The Killers,” T-dog, surprisingly. 

“How about Brad Paisley?” Rick, unsurprisingly living up the way you call him cowboy. 

“Gimme that damn thing,” Daryl grunts, reaching back and snatching the CD book out of Glenn's hands. 

He flips through the book with ease, remembering the way you keep them organized. He seemingly finds the disk he was looking for and pops out Lady Gaga, replacing it with the mystery music. 

Nickelback. 

He remembered. 

You'd always listen to Nickelback during drives; they have music for any mood you were in. 

“Who listens to Nickelback? Ugh,” Glenn scoffs. Maybe he really is a teenage girl. 

Everyone is singing along by Photograph, because nobody really dislikes Nickelback, they just say they do. 

Daryl's arm is resting on the center console and it's a herculean task to resist the urge to lace your hand with his the way you used to. 

Daryl's seemingly struggling the same, his hand twitching like he doesn't know what to do with it. He settles on opening the glovebox, rummaging through it. He finds something of his interest, grabbing it. 

“You kept this?” He asks, unfolding it, which you realize is the map you used on the way here. If you read into you, you'd think he sounded a little nostalgic, if not giddy.

“Yeah.. Turns out it's pretty helpful,” you answer, keeping your eyes straight on the road. Well, vague forest path. 

“Told you yer damn phone wasn't going to help you your whole life.”

“I never claimed it would! It was just convenient!”

“You didn't know how to read a map before I taught you.”

“Oh, bullshit! I knew how to read a map, I just didn't like doing it; thank you very much.”

“Oh, yeah, my bad,” he throws his hands up in mock surrender, rolling his eyes. 

That bastard, who is he to mock you? Asshole, “yeah, your bad.”

It goes back to silence and you don't remedy that. Then you realize it's silent, entirely. Ed, Edd, and Eddy have stopped talking too. You look back to find them all staring at you two, confusion and amusement written on their stupid faces. 

None of them have time to question the little spat because you're finally back at camp. You get the car off and make a quick exit from the car. You hear footsteps following quickly behind you and based on the sound, you’d assume it’s Daryl.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he sneers, grabbing your arm and turning you around.

“Not you, asshole; considering you don’t have any damn affect on my underwear,” you snap back, yanking your arm out of his grip, rubbing the spot like he branded you.

“Didn’t say I did! Yer being a bitch, what’re ya’ pregnant? Being hormonal as shit,” he mutters, very obviously being sarcastic.

 Aha! You fucking knew the bump wasn’t that obvious- small victories, people, small victories. 

“Yeah, I am, dipshit,” you blurt, dead-serious. He’s going to find out eventually, might as well be from you.

“No, you’re not,” he laughs, looking you up and down, taking an extra minute on your stomach.

“You’re not,” he repeats, laughing again, but it’s that sort of awkward, nervous laugh that people get.

“I am… She’s yours,” you whisper, lowering your voice. It’s not that you’re ashamed, but the entire camp doesn’t need to be privy to this conversation.

Daryl’s heart stutters in his chest, but he keeps his face impassive (or the redneck equivantly, so a little constipated). She. A daughter. He never had sisters; he’s less likely to fuck up a girl than he would if it was a boy. Less likely to turn out like his dad.

“Nah, she ain’t,” he shakes his head, running a hand down his mouth before turning around and walking away.

You stand there, totally shell-shocked. He just… walked away. You can feel your bottom lip wobbling, but you clench your jaw, refusing to lose any bit of your dignity. Fuck him; you don’t need that idiot.

“Daryl is your child’s father? As in: you raw-dogged with him?” 

You whip around to find Glenn standing there, looking incredibly concerned. Shit, he probably heard all of that then, sneaky little dude. 

“According to him: no, he’s not,” you say, pressing your fingers into the corners of your eyes, as if trying to cork your tear ducts.

“Well, screw him. I’ll be your baby daddy,” Glenn throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug.

That makes you snort, resting your head on his shoulder and taking a deep breath to recompose yourself, “Thanks, dude.”

The night goes on uneventfully: dinner is had, laugh’s shared at the campfire, and eventually everyone disperses to go to bed. You may or may not have cried yourself to sleep.

The second day is more eventful: Jim went a little cuckoo. That night is way too eventful: Jim was rightfully cuckoo. Ed got bitten (thank goodi-ness), but so did Amy, which was a little sadder. 

That morning, everyone (minus Shane, but his opinion is irrelevant) decides to roadtrip to the CDC. People compress into cars to gather more gas for the ride--you had to threaten murder against Shane when he suggested to leave your car--and on the road we all go.

The CDC is locked up, doors shuttered and an armada of zombies crowding the front door. The group packs by the door, banging against the door in hopes it’ll magically open. 

And it does. Of course it does.

[g00d--m0urning]

ur nonverbal dick posts make me so happy🥺🥺💚💚💚 can u draw him w clark?

Poor Clark doesn’t know this is a compliment :(

[g00d--m0urning]

Hold me, please

Pairing: Joaquin x semi!avenger!reader (not really an avenger but reader does fight and is in a fight scene here)

Warnings: a looooooot of angst, brief fight scenes, some fluff, at the begining, open ending (bc i might make a part 2 if someone is interested), brutal injuries, gore, and also reader is not doing well mentally with Joaquins last mission

Word count: 2k

Summary: You get hurt on a mission that was supposed to be Joaquin‘s. Arguments start, words are said that cannot be taken back. What ever to do now?

A/N: I think my next few posts will be joaquin based but i will def throw in some jason todd fics! Also thank you so much for all the love Forget me Not got! All likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated and i have seen all!:)) As a thank you have a waaaaayyy longer Joaquin Fanfic. I hope you enjoy it<3

You feel him long before you see him.

A small smile grows onto your face as his goatee scratches and tickles your neck while he places kisses along your jaw. You had forced Joaquin a few weeks ago to let his beard grow in because you found him more attractive with it, and although he was reluctant at first—because he didn’t want Sam making fun of him—he very quickly learned that it indeed made you way more attracted to him. You open your eyes and turn around in his arms so that your face is pressed against his chest, one of your hands cradling the back of his neck.

"You smell really good, Joaquin," you murmur, placing a kiss on his Adam’s apple. You feel him shudder around you. “I was wearing that new cologne you got me yesterday,” he replies, his voice still thick with sleep. “Seems like it stuck.“

A low hum leaves you as you feel yourself slipping back into sleep.

"No, baby. We need to get up. It's late, and I gotta go meet Sam and Bucky." "Do you have a new mission? You just got out of the hospital, Joaquin. I don’t want you out there for at least two more weeks.". You sit up in bed, your back meeting the headboard. Joaquin leans on his side, propping himself up with one hand as he looks up at you with a goofy, shit-eating grin, chuckling.

"No, not a mission. Just a quick debrief of their last mission, and they wanted me to surveil an attack. I won’t engage at all, and I will be far, far, far away from any danger. I promise.". Every "far" is followed by a soft kiss on your chest, just above your heart.

You let out a sharp sigh and look away. Ever since his brush with death, you’ve been anxious, doting on him, taking care of him—you don’t want him out there anymore. You knew who he was, and you knew all the dangers that came with his job. You yourself would help them out here and there on their missions, but you would never call yourself an Avenger, a hero, or anything of the sort. And you certainly had never experienced such grave injuries before.

They had to restart his heart. He was gone. His heart—the one that holds so much love and so much joy—had stopped, and—

"Stop that." "I'm not doing anything." "You’re thinking too much about this. I won’t be near any danger, and after this, I won’t be asked to do anything for a month." He pulls himself from under the covers and makes his way to the bathroom, leaving you no room to start an argument.

As you stand up to get yourself something to eat, your phone begins to ring. It’s Sam. You pick up on the third ring.

"Hey, Sam." "Where are you? Is Joaquin with you?" You furrow your brows in worry at his tone. "No, he's in the bathroom. It's just me. What happened, Sam?" "We need you for a mission, but Joaquin can’t know." "Is it the mission that he’s surveilling? How exactly do you want him not to know, Sam?" "It’s a ruse." "A ruse? Am I your jack-in-the-box? Sam, just because Joaquin is on a break doesn’t mean you can go searching for others to just throw themselves headfirst into—" "I’m not asking."

"…Excuse me?"

"It is either you or Joaquin. And I wouldn’t have asked if this wasn’t absolutely necessary. Figure it out." Before you can even formulate a sentence in your head, he has already hung up.

A minute later, you receive a text from Sam—coordinates, most likely where the mission is supposed to take place.

You exhale deeply through your nose before moving to the kitchen. Breakfast is bland, unsatisfying. A little while later, Joaquin steps out of the shower, fresh and clean, already dressed. He grabs some fruit, kisses the top of your head, and bids you goodbye.

For a few minutes after Joaquin‘s departure, you stare at the kitchen wall. No sound, no movement, just the weight of your own heavy breathing. The more you think about Sam and his mission, the more you feel yourself stress. Your left ear starts ringing heavily as your head starta to sway. The harsh ringing of your phone yanks you out, and you quickly pick it up.

"I’ll be there in ten, Sam."

"Does Joaquin know? He just arrived and seems a bit skittish."

"No, I didn’t tell him anything, Sam. Can you keep an eye on him? At least until I’m in?"

"You got it. And thank you, for doing this."

———

It was supposed to be quick.

In and out. Grab the damn papers, throw anybody down who tried to get them, and get out before you get caught. And don’t kill anybody. That was what Sam and Bucky had told you.

Sam had even given you a headset to stay connected to Bucky as he stayed behind with Joaquin to surveil you and keep him off the radar. About five minutes in, your headset was crushed when one of the workers in the facility tried to bash your head into the wall. Small shards and sharp pieces of the headset pierced the side of your head, leaving behind a deep cut just beneath your eye. Your ear was ringing again, and you could practically feel Sam start to panic.

It took you two elongated hours before you finally saw the front door cleared. You had been stabbed in your abdomen, and your hand—although pierced to bits as well—pressed onto your wound as best as you could. The other hand grasped the papers tightly in case anybody tried to rip them out again.

But as you made your way to the door, your legs gave out from just beneath you and— Damn it.

Everything went black.

Damn Sam and this stupid superhero bullshit.

…

You hear frantic voices, someone yelling for help. Two warm hands cradle your face, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles against your cheeks. "Mi cielo my sky, don’t do this here. Please, please, please. I’m sorry. I know it hurts. Baby, don’t you love me? You can’t leave me alone, please, baby."

That was all you had gotten before your body blacked out again.

---

The next time your body wakes again, your eyes open first. A bright, strong white light almost blinds you with its intensity, and it does nothing to help the blaring headache pounding away at your skull. As you move your head to the side, you spot Joaquin. He looks tired—eyebags under his eyes more prominent, his beard unkempt and grown thicker than the last time you saw him. His hand holds tightly onto yours. You try to speak, to move, to give him any sign that you’re awake, but you’re far too exhausted. Instead, you just hope he realizes it on his own.

The door swings open, and Sam and Bucky enter. Sam holds a large bouquet of flowers in his hands, while Bucky—who doesn’t look much better than you imagine you do—just stands idly by.

"How ya doin’, kid?" Sam places the flowers on the nightstand next to your bed. You let out a sigh and open your mouth to try and speak, but before you get the chance, Joaquin already startled awake.

"How long has she been awake? Why didn’t you wake me? Do you need the doctor? Hold on, let me—". He moves to press the call button, but Sam is quicker.

No one says anything after that. Joaquin simply sits to the side as the doctor checks on you, glaring between you and Sam. You already know—once the doctor, Sam, and Bucky leave—you’re in for a long argument. And it's ironic, considering you had just been in his position less than a week ago. It takes an excruciating hour before Sam and Bucky finally decide to leave.

All the while, Joaquin hasn’t muttered a single word. Sam apologizes, and Bucky tries to start a conversation, but he doesn’t get far once he realizes that nobody is responding to him.

In all honesty, you don’t want them to leave. You don’t want to start an argument with Joaquin when your body is still half-alive, still clawing its way out of the grasp of death. However, much to your surprise, five minutes after Sam and Bucky leave, Joaquin stands up as well.

"Where are you going?" Your voice comes out dull and scratchy from disuse.

"I’m going home. I’ll come back tomorrow."

"Joaquin—". He leaves.

You exhale a deep sigh, turning your head to stare at the wall beside you.

——

It takes you two weeks to be cleared to return home. And in those fourteen days, Joaquin comes to visit you only four times—each visit shorter than the last. You try to talk to him, try to get him to explain why he’s this upset when he himself does this nearly every day, but the only responses you get are a sigh, a roll of his eyes, or a very short, "I have to go." You quickly learn to leave it be. When the time comes, he does come to pick you up, driving you both home in complete silence.

The second you step through your front door, his entire demeanor shifts.

"Was this what you wanted from the start?" His voice is sharp and rough as he whips around to face you. His narrowed eyes glare at you with a pointed stare, his breath coming out heavy.

"What? Joaquin, what are you—"

"Did you want this to happen? Go on a mission, get yourself hurt, just to teach me a lesson? I just got out of the fucking hospital, and not even a week later, you’re in there. Are you out of your mind? Taking on a mission like that all on your own? No backup, nothing, and I wasn’t even informed that you were there! You all lied to me. You can’t even fucking fight. You’re not even a fucking Avenger. What the fuck is wrong with you?", his voice grows significantly louder with every word that tumbles out of his mouth, but all you can focus on is the last sentence.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Is.

Wrong.

With.

You?

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Joaquin? I took care of you for four fucking weeks—day in and day out! I got you food, I got you everything you wanted, and this is what I fucking get? I took the fucking mission so you wouldn’t have gotten hurt again, and you can’t even look at me. Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, you don’t get to—".

You don’t let him finish.

You turn around, storming toward the door, and slam it shut behind you.

[g00d--m0urning]

Unnamed PT. 3 (Daryl Dixon x AFAB!Reader)

TW/CW: vomiting, gore and violence (not super descriptive, dw), reader is pregnant so obvi AFAB but no gendered descriptors, ex-cop!reader, swearing, no use of Y/N, grammar mistakes, mostly canon compliant

word count: 3708

Author's note: It felt like it was getting long, so I cut it short,:( next part tho, obvi also, yay! an update after forever

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rick looks between you and the radio, confusion furrowing his brows. He wipes sweat from his brow, staring at the radio, willing the person on the other side to speak again.

“Hey, are you alive in there?” Holy shit, his mean staring worked. Your eyes blow wide, going to reach for the walkie, but Rick beats you to it.

“Hello? Hello?” 

There’s a sigh of relief through the other end before he speaks again, “There you are. You had me wondering.” 

You’re slowly learning Rick has little patience--not that you can blame him right now--as he clicks the button again, “Where are you? Outside? Can you see us right now?”

You have to restrain yourself from making some smartass comment about him being in the tank with you guys, figuring now’s not the time.

“Yeah, I see you. You’re surrounded by walkers. That’s the bad news.”

“There’s good news?”

 “No.”

You don’t bother holding back the scoff at that; fantastic. You’re going to die, in a hot, muggy ass tank with a guy you barely know. 

“Listen, whoever you are, I don’t mind telling you, we’re a little concerned here.” 

How rude! You are not ‘concerned’ (you are), there is no need to be bringing you into this very odd conversation.

“Oh man, you should see it from over here. You’d be having a major freak-out.”

Your jaw drops a little; that’s comforting. Really. If you make it out of here, it’s becoming a personal mission to dropkick the little ass on the other side of this. Rick couldn’t seem to care less, running a hand down his face before speaking again.

“Got any advice for us?”

“Yeah, I’d say make a run for it.”

Is he demented!? ‘Make a run for it’!? Out there? Surrounded by cannibalistic freak-o’s? Rick seems to have the same thought process.

“That’s it? ‘Make a run for it?’” Rick scoffs, looking over at you with an annoyed expression for a split second. “My way's not as dumb as it sounds. You've got eyes on the outside here. There's one geek still up on the tank but the others have climbed down and joined the feeding frenzy where the horse went down” the guy explains and the situation is actually less worrisome than you expected,  “With me so far?”

Rick looks over at you for confirmation and you nod, “So far.” 

“Okay, the street on the other side of the tank is less crowded. If you move now while they're distracted, you stand a chance. Got ammo?”

“In the duffel bag I dropped out there, and guns. Can I get to it?”

You silently place a curse on Rick’s entire bloodline; what kind of jackass leaves the guns out there? 

“Forget the bag, okay? It’s not an option. What do you have on you?”

Son of a bitch, this is one of the worst situations you have ever been in, period. Rick groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Hang on.” he sighs, lifting his shirt up to grab his gun and counting out his rounds. You do the same, checking your magazine and the box of ammo in your bag. 

‘Glock, full mag and box of ammo.’ you mouth to Rick when he looks up at you, nodding a little. 

Something seems to catch his eyes as he leans over to the dead soldier, unclipping a hand grenade from the utility belt. He presses a finger to his lips--like you’ve talked at all since Mr. Mysterious started talking over the radio and would snitch. As if.

“Yeah. Yeah. I've got a Beretta with one clip, fifteen rounds and a glock nineteen, matching ammo” Rick finally answers, disappointed in the lack of protection. That bag would be a great help.

“You two better make ‘em count. Jump off the right side of the tank, keep going in that direction. There’s an alley up the street, maybe fifty yards. Be there.” Bossy. You don’t even know if you can trust him, Rick seems to, gathering himself to pop out of the hatch. It’s either stay in here and rot or chance surviving out there. You sigh deeply through your nose, tightening your grip around the strap of your bag, ready to bolt. 

Rick stands up, radio still firmly in his hand, “Hey, what’s your name?” You could smack him, it’s a good question, but not at all the right time.

“Have you been listening? You’re running out of time.” For once you agree with the idiot on the other side.

“Right!” Rick nods like the other guy can see him, dropping the radio. 

Rick grabs a broken shard of metal, and you ready your knife. He turns the hatch open, pulling himself out. You follow suit, groaning with effort as you stand up on the tank. You yelp a little as Rick slashes the face of the zombie still on the tank.

He helps you off the take, shooting an undead to his right. You shoot one to his left and then the one behind it. Both of you hurry to the alleyway, Rick dropping another three zombies and you one. The sheriff knocks into something, a someone you realize after both of you aim your guns up at him.

“Whoa! Not dead! Come on! Come on! Back here! Come on! Come on!” he exclaims, gesturing to the ladder.

The young guy climbs up the ladder first, you stand by the edge, facing the alley entrance in case anything tries to wander down your way. Rick grabs your shoulder, gently shoving you to face the other way and hurriedly motioning for you to go up. 

You go to argue but groans fill the air and you have no choice but to climb up. The cage further up feels claustrophobic, especially with someone in front, feet dangerously close to stomping on fingers. 

“What’re you doing!? Come on!” the male exclaims, looking down at Rick, causing you to look down. The idiots only a few rungs up and shooting at the staggering zombies.

Thank god, he listens, holstering his gun and bolting up the ladder; almost bumping head first into your boot. As you reach a utility platform, Unknown offers a hand, which you’re out of breath enough to take, hauling yourself onto the little patio. Rick follows suit, folding in half and trying to catch his breath.

“Nice moves there, Bonnie and Clyde. You two come riding in to clean up the town?”

The rest of the conversation goes unheard, male voices merely muttering behind you in blurry voices. An overwhelming wave of nausea hits like a freight train, leaning over the railing and spewing your guts onto the concrete below. Both of the men turn to look at you, Rick--knowing of your condition--looks at you in concern and the other in disgust. You just scowl a little, giving a small thumbs up to reassure them of  your state.

“‘M fine, the smell just--it’s rancid,” you extend as an excuse, turning to look at the pair.

The three of you climb up the ladder, the two men continue to converse. Glenn, you think the other one’s name is, if you heard properly. You get lost in your own head, worries clouding your mind; is it going to be like this the whole time? All it takes is just a sprint and you're out of commission? That’s certainly not convenient.

You lag behind the duo, letting them chat about whatever they are chatting about. It takes another ladder and a walk across a roof until you finally tune back into the conversation.

“I’m back. Got two guests plus four geeks in the alley,” Glenn speaks into the walkie he has in his hand. So, he’s not alone, makes sense. 

Glenn opens a door that leads to stairs; ugh, stairs, the damnation of transportation, stairs were horrible even before pregnancy. Two zombies pop out, reflexes working quickly as you reach for your gun, but two men--alive ones this time--round the corner. They’re decked in what looks like catcher’s gear and baseball bats and begin just absolutely brutalizing the undead; well past overkill by the time they stop. 

The shorter one yells at the other--Morales, you think you heard--to move and the five of you barrel into the next room. So much happens in the next three seconds. You barely have time to register that some chick has a gun in Rick’s face before yours is pointed at her.

“You son of a bitch. We ought to kill you,” she spits, shooting a look in your direction, but keeping the gun on Rick.

Morales jumps in, trying to coax her off the edge of splattering Rick’s brains over the display behind him, “Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.”

  Not that you expect her to actually shoot him, you’ve seen a lot of people shoot and a lot who haven’t and she doesn’t have the ‘I’ll do it’ look to her. 

Another female jumps in, “Come on, ease up,” she pleads with Andrea. 

Blondie scoffs like it’s the craziest idea in the world to ‘ease up’ and lower the gun from your…friend? Acquaintance? Survival tactic?‘s face. You’re tempted to raise your gun at her, but you present self-restraint, also her safety’s on. Dumbass. That’s until the gun is in your face. “‘Ease up?’ You’re kidding me, right? We’re dead because of these assholes,” Andrea snarls, her gaze hardening as she looks between you and Rick.

“Oh, come on, blondie, lower it,” you suggest, head tipping slightly. She’s not going to shoot you and you’re willing to brave that theory.

“Yeah, listen to us, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger,” Morales insists, causing you to glare at him as he tells her to pull it. He just shrugs.

Andrea chuckles dryly, but lowers the gun. “We’re dead… All of us… Because of you,” she shudders, shaking her head. 

You get what she means, clearly Rick doesn’t as he expresses his confusion. Several of them hop in to ‘politely’ tell him--and you, you just choose to stick your nose up and ignore them because you really had no choice--off.

Zombies start smashing at the double doors and that snaps you back to the current situation. You’re stuck in a building with several people you don’t know and Rick’s going on about some helicopter you didn’t see and the entire thing is just fucked. A niggling of regret pokes somewhere in your brain; maybe it’d have been better to just rot away in your apartment.

You wander around the store, vaguely listening to the conversation happening between the group when a necklace catches your attention: it’s a tiny thing, clearly meant for a child, a tiny ‘b’ hanging off the silver chain. You nick the jewelry from the display--not like the owners will miss it--tucking it into the pocket with your sonogram for the tiny bug you’ve got growing inside you.

Rounds popping off catch your attention, slipping back over to the group like you never left. Everybody groans, so it seems they know exactly who’s shooting.

“Oh no. Is that Dixon?” Andrea questions, pretty rhetorically. 

Morales slaps his palm to his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose, “What is that maniac doing?”

Glenn starts herding everybody onto the roof, while you’re still reeling. The last name sparking premature hope you wish would die out. Dixon is a fairly common last name--you think--and what are the odds it’d be Daryl? Incredibly slim. The odds are incredibly slim.

The group bursts through the door, jogging over to whoever is shooting at the ground. Hopefully at the zombies, there’d be no point in wasting ammo, you’d have to be stupid to the point where you wouldn’t have to worry about getting eaten by cannibalistic undead. 

You feel an insurmountable rage when you finally reach the shooter: Merle motherfucking Dixon. Of course it’s him. Why wouldn’t be him!? Why would you even think for a moment that Merle Dixon wouldn’t still be alive to screw with your existence even after the apocalypse has reigned its course on the planet. 

T-Dog and Merle have a colorful conversation when Rick finally decides to play peacemaker, pushing the two apart. Merle rears up to chew Rick out when he notices you despite your best efforts to shrink into the floor.

“Well if it ain’t the town piggie,” he drawls, pointing the barrel of his gun in your direction, weaving through the group.

You ignore the insults--their practically nicknames with him--rolling your eyes and blatantly ignoring the confused glances the group is giving you. 

  “Been a long time since I’ve seen yer face.. Broke my brother’s heart disappearing like that, y’know?” he continues, brushing a hand over your cheek like the sleazeball he is. 

It’s your turn to be confused: Daryl missed you? You figured he’d be glad you left. One less cop to fuck up his life. Merle’s mouth opens again, but you beat him to the punch--literally. You can’t stop yourself, your fist connecting with his face hard enough to send him backwards.

“Oops?” you grimace as his head bounces off a pole, knocking him out cold. Not ‘oops.’ Absolutely not ‘oops.’ “I did not mean to do that.” You did. God, that felt good.

“Eh, Someone had to do it; just wish it was me,” Morales shrugs, lips down turning as he looks at Merle’s unconscious body. 

Merle’s not put very long, just long enough for Rick to get handcuffs on one of his wrists and attach him to the pole that he hit his head on. In true Merle fashion, his mouth is open the moment he wakes up, yanking the short chain on his wrist as he barks at Rick for leashing him. 

Rick goes on some goody two-shoes lecture, something about how it's just the ‘living and the dead’ and ‘white meat and dark meat,’ you weren't paying much attention, more so lost in thought. 

If Merle is alive, there's a large chance Daryl is too because if there's one thing you have to give Merle Dixon, it's the love he has for his brother; no matter how unconventional it might be.

By the time you start paying attention again, a plan is hatched. 

Said plan fails because the sewer tunnel is gated off and zombie filled behind said off, so onto plan b. 

Rick chops at the dead guy--Wayne Dunlap--and the smell is absolutely horrid, it's got everyone gagging. 

  “I'm so gonna hurl,” Glenn groans, a hand clutched over his stomach. 

“I double that notion,” you mutter, covering your mouth with your hand as bile rises in your throat. 

“Later, you two,” Rick responds, receiving glares from both you and Glenn. 

Once Wayne is thoroughly mushed, Glenn and Rick start covering themselves in guts, which is probably the most repulsive thing you've ever watched. 

You rush to a corner, leaning against the wall as you puke. You don't hear what T-Dog said, but it pushes Glenn over the edge. 

“Scoot over,” he gasps, bumping into you and throwing up himself. 

“One, fuck you, this is my puke corner,” you scowl, swallowing thickly and resting your back against the wall once you're done, “and two, at least that'll help the stench.”

Glenn mumbles out a ‘sorry,’ snorting at your second statement. Once Rick and Glenn are slathered in zombie pâté, they exit the building and miraculously, they don’t immediately become a midday snack! 

That doesn’t last long because it starts to rain. Of course it does! Why wouldn’t it? They do manage to get into a truck… and drive off. Motherfuckers!

“They’re leaving us,” Andrea gasps and that sets off Merle which sets off Morales and now everyone is panicked.

“Hey! Calm the fuck down. They didn’t leave us, they just had to circle around,” you shout of the group, throwing your hands up, “No one has any chill anymore, my god.”

“How do you know that they didn’t leave us, huh? Because it sure looks like they did,” Andrea retorts, glowering at you. What a bitch, but also… you don’t know. You’re kind of putting your blind trust in men you’ve known less than twelve hours.

But somebody’s on your side today; just moments later Rick pulls up in the van, “You want me to say ‘I told you so,’ oooooor no?” you ask, smiling smugly as you all rush down the stairs. 

You all get in the van, safe and sound. Except for Merle, which you can’t say you’re heartbroken about, but if Daryl is still alive, that’ll be a problem. That’s a later problem, though. You lean against the wall, resting a hand over your stomach in a way you hope is discrete. 

“You’re pregnant?” Morales askes and what the fuck? How does he know? That’s two men who have caught on quickly, “My wife: she did that a lot when she was pregnant,” He clarifies because, apparently he's a mind reader too!

“Yeah, I’m pregnant,” you admit; honestly, it’s probably a good thing you don’t have to hide it, hiding a pregnancy in the apocalypse would be stupid.

There’s a mixed bag of reactions, which was expected, but the excitement wears down quickly as everyone settles, exhausted from the day. Yourself included. The drive is quiet and surprisingly peaceful, given the circumstances. 

About fifteen minutes later, the van pulls to a stop, and everyone piles out of the back. You hang back for a moment, taking in the last bit of shade and peace before climbing out yourself. You catch yourself looking around camp for a certain redneck, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Rick gets out of the front seat, coming to stand by your side, giving your shoulder a squeeze. A split second later, you hear a kid calling ‘dad,’ turning to find a boy rushing towards a now teary eyed Rick. A woman wearing a shocked expression follows after and you put the dots together: his wife and son.

They share a tear jerking reunion--you do however chalk your misty eyes up to hormones--and everyone gets introduced to each other! They’re a shockingly big group and they didn’t seem mad gaining two new additions. Everyone seems nice; except for Ed, he’s a douche, and Shane, there’s nothing inherently wrong with him, but he rubs you the wrong way.

As everyone converses by the fire, you hang back, unsure where to put in, but someone brings up Daryl--Dale, you’re pretty sure, you like him, his eyebrow game is on fleek--and you snap back to attention. They’re talking about who’s going to take the blame for leaving Merle on the roof, you hardly care, you’re more focused on the fact that he’s alive.

“I’ll take the blame,” you suddenly say, ignoring the way everyone looks at you like you’re off your rocker.

“You don’t have to do that, Sunshine,” Rick argues and you definitely ignore the nasty look you get from his wife. The others chime in, agreeing with Rick.

“No, but I want to and you’re welcome because if you do it, Daryl’s gonna put an arrow in between your eyes,” you say, not budging. Dale, ever the smart man, puts the pieces together quicker than the others.

“You know Daryl?” he asks, raising his eyebrow and oh my gosh, you yearn to reach that level of judgy.

“Yes, I do and no, I’m not clarifying further,” you answer, standing up, stretching your arms above your head, “I’ll take the blame for Merle, end of conversation. Now, goodnight all.”

You don’t wait for any type of response, walking off and taking refuge in the back of the van. You get your sleeping bag unrolled, curling up underneath the fabric. 

You wake up to the sound of clanging, begrudgingly getting up and changing back into real pants--as much as you love your Care Bear pjs, you think that’s more a day two outfit--rolling your sleeping bag back up and leaving the van.

“Look at ‘em. Vultures. Yeah, go on, strip it clean,” you hear Glenn grumble, finding out the source of clanging is the stripping of the sports car.

“Ah, don’t worry, I’ll let you drive my baby once I get her back,” you tell Glenn, slapping him on the shoulder, which makes him jump.

“For someone who’s pregnant, you sure are sneaky,” he gasps, setting a hand over his heart, “what’s your baby?” He asks, intrigued now that he isn’t actively dying of a heart attack.

“My baby is a ‘67 Chevy. Beautiful girl, all her original parts, and she purrs like a dream,” you say, sighing wistfully at the thought of your girl. You’re going to get her back, even if it kills you.

“Isn’t that the car from Supernatural?”

“It is, yeah. Good show.”

“I loved it, I miss it. I miss tv.”

“Me too. Jensen Ackles was so hot.

“I’m more of Sam dude, but yeah.”

You and Glenn sigh in unison, cueing both of you to crack smiles and laugh, shaking your heads. You pat Glenn’s shoulder again then head over to where Rick is.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” he greets, smiling way too brightly for…sometime early…in the morning.

“Cowboy,” you nod back, rolling your eyes at his sunny disposition; maybe he’s the one that should be called sunshine.

You go to greet his wife, but the sounds of kids screaming cuts you off. Immediately, people are running off in that direction, stupidly, yourself included. It’s just a zombie gnawing on a shot up deer… Fuck. That’s Daryl’s deer, or was, it’s not edible now.

You feel your blood go cold when a familiar drawl fills the air, yelling about something or another. He doesn’t notice you, immediately stomping his way back to camp, calling for Merle. Double fuck!

Shane tries to get him to slow down, wanting to tell him about Merle, but Daryl doesn’t let up. When he finally does register what happens, he’s got a knife to Rick’s neck and you figure now is the time to step in.

“I did it! I knocked Merle out and I locked his ass on the roof, and I enjoyed it, so get the knife off Rick and on me.”

[g00d--m0urning]

🥄Ethan from Love Island the Game: Winning Hearts🥄

Oh em gee did I draw him too? Well yes I did ^w^ He a pretty boi you're welcome niche litg fandom

[g00d--m0urning]

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k words

warnings: explicit language, a bit of angst (bc of some family drama), lots of fluff, smut (18+), unprotected piv sex, tiny hint of praise kink

summary: in which a family wedding makes you think about the future

author's note: i love when i randomly get hit with inspiration for this universe<33

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜���・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Summer 1986

You had been trying to stay on your parents’ good side. They hadn’t been pestering you a lot about your future— specifically college and transferring to the University of Chicago, where they had wanted you to go since you were a kid— and you wanted to keep it that way. And if that meant going to a family wedding in Illinois, then so be it. 

The only bearable part about it was that Steve was coming too, and it had taken absolutely no bribing to get him to say yes. 

“Is this my girlfriend privilege coming into play?” You asked him as you two sat on the couch in your apartment’s living room. “Because I swear if we were still just friends you would at least force me to do all of the driving or something.”

Steve gave you an amused smile. “Do you want me to make you do all of the driving?”

“Nope, not at all,” You shook your head. “So, actually, I’m gonna stop talking now.” 

Steve laughed a little and you focused your attention back on the random sitcom playing on the TV, a small smile on your face. 

“Do you think Dustin will wanna babysit Harold again?” Steve asked as he mindlessly reached out to grab your hand that was buried under the blanket draped over your laps and intertwined it with his. 

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” You answered with a nod, taking a look over at the brown and white hamster’s cage that was sitting on the low shelf you two had next to the TV. “Honestly, I think he’s starting to like Harold more than us.” 

“I’m pretty sure that happened right when we got him.”

“Shit, you’re right,” You said as you shifted a bit and wrapped Steve’s arm around you so that you were nuzzled more comfortably in his side and then intertwined your hands once again. “I actually feel kinda offended about that. Just so you know, I love you and Harold equally.”

“Equally?” Steve said, sounding playfully shocked. “I’ve known you for basically ten years.”

“Yeah, but Harold’s our son, so…” You shrugged, trying to contain your growing smile. 

“Okay, I guess I’ll share the number one spot, then,” He responded as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The four-hour drive to the town just out of Chicago where the majority of your family lived wasn’t terrible. You and Steve evenly split the driving time and spent most of it playing silly games; mainly the license plate game because it was a car ride staple, and also a game where you two had to try and think of the same word and say it at the same time, and you two were eerily good at it. 

By the time you made it to the hotel that all of the out-of-town family members were staying at because of how close it was to the wedding venue, it was the middle of the night. Even though Steve didn’t have to work today— he took off the entire weekend, actually— you two still decided to leave later in the day because you wanted to avoid as much unnecessary time with your parents as possible.

Unsurprisingly, you and Steve were the only people checking in at ten o’clock at night. 

“So, it looks like there are two rooms in the reservation,” The lady at the front desk told you; her name tag said Joan. “One under your name, and one under Steve Harrington.”

“Oh,” You said and then nodded after a second. “Um, okay.”

Joan seemed to take note of your slightly confused tone. “Did you not book two rooms?”

“My parents handled all of this, so I guess they did the two rooms.”

She nodded at your words. “I’m gonna go grab the room keys and I’ll be right back.”

She headed off to what you assumed was the back room and you turned to look at Steve who was standing right next to you. 

He let out a quiet laugh as his arm slipped around your waist. “Did your parents forget that we live together and that we've been dating for the last five months?”

“They probably think we still sleep in our own bedrooms,” You said, leaning into his touch and realizing just how tired you were. 

You truly couldn’t remember the last time you slept alone in the past few months since you and Steve got together, and even before that, you both had spent a lot of time in each other’s beds. It probably would’ve made sense for you two to downsize to a one-bedroom place, but you both loved the apartment so much that you couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. 

“Should I pretend that I’m actually staying in the other room?” Steve asked and you quickly nodded. 

“Yeah, just in case.”

“Bad idea that we decided to share a suitcase then, huh?”

When you came up with it, it seemed like the perfect idea for the quick weekend trip. Why bring two separate suitcases that would probably be half empty, instead of just sharing one? 

You sighed now as you took a look at the black suitcase that Steve was holding the handle of. “Very bad idea.”

Joan returned a moment later. “So, good news, the rooms are right next to each other, and they’re actually connecting, so you two won’t have to be too far from each other.”

“That’s great,” You said, grabbing one of the keys from her outstretched hand, and Steve grabbed the other. “Thank you so much.”

She smiled at you both. “I hope you two enjoy your stay.”

You and Steve said another quick “Thanks” before heading toward the elevators. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Your room is so much nicer than mine,” You said as you slumped back onto Steve’s bed, head quickly finding the pillow that was actually so soft. 

“Do you wanna switch?” He asked from where he stood by the suitcase, pulling on a fresh t-shirt for the night.

The door that connected your rooms was wide open and it would probably stay that way for the entire night. 

“No, it’s fine, I’ll deal with my shitty shower pressure and lumpy bed.”

“You can stay in here with me tonight, y’know,” He told you, moving closer and maneuvering so that he was settled on top of you. It was a comfortable position, even though it probably shouldn’t have been. The way your bodies molded so easily for each other always felt like two pieces of a puzzle coming together. 

You smiled under his gaze. “Thank you for the formal invitation.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, no problem. I wanna be a gentleman.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his words that were said very seriously, but you knew they were anything but. 

You could’ve easily fallen asleep just like that if you wanted to, with his warm body pressed so comfortably against yours, pretty much equivalent to a weighted blanket. And it would’ve made sense to fall asleep after the long drive you two had to endure, but you really didn’t want to.  

His head dipped down and yours tilted upward, allowing you two to meet halfway in the softest kiss. 

There was something about kissing Steve that always felt so nostalgic, and also the complete opposite. Even five months into everything, there was still a newness to being with Steve in this way that you’d probably never get fully used to. Every time felt like the first one, but there was also so much comfort that had been there from the beginning and it only continued to grow.  

After a moment that you considered way too short, he pulled away from your lips and his mouth started immediately trailing along the underside of your jaw and then down to your neck.  

You let out the softest hum as you shifted underneath him, searching for any sort of extra friction. Steve’s low groan was the first thing you heard when you brushed against his hardness and you wished that you could pull off the few layers that separated the two of you in one quick movement. 

“You still tired?” He mumbled against your neck.  

“Yes, but I also really want you right now,” You whispered back as you threaded your fingers through his hair, which was slightly damp from the shower he just took. The only pro about not sharing a room was that you both got your own bathroom, even if the water pressure in yours sucked.  

“Yeah?” He asked as he pulled back a bit to look at you. His voice was teasing, playful, but you also knew how much he loved the reassurance too. 

“Yeah,” You nodded immediately. “Please.”

There was the sweetest smile on his face as his fingers found the bottom of your t-shirt and proceeded to pull the fabric up and off of you. 

You had opted against putting on a bra after your shower, so your chest was left bare for him once your t-shirt was off and he was groaning at the sight. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” He whispered as the pad of his thumb brushed against your already hard nipple.

For the briefest moment, your eyes slipped shut and you bit your lip to hold back your moan, and then you were meeting his gaze again. 

“You’re really pretty too, Stevie,” You said, smiling up at him as you reached up to softly poke his cheek. 

He laughed a little and turned his head a little so that he was kissing your poking finger. “Thank you. You’re so nice.” 

Your shoulders upturned in the most nonchalant shrug, but the same smile was on your face; you were always the one to bring a bit of silliness into moments like these. “I try.”

Steve was smiling back at you as he gave your nipple a quick squeeze and then his hands moved down your sides and settled at the waistband of your pajama bottoms. He pulled your shorts and underwear off in one motion and tossed them to the floor somewhere along with your shirt. 

He kissed from your collarbone down to your belly button, stopping and teasing different spots along the way which made you squirm beneath him and you could feel yourself dripping onto the blanket below you with every teasing press of his mouth. He moved lower and lower, and then deliberately skipped past where you needed him to be. Instead, he started kissing your inner thighs.

Your fingers carded through his hair as you looked down at him. “You’re being very evil right now.”

“I’m sorry,” He told you, but you knew that he really wasn’t. He spread your legs further and pressed the most featherlight kiss against your clit before looking up at you again. “What do you want?”

There were a lot of things you could’ve said in answer— in that moment, you were craving his fingers and his mouth too— but after the exhaustingly long drive, you simply just wanted to be as close to him as possible as quickly as possible. 

“Honestly, I really need you inside me,” You told him softly, hand moving from his hair to his cheek. “I need your cock. Please. Is that okay?”

He let out a contented groan at your honesty, head falling against the side of your thigh. “Fuck, yeah, of course that’s okay.” 

Steve moved away from you then, his warmth leaving your body as he pulled back to look at you. The juxtaposition of you being naked right then and him still being completely clothed, made you pout at him.  

“Well, this is very unfair,” You said, reaching out to grab at his shirt. 

Steve was smiling as he leaned in to press a quick kiss against your lips. “I knew you were going to say that.”

Before you could playfully complain any further, he pulled his shirt off and your fingers quickly moved to the waistband of his sweatpants. He let you pull them down along with his boxers, revealing his hard cock that you bit your lip at the sight of, and then Steve did the rest of the work of pulling them off his legs and tossing them somewhere to the side. 

When his body was once again on top of yours, his warmth enveloping you completely, he didn’t hesitate to push inside of you, your wetness making it easy for him to fill you to the hilt. 

Steve’s thrusts were languid and slow, both of you simply craved the feeling of each other rather than anything else. His lips found yours in the most searing kiss that was so different from his unhurried movements above you. It was a messy clash of tongues and teeth and one of your hands came up to tangle itself in his hair. 

You broke the kiss when a particularly rough stir of his hips made him push deeper inside of you and you gasped. “Shit, yes, Steve, right there.”

He hit that specific spot again and again and you were moaning louder each time, not worried about how thin the walls maybe were in this hotel. “You sound so pretty screaming for me, honey. You’re so fucking good.”

You nodded profusely, trying to keep your eyes on his, but it was too hard not to let them slip shut with every perfect snap of his hips. “Only for you.”

It didn’t take long for both of you to reach your ends— it was his thumb on your clit that triggered your orgasm, and it was the feeling of your walls clenching around him as you came that sent Steve over the edge too, pressing his face into your neck. 

A quiet stillness took over as your racing hearts returned to normal and a deeper tiredness took over and made your eyelids feel heavy. 

After you weren’t sure how long, Steve started to shift so that he could move off of you, but you stopped him with a hand on his back before his softening cock could slip out of you and told him that you wanted to stay like this for a bit longer. He didn’t protest your words and instead buried his face back in your neck, pressing the sweetest kiss against your pulse point. You two slowly fell asleep just like that for the time being, too spent and exhausted to make any other movements. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

If it weren’t for the incessant sound of someone knocking on the door, you were certain that you would’ve slept for a few more hours. 

The sound woke you up slowly and then all at once. Your eyes opened and you got the urge to pull the blanket over your head. You weren’t even sure when exactly that had happened, but at some point, you and Steve finally made it under the covers and you had also grabbed his t-shirt and slipped it on too. 

You ultimately didn’t pull the blanket over your head to muffle the noise. Instead, you pulled it off of you when you realized that the knocking was coming from your room. 

“Shit.” 

The door that connected your and Steve’s rooms was still open and you were suddenly so certain that the knocks you were hearing were being rapped against your room door. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked when he felt you get out of bed. He tiredly rubbed his eyes; you, on the other hand, were suddenly the complete opposite of tired. 

“I’m pretty sure my mom’s right outside my door. Or my dad. Or both,” You answered him as you quickly searched for your underwear and pajama shorts and found them in different random spots on the floor. “It’s probably both of them, actually, and I’ve had no time to mentally prepare for whatever this conversation is about to be.”

“I can go answer it, if you want,” You heard Steve suggest as you hastily pulled on your bottoms. 

“I think it would be better if we kept the illusion up that we don’t sleep together,” You told him. “I’m gonna go see what they want and I’ll be back in a sec.”

You rushed over to where he was now sitting up in the bed and pressed the quickest kiss against his lips before heading over to your room and pulling the door that connected your room to Steve’s shut.  

You ruffled up the untouched bed so it looked like you actually slept in it last night and then went to open the door before another series of knocks were rapped against it. 

“Hi, good morning, sorry,” You rushed out. It was only your mom standing in front of you, and right then it was hard to tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “The bed’s so comfortable, it was hard to wake up.”

She nodded at your words. “The bed in your dad and I’s room is terrible, we’re gonna try to switch to a different room tonight. Anyway, what time did you and Steve make it here last night?” 

“It was a little after ten.”

“And how was the drive?”

“Good,” You answered simply. “Me and Steve split the time so that made it easier.”

“That’s good,” She smiled. “Do you know if he’s still sleeping?”

“Um, yeah, he probably is,” You shrugged through your lie. “He’s right next door, but I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Okay, well, your dad and I are going to have breakfast downstairs in an hour with your Aunt Tracy and Uncle Sean, you and Steve should come too.”

Her words sounded like a suggestion, but you knew that they were actually the opposite. 

You forced a smile. “Oh, okay, we’ll definitely meet you guys down there. I’ll go wake him up now.”

“Okay, great,” Your mom smiled back at you. “See you two then.”

You closed the door when she started walking away and headed back to Steve’s room. 

“So, what happened?” He asked as you climbed back into bed. 

You settled next to him and rested your head against his bare shoulder. “We’re having breakfast downstairs with my parents, and my aunt and uncle in an hour.”

Steve nodded at your statement. “Honestly, that sounds good. The last time we ate was right before we got here last night and it was shitty McDonald’s.”

“Yeah, those were the saddest burgers ever,” You said with a sigh. 

“Wait, which aunt is gonna be there?” Steve abruptly asked. “The nice one or the one that hates me?”

You laughed a little. “The nice one. But, I feel like I should remind you again that Cheryl does not hate you.”

“You don’t remember that party the way I do,” He said and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his seriousness. 

It had been a birthday party for your mom a few years back. Of course, Steve and his parents were there, and you and him spent most of the night camping out in your room, away from your mom’s friends and your overbearing family members. It had been your idea to sneak a bottle of wine from the kitchen and bring it to your room, but Steve was the one who actually went and did it. Or at least attempted to before he got caught by your aunt and, according to him, was harshly scolded by her. 

“I’ve seen her a bunch of times since that party and I promise you she doesn’t think you’re a bad influence on me or whatever,” You told Steve, lifting your head from his shoulder to press a kiss against his cheek. “And she definitely doesn’t hate you.”

“We’ll see what happens at the wedding later.”

You leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Don’t worry, if she does hate you, I’ll defend you from any and all shitty comments.”

He gave you an amused smile when you pulled back to look at him. “Thank you, that’s all I ask. You’re the best girlfriend ever.”

You smiled at him as you leaned your head back on his shoulder and closed your eyes, attempting to get a little more sleep before you’d have to force yourself out of bed again. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Steve was right and he didn’t hesitate to whisper an “I told you” in your ear seconds after your Aunt Cheryl gave a warm greeting to you and the coldest hello to him. 

You didn’t have time to respond to Steve’s whispered words because you two were being told by one of the ushers to find seats since the wedding was minutes away from starting. The weather was pretty much perfect; warm but not so much so that it made sitting outside entirely unbearable, which was a little surprising for the middle of August but you weren’t complaining. 

Steve was on one side of you and your parents were on the other, and you smiled in thanks when your mom complimented the dress you were wearing; the long pale pink floral dress that you bought only because you knew she would like it, and you had wanted to avoid her saying anything bad about your clothing choices like she usually did. 

About halfway through the ceremony, Steve’s hand found yours, and the simple action made you suddenly feel warm all over. You shouldn’t have felt so fazed by it— that was something that had happened practically a million times before— but the current circumstances made it feel a little different. 

Samantha was one of your cousins that you weren’t that close with— you remembered going to the sleepover for her fifth birthday party and that was one of the last times you two hung out before you and your family moved to Indiana, and then you only saw her during random family occasions— but she looked beautiful and seemed so genuinely happy that it was hard not to feel a little emotional; it was what weddings did to people. 

You tried to listen to the vows and everything else being said right then, but it was hard to fully focus when all you could think about was a future that would someday involve this with Steve, and how nice that sounded. 

Maybe Steve could suddenly read your mind or the subtle smile on your face, but either way, he was giving your hand a light squeeze, as if telling you that he agreed with everything you were thinking about. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

To probably no one’s surprise, you and Steve stayed attached at the hip throughout the majority of the night. Your hand was always laced in his or his was placed at the small of your back. 

You were grateful for that closeness and you were especially grateful for him because he made it a thousand times easier to deal with family members that you hadn’t seen in forever and the forced small talk that came along with that estrangement. 

It quickly became a revolving door of the same topics and questions— how was graduating last year, how is college going now, what are your future plans, etc, etc— and you thought you’d be able to put up with it for the entire night. However, there were only so many times you could say, “Fine,” “Good,” and “I’m still figuring it out” before it became too annoying. 

Therefore, the second the brief conversation with one of your uncles came to an end, your hand found Steve’s and you led him out of the big ballroom where the reception was happening. He didn’t question your current antics and you two ended up outside moments later— it was much cooler out now, but still comfortable— and you headed toward a little garden area with a bench that you had noticed earlier. 

 “Let’s just sit here for a bit,” You said to Steve, not explaining the why behind you wanting to do this right now, but you didn’t have to. 

He nodded, understanding just how exhausting this entire day had been for you, and sat down with you. Things fell into a comfortable quiet, the first silence all night, and you reveled in it. You shifted around after a few moments so your head was in his lap and your legs dangled off the side of the bench.

“Do you wanna leave? I think we’ve been here for a reasonable amount of time,” Steve said, breaking the quiet after a few minutes of you simply holding his hand and looking at all of the flowers in the garden. “We can go to that Dairy Queen we saw when we were driving here last night, if you want. I think it’s only like ten minutes away.”

You knew what he was trying to do— make things light in any way that he could, and in this case, it meant offering up ice cream— and once again you were reminded of just how fucking grateful you were to have him here with you in this moment.  

“I love you,” You said instead of answering his question. “Like, a lot, a lot, a lot.”

You immediately noticed the smile spread across his face as he looked down at you. “Hm, you’re not drunk right now, so where is this sappiness coming from?” 

“Shh, don’t question it. Just let me get disgustingly cheesy with you right now, Harrington.”

“Okay, sorry, continue,” He told you, but then he abruptly kept going before you could start talking. “And I love you too, by the way.”

You smiled up at him. “Aside from all of the family stuff I had to deal with today, this wedding was actually really nice and it made me think about you and us a lot.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” He was so obviously teasing you because you were certain that he knew the answer to his own question.  

You shook your head at him. “I don’t even want to dignify that insane question with a response.”

He laughed a bit as he pulled your intertwined hands up and pressed a soft kiss to the back of yours, and it was hard not to smile at the action.  

“This entire day made me realize that when we eventually, one day down the road, do this, I don’t want it to be anything like this,” You told him. 

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want all of this huge fanfare and I don’t want a bunch of people that I don’t ever talk to, to be there either. If we just have the kids, and Robin and Eddie, and Nancy and Jonathan too. Oh, and Harold, of course. That’s more than enough for me. Is that okay? Does that even make sense?” You looked up at him to see if he understood what you meant, and of course he did. He always did. 

Steve nodded immediately. “That sounds perfect, honestly.” 

“I know that probably won’t be able to happen because of how involved our moms are gonna want to be with everything, but I just think the thought is nice,” You said with a halfhearted shrug. 

“We can do a small thing with just everyone that we want to be there and then let our moms take the reins on the huge fancy thing that they’ll force us to do.”

“God, you’re so smart,” You said and you wanted to sit up so that you could kiss him— you’d been craving it all night, actually— but you felt too comfortable to move right then. “So, is this a proposal, Steven?”

You were the one doing the teasing now, a smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him and he looked down and met your eyes again. 

He shook his head as he smiled at you. “Give me some time to plan the most elaborate one ever.”

“Take all the time you need,” You told him, and you genuinely meant that. In your eyes, there wasn’t any rush to get to that place. Even though you loved talking about the future with him, you didn't feel the need to make it happen before it was meant to. You two were already happy and in love and you felt so certain that that would never change, so you felt content being in this place with him. “Thank you again for coming with me to this, by the way.”

He lightly poked your side, making you let out the quietest breath of a laugh, before speaking. “You know I’d never say no to you.”

“Aw, I love it when you also get sappy with me,” You sat up then and finally leaned in to slot your lips against his. You hummed in contentment the second he eagerly reciprocated the kiss and your hand instinctually moved to the nape of his neck as you pushed yourself closer to him. 

You savored the moment for as long as you could before you had to pull away to take a breath. “Okay, now let’s get out of here and get ice cream.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[g00d--m0urning]

Now I'm Missing Your Smile

|| ao3 || an: im gonna be so honest, i wrote this cause of the set pics of steve's new truck. also, this is based on tis the damn season by taylor swift! ||

summary: When you come home from college for your winter break, you find yourself missing your ex boyfriend Steve Harrington. (wc: 2808)

You weren’t planning on visiting him on your trip back home. You were back from college on your two-week break to celebrate Christmas and the New Year with your family and friends, as well as finally finishing your finals. Steve was never supposed to be part of your plans. Not after he broke up with you in fear of doing long distance. Even though Indiana University was only an hour and a half drive away from Hawkins. Even though you had both originally promised to visit each other every long weekend. 

So, when you ran into him at the grocery store, picking up some last-minute ingredients for your mom’s Christmas feast, you were less than thrilled. You felt your blood go cold when he called your name and turned around to be met with his warm brown eyes. You missed those eyes. 

“Hi, Steve,” you reply, gaze quickly moving to the floor. You really didn’t want to see him. Not when Christmas was a few days away. Not when you were still getting over him. Not when you looked like this. 

“I didn’t realize you were back in town,” he said, taking a step towards you, then quickly retreating, as if he didn’t know whether or not he could hug you. He could not. 

“Well it’s winter break,” you say with a shrug and half smile. You had promised him when you first brought up going to a school away from Hawkins that you’d be home for every break. Every Thanksgiving, Christmas, spring, and summer break. “It’s not like I’ll have to pay for a plane ticket, I just gotta drive for like an hour,” you had told him at the time.

“How’s college?” He asked, eyeing your hoodie that had your school’s name embroidered across it. 

“It’s good,” you reply as you both nod. You couldn’t do this. Not today, not ever. “Gotta go!” You reply, quickly turning around as you push the shopping cart to the next aisle. Away from him. 

“Wait, I’m having a little Christmas get-together if you wanna pass by! I’m sure the kids would love to see you!” He yelled as you yelled back an “I’ll think about it!” You had already known about the party. Robin had told you about it the day before when she went to visit you on your first night back in Hawkins. You just didn’t know if you could step back into the Harrington house. Back in the house where you and Steve shared so many memories. Back where he broke your heart last October when you had last visited him. 

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” he had told you.

“Do what?”

“Long distance…”

“You said you wanted to try. It’s barely been two months, Steve-“

“I’m sorry,”

***

You don’t know what convinced you to attend Steve’s Christmas get-together. Maybe it was so you could see all your old friends from high school again. Maybe it was because Robin kept (lovingly) pestering you about how she wanted to spend as much time with you as possible while you were home. Maybe it was because part of you missed Steve. Missed his smell, his smile, his stupid hair, missed him. 

As you pulled into his driveway, you briefly questioned if Steve had moved, as his maroon BMW was now replaced with a blue pickup truck. However, that thought was quickly diminished when you caught sight of a certain red-headed girl through the window. Since when did Steve become a truck guy?

As you knocked on the door of the house that once felt so familiar, but now so cold and distant, you were welcomed by a beaming Steve. “You made it!” He exclaimed, moving aside to let you in the house. Wow, did you miss his smile. And how he sounded when he was truly happy about something.

“Hey guys,” you say, greeting your old hometown friends as you place a Christmas cake on the coffee table, smiling as they all eagerly welcome you back. 

***

Hours later, after the party had ended and everyone went home, you stayed to help Steve. Not because you missed him,but because you had always stayed to help him clean up back when the two of you were still together. It wouldn’t make sense to break tradition now, right?

“So, you got a new car?” You ask, breaking the tense silence between the two of you.

“Yeah,” he nods, brown hair flopping back and forth as he sweeps the floor. “The BMW finally gave out, so...” He concludes with a shrug.

“Never took you for a truck guy,” you reply as he glances up, meeting your gaze with a smile.

“Wanna go for a drive?”

***

Twenty minutes later, after all the trash was thrown out, and the party’s mess was cleaned up, Steve took you for an aimless drive around Hawkins. Just like you both used to do to kill time. To spend time together, just because.

And just like last time, he was ever the gentleman. Opening the passenger side door for you, offering you a hand as you climbed inside the truck, asking if the AC was too cold or if you’d prefer the heater. Ever the gentleman. 

“Sorry, it’s a little dirty,” he had mumbled as he fumbled with the radio station. Though it was messy, there was mud on the tires, a few old receipts in the cup holders, and far too many sweaters in the back seat than one person would ever need, it was all so Steve. The truck smelled so much like his cologne, one that you’ve grown to miss, it had a picture of him and Robin and one of him and the kids taped to the dashboard, and even a hairbrush in the cup holders, because of course there was. 

“It’s okay,” you replied with a shrug. “It’s a nice truck,” you say, noting his smile. 

“It’s my baby,” he joked, tapping the wheel before pulling out of the driveway. 

“Y’know, it feels like everything and nothing has changed since I left,” you whisper halfway through the drive, laughing at Steve’s confused look. “I mean, like you got a new truck, Joyce and Hopper are married now, thats different, but in the end, you guys are all still the same,” you explain with a shrug. 

“I feel like time’s been standing still since you left,” he replied quietly, avoiding your gaze, whether to keep his eyes on the road or because he regrets what he said, you can’t decide. 

“What do you mean?” You ask as he lets out a sigh. You could see the air escape his mouth as the temperature slowly drops.

“It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mutters, giving you a sheepish smile as you continue to stare at him. Could he have regretted breaking up with you? Did he miss you like you missed him?

“It’s not stupid,” you reassured him with a smile, glancing out the window to see the Christmas lights people put up outside their homes. 

“I missed you,” he said quietly, voice just above a whisper. “And I’m sorry about,” he pauses, putting a hand up in the air, waving it around the empty space, “everything.”

“I missed you too,” you confess just as quietly. 

“I should’ve never broken up with you,” he replied, voice somehow quieter, barely loud enough to hear over the truck’s engine and the music playing from the radio.

***

“Steve,” you whisper so as not to disturb him. He looked nice when he was asleep. Peaceful, pretty. 

He just grumbled in response, tightening his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him. You hadn’t meant to spend the night at his place, but as the weather got colder, and as the two of you exchanged more words with one another, how could you not spend the night? How could you not sleep in the arms of the boy you missed? Back in what felt like the warmest bed you’ve ever known. 

“Steve, it’s 10 am,” you whisper as he lets out another grumble. “We can’t sleep in the whole day,” you tell him, despite how much you would love to stay in his arms all day. In his warm bed, against his warm body, instead of facing the cold, freezing day. 

He opens his eyes, smiling when his meets yours, squeezing you once more. “How’d you sleep?” He asks through a yawn. 

“Good. Your bed’s very cozy,” you reply, smiling at his laugh. “How’d you sleep?”

“Perfect, best sleep I’ve had in months,” he says, tightening his arm around you again. If it were up to him, the two of you would stay cuddling in his bed all day. For forever, and then some. 

“I never asked,” he starts through another yawn, “but how’s college going?”

“It’s good,” you reply with a non-comital shrug. 

“Real convincing,” he teased, poking your side with a smile, one that you easily returned. You missed how easy it was for him to get you to smile. 

“Well, it’s no Hawkins,” you tell him, “there’s no one I know there. There’s no Robin, or Enzo’s, or you.”

“No me?” He asks, raising his eyebrows with a smile. “I am pretty irresistible, aren’t I?” He asks in a faux cocky tone, one that never failed to make you laugh.

“Why did you break up with me?” You suddenly ask, effectively ruining the previous light-hearted mood between the two of you. As soon as the question left your lips, as soon as you saw Steve’s smile drop, you regretted the words. Regretted why you couldn’t keep your mouth shut for once, and just be happy, in the moment, with Steve.

“I was scared you’d find someone better than me,” he quietly confessed, staring at the blanket that still lay atop you both. “I mean, I’m working at a stupid video store, I’m not even in community college, I was scared you were gonna meet some Einstein out there and realize he could give you everything I couldn’t.”

“And what changed now?” You ask, sitting up.

“I realized how much I miss you. How I’m more scared of losing my chance with you cause I gave you up.” His gaze finally turning upwards, finally meeting yours with a sorrowful look. 

“How do I know you’re not gonna break up with me again?” You ask, watching as Steve’s gaze turns to the blanket again. 

“Now I’m not as stupid.”

“But how do I know that? How do I know that the minute I get back to school, you’re not gonna call it off again cause you’re scared?” Again, you regretted your words. It’s not like you weren’t scared that while you were gone, Steve would find a different girl that he liked more than you. But at least you didn’t break up with him over that fear. At least you had stayed. At least you had tried.

“Why is it so hard to believe that I’m not the same idiot you left behind and that I want to make this work?” He asks, finally meeting your gaze, only to be met with an upset look on your face. Left behind? Is that really how he saw it? Did he really think you going to college to pursue your dreams meant you wanted to *leave him* behind? 

It’s as if the same thought hit him when it hit you because not even a second later, he’s sitting up, trying to explain himself. “Wait, that’s not what I meant,” he tries to explain at the same time that you’re getting out of his bed and putting on your shoes. 

“This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have come to your stupid party,” you say, getting up as he lightly grabs your wrist. 

“Wait, please,” 

“I should’ve stayed at school, then I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit,” 

“You would’ve been alone on Christmas-“ he quietly says, eyes looking sad. He knows firsthand that being alone on Christmas wasn’t easy. He knew it sucked. He knew he would never want that for you and that he’d avoid you for the rest of your life if it meant you’d still come home to Hawkins every Christmas just to have people to celebrate it with.

“I wouldn’t have had my boyfriend- my ex boyfriend think I left him here because I wanted a fucking degree,”

“That’s not what I think!”

“Then, what, Steve? What is it that you think, hm?”

He just stares at you, taking in your features as if it’s the last time he’ll get to see them in person. Because, honestly? He’s worried that this is the last time he’ll get to see you. He’s worried that this time, he’s screwed up things far beyond repair. That he might lose you for good, with no second chance.

Finally, after what felt like hours of silence, he quietly says, “I never thought you left me. I thought you were doing everything you could to get out of this hell-hole. Which, if I had the brains that you do, I would’ve done too. This whole time, even while we were broken up, I’ve been saving up some money to move near your school, so I could be closer to you. So we could both get out of here. I’ve never wanted anything but for us to work. Even if I sometimes have a shitty way of showing it.”

“What was your plan then? Move to Bloomington and try to win me back?” You ask as he begins lightly rubbing the inside of your wrist with his thumb.

“I never said it was a smart plan,” he responds with a weak smile. “I could show you the money if you want,” he replies, gesturing to his nightstand, where you presumed he had stored said money.

“You’re a really big idiot sometimes, you know that?” You ask as he lets out a small chuckle.

“I kind of figured that out when I broke up with you.”

You take a small step towards him. “You’re not gonna break up with me again when I go back to school?”

He shakes his head no, looking at you with those warm brown eyes that you’ve missed so much. “I don’t make the same mistake twice,” he jokes, smiling at your small smile. He missed your smile. He missed waking up in the same bed as you, your presence, your voice, your laugh, you.

You take another step towards him with a sigh. “Okay,” you whisper, smiling at his confused look.

“Okay, you want to get back together?” He asks, furrowing his brows in confusion, yet still hopeful. Hopeful he didn’t screw everything up again. Hopeful you’ll take him back. 

You nod. “Yeah. But if you mess up again, we’re done.”

“Please,” he starts with a laugh. “You really think Robin and Dustin are gonna let me make the same stupid decision twice?” He asks with a smile. A smile that grows bigger when you move to kiss him. You missed his kisses. He missed yours as well. 

“How long are you staying in Hawkins?” He asks, reluctantly breaking from the kiss. 

“Until next Saturday,” you reply as he smiles. 

“Y’know, we can go to Lover’s Lake, sometime while you’re here. In the new truck,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows with a smile. Instead of replying, you just kissed him again. Not that he minded. You truly missed your idiot of a boyfriend.

“I’m just saying,” he mumbles in between kisses, “you haven’t experienced Hawkins in the truck yet. It’s its own experience, babe. And, now I can visit you in the truck!” 

“I’m starting to think you like that truck more than me,” you tease, breaking away from the kiss. You can’t help but smile as he tries to chase your lips.

“Excuse you, she has a name,” he says with a smile. You just raise your eyebrows as he tells you her name is Sally. 

Of course, the dingus named his truck. 

“You’re an idiot,” you reply in feign annoyance.

“I’m your idiot,” he says with a smile, moving to kiss you again, hand carefully cradling your face. Holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. Which, to him, you were. 

Maybe this time, everything would work out. Maybe in a few years, Steve would move to Bloomington, you moving in with him, and he could get a job there while you finish up your degree. And after, you could both start a life there after you graduate. Or maybe you could both start a life together somewhere else.

But for now, visiting him every break would have to suffice. Because in the end, everything would always lead back to the boy you loved. Back to Steve Harrington, and back to your hometown. And his stupid truck.

[g00d--m0urning]

Christmas Party

Steve Harrington x Reader

Ficmas Day 9

Summary: When your best friend Steve overhears you joking with Nancy it changes the course of your friendship forever.

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Happy last day of ficmas. I wanted to write 12 stories but that never happened. Honestly, though, I'm really happy with writing 9 becuase I never intended to do ficmas at all this year. Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Are we sure this is a good idea, what if someone calls the cops?” You ask, still not fully onboard with the idea of throwing a Christmas party. 

“Don’t worry it’s just for our group of friends plus if the cops get called we’re fine. Remember Chief Hopper is Jonathan and Will’s stepdad and he’d never bust them for having a party,” Steve reassures you as he hands you another box of decorations. 

Removing the lid from the box you grab out a couple strands of garland and begin to place them around the living room. Steve follows behind you stringing up lights as he goes. 

“You’re sure we won’t get in trouble?” 

“It’s just a casual Christmas party, not a rager I promise. Plus half the people coming are practically children. It’s just gonna be us hanging out and eating snacks for a few hours.” 

You knew Steve put his old habits behind him years ago but you were always nervous he would revert to his old ways. That this party would snap him back to who he used to be and what would start as an innocent group hang out would spiral into the party of the century. The fears that if he went back to his old ways he would drop you and you would be without a best friend once more rattled around your brain. As his words finally sink in you let your shoulders relax.

“Plus, Dustin is bringing Suzie and I don’t want to scare her off. He seems to really like her so as surrogate mom I need to make a good impression,” Steve jokes and the last of your reservations disappear. 

You continue to joke and talk as you finish putting up the last of the decorations. Every so often stopping to sneak a glance at your best friend wondering if there would ever be a chance for the two of you to be more. 

The doorbell rings right at seven and you make your way to the entryway. You open the door for Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin ushering them in from the cold. Nancy pulls you into a quick hug as Jonathan offers a quiet hello. 

“So where is the dingus?” Robin asks as she wiggles her eyebrows at you. 

Pushing her shoulder lightly you respond, “He’s in the kitchen finishing up getting snacks ready.” 

“I’ll go help him,” Robin announces before rushing off to the kitchen. 

“I’m guessing this means you haven’t talked to him about how you feel yet,” Nancy says as she loops her arm with yours and pulls you into the living room leaving Jonathan to get the door for the kids. 

You take a seat next to her on the couch. “I don’t wanna screw up what we have. He’s my best friend. Why risk losing him when I can just stay his friend forever and at least have him in my life.” 

Nancy pats your arm giving you the same sad look her and Robin use everytime they bring up the topic and you and Steve being something more. You reach out and tap her nose breaking the awkward tension forming. Just then the kids, Jonathan, and Eddie file into the living room taking up all the available seats. 

Glancing over your shoulder you look for any sign of Steve or Robin, wondering what is taking them so long. Turning your attention back to the room you smile at Eddie as he tries to mediate a fight between Lucas and Dustin about what Christmas movie everyone should watch. 

Steve and Robin make their way toward the living room right as Nancy leans over, “Maybe some alone time with Eddie could help you forget about your feelings for Steve,” she jokes. 

“I don’t doubt that, he could probably make me forget my own name,” you joke back, bumping your shoulder into hers and you both laugh. 

Behind you Steve shoves the tray of snacks he’s holding into Robin’s hands and rushes back into the kitchen needing some time to think. Robin takes it in stride and sets it on the coffee table with a loud thud. 

“I think I hurt my wrist carrying the tray. Do you think you can go help Steve with the rest?” Robin asks as she plops down on the couch between you and Nancy. Before you can even answer her and Nancy are already chatting away about something one of the kids said. 

Pushing off the couch you make your way into the kitchen to find Steve with his palms pushed against the countertop. His head hangs and his eyes are screwed shut. The sight of him sends a pang of panic to your chest. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you place a hand on his back. 

“Do you actually wanna fuck Munson?” he bites out as he curls a hand into a fist. 

Your hand drops to your side as quickly as your mouth falls open. You hadn’t realized that he heard your joke. If you knew he was standing there you never would have said anything. 

You take a moment to assess the situation before settling on your response, “It was just a dumb joke between me and Nancy. Plus I never said that I wanted to fuck him, just that he would probably be good at it.” 

“So you don’t wanna get under him?” His tone is gentler this time as he turns to look at you. 

“No, never. It was just a joke.” You run a hand along his arm hoping to calm him down so you can head back to the party in the other room. 

His hand reaches out and grabs your free hand holding you in place. “So do you still want to forget about your feelings for me?” His eyes search yours as if he’s trying to figure out what you are going to say. 

“Only if you want me to,” you whisper, now realizing the space between you had lessened. 

He drops your hand, stepping in to cup your cheek. “That’s the last thing I want baby” he mumbles before crashing his lips to yours. Your hands tangle in his hair as your lips move in sync. Taking a step back he presses you into the counter. The cool press against your back sends a shiver down your spine and you tug at his hair in an attempt to deepen the kiss. 

He pulls back and you drop your hands to his shoulders. You both take a moment to catch your breaths. He shoots you a smile before hoisting you onto the counter. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and he wastes no time diving back in for another kiss. 

This time when he pulls away it’s to trail a line of kisses down your neck. He works his way back up and gently nips at your earlobe causing you to let out a moan that you try to muffle with your hand. His lips press against your ear and he whispers, “The only one who is allowed to make you forget your name from now on is me.” You pull him back into another searing kiss completely forgetting about the party in the other room. 

[g00d--m0urning]

Sixth Times the Charm

|| ao3 || requests are open!! ||

summary: It seems like every time Steve tries to kiss you, something or someone interrupts him. (5 times Steve tries to kiss you for the first time, and the one time he finally got to.) (wc: 2,165)

warnings: brief mentions steve's bad parents. brief mention of a toddler throwing up. I think thats it!!

1.

You and Steve had been dating for a little over a month when he decided tonight was the night he was going to kiss you. After you agree, of course. He never wanted to pressure you into doing things you weren’t ready for. He would wait a year, longer even, to kiss you if you so much as asked. But, he knew that tonight was the night.

He had taken you to the movie theaters that night to watch “Pretty in Pink,” and everything had gone perfectly. The theater was practically empty, he got to have his arm around your shoulder the entire night, and your hands brushed as you both reached for popcorn at the same time. Repeatedly. In his mind, nothing could have made the night better. That is until he drove you home later that night. 

After the movie had ended, he parked in your driveway, and the two of you got to talking. He noticed the slight nervous stutter you let out when he brushed a strand of hair out of your face and couldn’t help but smile. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered as you whispered back a “yes.” And as he held your chin and leaned forward, the porch light in front of your house turned on. He sighed, almost immediately letting go of your chin, putting some space between the two of you as you both let out a nervous laugh. 

“Guess you should head inside, huh?” He asked, nodding his head to your house. 

“Guess so,” you replied with a sheepish smile, quickly kissing his cheek before exiting the car. “Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered as you walked to your front door. Though, Steve was too giddy to notice. A stupid smile plastered on his face from the kiss on his cheek. It may not be what he was aiming for, but hey, he’ll take what he can get. 

***

2.

The following day, you had paid Steve a visit during his lunch break at his job at Family Video, as you usually did. 

“Why do you never let me pay for the rentals?” You asked with a smile as he scanned a VHS copy of "Top Gun," the first one to come in stock since it arrived at the Video Store. 

“Because you’re my girlfriend, and it’s only fair that you get to use my discount too,” he replies, smiling back at you as he snuck a few of your favorite chocolates into a bag for you. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he says with a wink. 

“Whatever can I do to make it up to you?” You ask, rolling your eyes at him with a smile. 

A kiss. If you want, he thinks. “Well, your company’s a great start,” he says while leaning over the counter, face nowcloser to yours. “I love it when you visit me, even if you end up putting me to work cause of your movie requests,” he says in faux annoyance, smiling at your laughter. 

And just as he was about to ask if he could kiss you, Robin came running out of the break room. 

“Steve, there’s a really gross bug in the break room, and I’d really appreciate it if you killed it,” she says, eyes wide with a sheepish smile. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve replies, dropping his head and walking off to the break room. But not before giving your shoulder a quick squeeze and an apologetic smile. 

“Thanks a lot, Robin,” he says after killing the bug the girl was too scared to do herself. 

“You’re gonna see her later anyways,” she replies, laughing at his huff of annoyance. 

“I was this close to kissing her,” he replies, leaning on the wall and raising his hand to show a small gap between his thumb and index finger. 

“Isn’t this the second time?” Robin asks with a laugh as Steve huffs again, already moving to leave the break room. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he replies with a small smile. "Third times the charm though, right?" 

***

3.

It was one of the few times Steve’s parents were home. And, though he wanted nothing more than to be out of the house, whether at your place, the movies, hell, he’d even go to work today if it meant he didn’t have to be here, his parents wanted him to spend the day at home. In order to “spend some time together.” Even though they've barely spoken to him the whole day. 

So, you had come over to spend some time with him, which he had greatly appreciated. Though the two of you hadn’texactly been doing anything too exciting, you were on his bed reading a book and he was flipping through a Batman comic Dustin had forced him to read, on the other side of the bed, he was still glad to be in your company. 

“You know, I really don’t get why the kids are so obsessed with a bunch of guys in spandex,” Steve said, breaking the comfortable silence between you two as he tossed the comic to the floor. 

“I think that Spider-Man's pretty neat,” you reply, setting your book on his nightstand as he moved to lie next to you.

“I’m way better than some spider guy,” Steve said, smiling at the way your face lit up when you laughed. He couldn’thelp but brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. 

“Would it be alright if-“ he whispered before being interrupted by an over-exaggerated scream. 

“My eyes!” Dustin yells, covering his eyes with his hands as Steve lets out a long groan. 

“How did you get in my house, Henderson?” Steve asks, reluctantly letting go of your face, turning his attention to Dustin to fix him with an annoyed glare. 

“Your mom let me in. Is it safe to look?” Dustin asked, still covering his eyes. 

“We weren’t doing anything,” you reply at the same time Steve mumbles “kid needs his ego checked. Can't even knock on a fucking door.”

“Hey, why’s my comic on the floor?” Dustin asks, finally removing his hands from his eyes, moving to pick up the discarded comic. 

“It was boring,” Steve replies with a shrug. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted a ride to the arcade,” the younger boy simply replied.

“How’d you get here?” Steve asks with a sigh, glancing at you to see if you would be okay with the two of you making a trip to the arcade.

“I biked.”

“You couldn’t bike over there?” 

“Your house is closer.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh as you squeeze his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he whispers to you with a smile, before returning his gaze to Dustin.  “Alright, alright, I’ll take you to the stupid arcade.” Dustin was already walking out of Steve’s room before Steve could even finish his sentence.

***

4.

You had decided to join Steve and Dustin as they made their way to the arcade, as you had nothing else to do for the day. And what better way to spend it than with your boyfriend? 

“I’m sorry we had to spend our day here,” Steve told you, leaning against one of the games as you played Pac-Man.

“It’s fine,” you shrug with a smile. “I haven’t been here in forever, so I guess it’s nice to come and revisit it.”

“I’m gonna try and win you something from that claw machine,” Steve suddenly announces as you lose your last life in the game. 

“You don’t have to-“ you start before he wraps an arm around your shoulder, already pulling you to the machine. 

“Oh, but I want to, baby,” he says, nodding his head to the stuffed animals. “Which is your favorite?” He asks, smiling as you choose your pick. 

About $4 later, he had finally won you a teddy bear, squeezing your shoulder as he asked “what are you gonna name it?”

“Mr. Snuffles, obviously,” you reply in a faux serious tone, smile as bright as can be. 

“Hey, Mr. Snuffles,” he replies, putting a hand out to shake the bear’s paw. 

“You’re an idiot,” you tease with a smile. 

“I’m your idiot,” he replies, lightly poking your cheek. And just as he was about to make his move and ask if he could kiss you, a toddler a few feet away from the two of you threw up, effectively killing the mood. 

“Great,” Steve muttered under his breath, putting an arm around your waist and pulling you away from the crying toddler and his mom. “Let’s look for Dustin so we can take him home,” he says. 

Two failed kiss attempts in one day? That had to be some sort of world record. And of course, Steve had to be the one to break it. 

***

5.

Steve had decided to pay you a visit at your job at the record store during his break. He had brought you some popcorn from Family Video, which, conveniently enough, was just a block away from your job. Which meant the two of you frequently visited each other on your breaks. 

As “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper played through the speakers, Steve glanced around the empty store before an idea hit him. He quickly took your hands in his, raising them to be wrapped around his neck, then settling his own hands on your waist. 

“What are you doing?” You asked with a laugh as he began to sway the two of you.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m dancing with you.” He replied.

“Okay, well, why?” You ask, smiling at him. He just shrugs, continuing to dance with you. 

“Because I can,” he teases, smiling back at you. 

“This is nice,” you whisper after a few moments of silence as he moves one hand to cup your face. 

“Can I-“ he whispers, before being interrupted by the bell above the door ringing, indicating someone has entered the store. Reluctantly, you both let go, moving away from each other so you wouldn’t get written up for PDA on company time. 

Maybe another day, he thought. 

***

+1

Steve was starting to believe he may never get to kiss you. After so many interruptions, he was beginning to believe the world was playing some kind of cruel trick on him. One that resulted in him losing his goddamn mind because he couldn’tkiss his pretty girlfriend. 

But tonight, he had a plan. One that would ensure he wouldn’t get interrupted before he got to kiss you. No parents, no friends, no customers, and no throwing-up toddlers to interrupt. 

“Wow, you’re really taking me to your old hook-up spot?” You ask teasingly as Steve rolls his eyes. Yes, he was taking you to Lover’s Lake, but not with the intention of hooking up.

“I’m taking you to see the stars,” he replies, smiling at your brief look of shock. “I heard you telling Robin how much you love the stars, so I thought, why not take my beautiful girlfriend to go look at them?” 

“That’s really sweet,” you whisper as he puts the car in park. 

“That’s my middle name,” he replies with a wink. “Steve Sweet Harrington.” 

“I thought it was Joseph,” you reply, smiling as he rolls his eyes. He walks around the car, opening the passenger side door and putting a hand out for yours to help you out of the car. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he replies, closing the door, and retrieving blankets from the back seat to lay on the grass. “Just make yourself comfortable, babe.” 

“I read a book,” he starts, arm around your shoulder as you both sit on the grass, looking up at the starry night sky. “And that right there,” he points to a cluster of stars, “is called Orion.”

“You read a book about stars?” You ask, looking at him with a smile. 

“Wanted to seem smart in front of you,” he replied with a shrug, as if reading a book to impress you was no big deal. 

“That’s so sweet,” you quietly reply, repeating your earlier sentiment. 

“I told you it was my middle name,” he teases, lightly nudging your shoulder with his. 

“I’m starting to think it actually might be,” you reply, still smiling at him. You looked so pretty under the stars. 

“Can I kiss you?” He quietly asks, as your smile somehow grows even more

“Yeah,” you whisper back as he cups the side of your face, before leaning in to finally kiss you. 

“I’ve been waiting forever to do that,” he half-jokes, smiling at your laughter. 

“I kind of figured,” you reply with a shrug as he rolls his eyes with a smile. 

“I’m not that obvious,” he says with a faux scowl that quickly melts away when you move to kiss him again.

Steve couldn’t help but punch a fist in the air at the fact that he finally got to kiss you. And he couldn’t wait to do it over and over again. 

[g00d--m0urning]

Too Late: Part 3 (Final Part)

SUMMARY: You find yourself at a crossroads, reflecting on your fears and the love that once defined your relationship with Tyler. After a heartfelt conversation with your mother, you reach out to Tyler, who agrees to meet, unsure of what to expect. What begins as a casual meal at the local diner evolves into a candid, emotional discussion where both of you confront your past mistakes, vulnerabilities, and hopes for the future. As walls come down and trust begins to rebuild, an unspoken connection blossoms once more.

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support this story/series has received! This is the third and final part of the story that I have planned. I hope you guys enjoy it! xx

WARNINGS: None really. Mentions of past trust issues (what happened in the 1st part)

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The last of the plates clinked as Tyler set it into the drying rack. His hands moved automatically, a practiced rhythm that mirrored yours as you worked side by side in the kitchen. The early morning sunlight streamed through the window above the sink, casting soft golden streaks across the countertop. The silence between you was no longer heavy or awkward. Instead, it felt easy, almost peaceful—an unspoken truce forged over breakfast and stolen moments.

You rinsed the final dish, turning it over in your hands to ensure it was spotless before passing it to Tyler. He dried it with deliberate care, his fingers brushing the edges of the plate before placing it neatly in the cupboard. Neither of you spoke, but the weight of unspoken words lingered between you, quiet but persistent.

When the dishes were done, Tyler folded the towel and hung it neatly on the oven handle. “I can drive you over to your mom’s if you want,” he offered, his voice low but steady. “So you can grab your car.”

You nodded, wiping your damp hands on the front of your jeans. “Yeah… thanks.”

The drive to your house passed in near silence, the faint hum of the truck’s engine the only sound between you. Tyler kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other draped across the armrest. You found yourself stealing glances at him, your gaze lingering on the set of his jaw and the way the morning light danced across his profile.

It wasn’t until Tyler pulled into the driveway of your mom’s house and shifted the truck into park that you realized how tightly you’d been gripping your seatbelt. The familiar sight of the front porch with its white railing and your mom’s potted plants brought a strange mix of comfort and unease. You stared at the door, your stomach twisting with a sudden, inexplicable knot of anxiety.

Your thoughts drifted to your mom. The doctors had said they’d call if there was any change, and there hadn’t been. No news is good news, you reminded yourself, but the knot in your stomach refused to loosen. Something about stepping into that house, uncertain whether your mom was going to make it, left you frozen with hesitation.

“You okay?” Tyler’s voice was quiet, but it carried enough concern to pull you out of your thoughts.

You blinked and glanced over at him. His steady gaze was on you, his brows slightly furrowed as he tried to read your expression.

You took a deep breath, nodding once. “Yeah,” you said, but the tightness in your voice betrayed you.

Tyler didn’t look convinced.

Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve as you stared back at the house. After a moment, you turned to him again, your voice barely above a whisper. “Would you... come inside with me? I don’t really want to be alone in there right now.”

The words hung in the air, and you braced yourself for some kind of resistance. But Tyler just nodded, his expression softening. “Of course.”

He turned the truck off and climbed out, waiting for you to join him before the two of you walked to the front door together. You unlocked it and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards under your feet stirring a wave of memories. Tyler lingered just inside the doorway, his hands shoved into his jean pockets as his eyes scanned the room.

“I’ll be right here,” he said gently.

You gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Climbing the stairs to your old bedroom felt surreal, like stepping back into a time capsule. The walls were still painted the same pale yellow you’d chosen in high school, and the mismatched furniture you’d left behind was exactly where it had always been. 

You grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the dresser, quickly changing out of the borrowed clothes. After running a brush through your hair, you tied it back into a ponytail, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked tired—more tired than you wanted to admit—but there was no time to dwell on that now.

When you made your way back downstairs, Tyler was still standing by the door, just as he’d said. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, but his eyes were fixed on the floor as if lost in thought.

“Ready?” he asked as you approached, his voice quiet but steady.

You nodded, offering a faint smile. “Yeah.”

He held the door open for you as you stepped outside, the morning air crisp against your skin. Something about his presence steadied the unease still twisting in your chest. For now, it was enough.

The two of you stepped outside, and you locked the house behind you. Tyler was already back at his truck, standing by the driver’s side door. His hand rested on the handle, but instead of climbing in, he turned to look at you.

There was something hesitant in his expression, like he was trying to muster up the right words but couldn’t quite find them. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

You took a deep breath, hugging your arms across your chest as the morning air nipped at your skin. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but having Tyler at the hospital yesterday had been comforting. He’d been a steady presence in a moment when everything felt like it was spiraling. And the thought of walking back into that hospital room alone right now made your chest tighten.

Your dad’s last update replayed in your mind. The earliest he could get there would be later tonight. He’d been out of town on business when the accident happened and was scrambling to book last-minute flights and make the long journey back.

You hesitated, the rational part of your brain warning you this was a bad idea. But you couldn’t help it. You glanced over at Tyler. 

“Would you…” You paused, swallowing hard. “Would you come sit with me at the hospital? Just until my dad gets there?”

You braced yourself for some kind of resistance, but Tyler didn’t even hesitate. He nodded without a second thought. “Of course.”

Relief flooded through you, and though you tried to hide it, you were pretty sure he saw it in your face. You climbed into the truck, and Tyler started the engine, pulling out of the driveway. The hum of the tires on the pavement filled the quiet between you, but this silence felt different—less heavy, more comfortable.

When you reached the hospital, Tyler parked and cut the engine. You both made your way through the sliding glass doors and up the elevator to your mom’s room. As you reached the floor, Tyler slowed his steps, glancing at the small waiting area near the elevators.

“Do you want me to wait out here?” he asked, his voice quiet and careful, as if he didn’t want to overstep.

You hesitated, looking back toward the hallway that led to your mom’s room. For a moment, the idea of walking in alone made your stomach churn.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “You can come in.”

Tyler nodded, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. His hand brushed yours briefly—not intentional, just the way the two of you moved in tandem—and the fleeting contact sent a strange mix of comfort and nerves through you.

When you reached your mom’s room, you hesitated again, your hand hovering over the door handle. Tyler didn’t say anything, but his presence at your side was enough to make you feel steady.

You and Tyler stepped into the room, the soft hum of machines filling the air. Your mom’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of the door, and when she saw you, a tired but genuine smile spread across her face.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

You moved to her bedside, leaning down to give her a gentle hug. As you embraced her, you felt her gaze shift over your shoulder.

“Tyler,” she said warmly, catching sight of him lingering near the door. “Come in, honey. Don’t just stand there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler replied, nodding as he stepped further into the room. 

He seemed hesitant, unsure of how much space to take up. After a moment, he settled into a chair in the corner, his broad frame somehow making the small hospital chair look even smaller.

You pulled a chair closer to your mom’s bed, taking her hand in yours. Her skin was cool and fragile beneath your fingers, but her grip was surprisingly strong.

For a while, the room was filled with quiet conversation between you and your mom. You told her about the house, reassured her that everything was in order, and avoided bringing up anything that might worry her further. Tyler stayed silent, his presence steady but unobtrusive, watching the two of you with a quiet attentiveness.

When the nurses came in to administer pain medicine, your mom began to fade into drowsiness. You smoothed her blanket over her, watching as her breathing evened out and her eyes fluttered shut. The room grew quiet again, a stillness settling over everything.

You glanced over at Tyler. He’d leaned back in his chair, his phone in hand, occasionally responding to a text or scrolling through something. But for the most part, he just sat there, a calming presence you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

Hours passed in that comfortable silence. At some point, you noticed Tyler’s head start to dip forward, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his head tilting slightly as he drifted off to sleep.

It was around then that your mom stirred. You turned your attention back to her as she opened her eyes and smiled at you.

“How are you holding up, sweetheart?” she asked softly, her voice still a little groggy.

You hesitated before nodding. “I’m okay,” you said, though the words didn’t feel entirely convincing.

Your mom glanced past you, her smile growing a little wider when she saw Tyler sleeping in the corner. “Are you two talking again?” she asked, her tone light but curious.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Not really. He’s just… trying to help right now.”

Your mom let out a quiet laugh, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and knowing. “Which one of you is being stubborn?”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, the kind of expression only a mother could manage, equal parts teasing and serious. “I mean, Tyler’s here, isn’t he? Sitting in a hospital room with you for hours, even though you two aren’t together anymore.” She tilted her head slightly, studying your face. “That boy cares about you. He always has.”

You shook your head, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Mom, you’re forgetting why we broke up in the first place. He was never around. He missed birthdays, holidays… even our anniversary once. How do you think that made me feel?”

Your mom sighed, her expression softening. “I know it hurt, sweetheart. I know it did. But have you ever thought about why he worked so much? Why he was gone so often?”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Because his job was more important than I was.”

“No,” she said firmly, her tone gentle but unwavering. “Because he wanted to give you the world. Tyler would do anything to make you happy, and the way he thought he could do that was by working hard and making sure you had everything you could ever want.”

You started to argue, but she held up a hand.

“He wasn’t gone because he didn’t care,” she continued. “He was gone because he cared too much. That YouTube channel, the storm chasing—it’s how he made his money. It’s how he provided for the two of you. Do you know how many times he called me, asking what he could do to make things better for you? How many times he worried he wasn’t enough for you?”

Her words hit like a punch to the chest. You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself at a loss.

“I’m not saying he was perfect,” she said softly. “And I’m not saying it didn’t hurt you when he missed things. But he wasn’t doing it to hurt you. He was doing it because he thought it was the best way to take care of you. And maybe he didn’t always get it right, but his heart was in the right place.”

You looked down at your hands, her words circling in your mind.

“Don’t let fear or pride keep you from giving him another chance, sweetheart,” she said gently. “People make mistakes. They grow. And from what I’ve seen, that boy would do anything to make things right with you.”

You glanced over at Tyler, still asleep in the chair, his head tilted at an awkward angle. Despite everything, his presence here—just being here—had been more comforting than you’d expected.

Your mom gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Sometimes love means letting go of the hurt and giving someone the chance to show you they’ve changed.”

* * * * *

Over the next few days, Tyler proved to be a steady presence in ways you hadn’t expected. It started with small gestures—things that felt almost too thoughtful to be coincidental.

The first time, it was coffee. You’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning as you worried about your mom, your dad still trying to make it home, and the ever-present weight of Tyler being sort of back in your life. You’d shown up at the hospital bleary-eyed and running on fumes, only to find Tyler already there, leaning casually against the wall outside your mom’s room.

“Morning,” he’d said, holding out a cup of your favorite coffee. “Figured you could use this.”

You’d blinked at him, caught off guard. “How’d you—”

“You’ve been ordering the same thing since I met you,” he said with a small smile.

The warmth that spread through you at his thoughtfulness was immediate, but you tamped it down, nodding as you took the cup from his hand. “Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

But that wasn’t the only time.

The next day, you’d mentioned offhandedly that you needed to grab a few groceries before heading back to the hospital. By the time you made it to the store after your visit, Tyler was already there, leaning against his truck in the parking lot with a bag in hand.

“Saved you a trip,” he’d said simply, handing you the groceries you needed.

“Tyler,” you started, a mixture of gratitude and frustration bubbling to the surface. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone calm and even. “But I wanted to.”

And then there were the texts.

How’s your mom doing today?Did you get some rest last night?Let me know if you need anything.

They came consistently, never pushy but always there, like a quiet reminder that you didn’t have to go through this alone.

At first, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that he was just being polite, trying to make up for the past. But the more it happened, the harder it became to ignore.

One evening, after another long day at the hospital, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, Tyler’s latest text lighting up your phone.

Did you eat today?

You stared at the screen, your chest tightening. He wasn’t asking out of obligation. He wasn’t trying to win points. He was just… there. Consistent.

It felt foreign—this version of Tyler who wasn’t promising the moon and stars but showing up in small, meaningful ways instead.

You typed out a quick reply, trying to keep it casual. Yeah, grabbed something at the cafeteria. Thanks for checking in.

His response came almost immediately. Good. You need anything?

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of you wanted to tell him no, to keep him at arm’s length where it felt safe. But another part of you—the part that had started noticing the way he remembered your coffee order, the way he didn’t hesitate to pick up groceries, the way his presence made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter—wanted to say yes.

Instead, you settled on something in between. I’m good. Thanks, though.

You set your phone down, your emotions swirling in a way that felt impossible to untangle. You could see the effort he was making, the consistency you once doubted in him. And yet, the fear of repeating past mistakes loomed large, a wall you weren’t sure you were ready to let down.

As you lay back on your bed, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but wonder: Could you let yourself trust him again? Or was holding back the only way to keep from getting hurt?

The answer felt as distant and elusive as ever, but one thing was clear—Tyler wasn’t going anywhere. And that scared you as much as it comforted you.

* * * * *

You weren’t sure what had compelled you to say yes when Tyler offered to have you over for a few hours. Maybe it was his reasoning—that you needed a break after days at the hospital. Maybe it was the fact that your dad was finally back, sitting with your mom as she started to regain her strength. Or maybe, deep down, you knew you wanted to be here, in his space, no matter how much it scared you.

Tyler’s house was just as you remembered—cozy, and filled with small touches that made it unmistakably his. The scent of cedarwood lingered faintly in the air, and the shelves were dotted with framed photos and little souvenirs from his storm-chasing adventures.

“Make yourself at home,” he’d said, heading into the kitchen to grab drinks. “I’ll be right back.”

You wandered aimlessly, trying to ignore the familiar warmth that settled over you. It felt too easy to picture yourself here again, and that thought sent a pang of unease through you.

As you drifted toward the small desk in the corner of the living room, something caught your eye. The drawer was slightly ajar, and within it, a glint of gold and a small velvet box peeked out. Your curiosity got the better of you, and before you knew it, you were reaching for it.

When you opened the box, your breath caught.

It was the ring. The family ring. The delicate gold band with the intricate etching you’d admired since you were a little girl. The one your mom always said she’d pass down when the time was right.

Your fingers trembled as you held it, a dozen emotions colliding in your chest—shock, confusion, hurt. You didn’t hear Tyler’s footsteps until he was already in the doorway.

He froze when he saw you, his expression unreadable.

“What…” Your voice came out in a whisper, shaking as much as your hands. “How do you have this?”

Tyler ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I—” He stopped, as if weighing his words. “I didn’t think you’d find that.”

“That’s not an answer.” You looked up at him, your voice sharper now. “How do you have this? This is my family’s ring. My grandmother’s ring.”

Tyler’s jaw tightened. For a moment, you thought he might deflect or brush it off, but then he sighed, leaning against the doorframe.

“I had it because… I was going to ask you,” he admitted quietly. “Before we broke up.”

The room felt like it tilted beneath you. “You… what?”

“I’d talked to your parents. Asked for their blessing,” he continued, his voice steady but softer now. “Your mom gave me the ring. She said it was tradition, that it would mean something to you. And I thought—” He swallowed hard. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I loved you enough to want to make you mine forever.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “Tyler… why didn’t you tell me?”

His brows furrowed, his frustration evident. “How was I supposed to bring that up? ‘Hey, by the way, I was planning to propose before you ripped my heart out’? It wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation we were having when you left.”

Your chest tightened at the bitterness in his tone. “I didn’t just leave for no reason, Tyler. You were never there. You were always off chasing storms or working on the channel. I felt like I was just… waiting for you to choose me over everything else.”

Tyler’s expression hardened, but his voice didn’t rise. “I wasn’t gone because I didn’t care. I was gone because I was trying to build something for us. To give you the life you deserved. Do you think I wanted to spend all that time away from you?”

“You could’ve told me that!” you shot back, your voice cracking. “Instead, you just kept pushing forward like I was supposed to read your mind. How was I supposed to know you were doing it for me when you never said anything?”

“I thought you knew!” he countered, his voice finally rising. “I thought you understood. I thought what we had was strong enough to get through it. But instead, you walked away without even giving me a chance to explain.”

The room felt unbearably small, the air thick with unspoken pain. Tyler took a step closer, his eyes locking with yours.

“I didn’t know how to fight for someone who had already made it clear she didn’t want me,” he said quietly, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the tension.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The emotions swirling inside you—anger, hurt, regret—left you feeling raw and exposed.

Tyler reached for the ring, picking it up from where it rested on the desk. He held it out to you, his hand steady despite the tension in his jaw.

“Take it,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “It’s yours anyway. Keep it, or take it back to your mom’s—I shouldn’t have it anymore.”

You stared at the ring, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of his words, the pain in his eyes, the ring that symbolized everything you’d lost and didn’t know if you could get back—it was all too much.

“I can’t do-,” you whispered, stepping back. “I… I need time to think.”

Tyler’s hand lowered, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he nodded, slipping the ring back into the box and tucking it away in the drawer.

The argument had left you both emotionally drained, the air in the room thick with all the things unsaid. Tyler had retreated, stepping out of the room and leaving you alone with the silence. You could hear his footsteps as he made his way out the front door and onto the porch. After that, there was only the quiet hum of the house around you. It felt like a heavy kind of stillness—almost suffocating in its weight.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the drawer where the ring had been returned, now hidden away again. Your fingers reached out, pulling open the drawer and picking up the box. You didn’t open the box or look at the ring. You just quietly put the box into your purse. You told yourself you’d give it back to your mom.

Tyler’s house had always held a special place in your heart. The old farmhouse, weathered but sturdy, had been his dream long before you moved in. He’d poured himself into this place, building it up, making it his own. His grandparents’ house, the land that had been in his family for generations—he’d often told you how much it meant to him. The memories of the two of you walking through the fields, sitting on the porch at dusk, talking about the future… it was all a part of him. And yet, it didn’t feel like home in the way it used to. Not anymore.

You’d moved here together once, a promise of a new chapter, a future side by side. And in many ways, it had been your home. A place where you’d shared laughter, arguments, and everything in between. But now, as you stood in the familiar space, everything felt different.

You moved through the house slowly, almost instinctively, as if searching for something—some sign that the past could be healed, that the love you once had could still be found in the cracks of this place. But every room seemed to hold its own kind of sadness, a reminder of what had been lost.

When you reached the kitchen, you ran your hand over the counter, feeling the familiar grooves of the old wood. This was where you used to stand while Tyler cooked dinner, teasing him about his “experimental” dishes, laughing at how he always burned something. He’d smile and tell you that’s why he had you, to make sure you guys didn’t starve. Then he’d pull you into a kiss, the kind of kiss that made you forget about everything else. The kind of kiss that made you feel like nothing could ever tear you apart.

But then, as you stood by the window, your gaze naturally fell outside. The view from here was familiar, the long stretch of land with the barn at the far edge of the property. 

And that’s when you saw him. Tyler.

He was standing outside by the old barn, the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up, the axe gripped firmly in his hands. You watched, your heart dropping a little in your chest. He was splitting wood—heavy, deliberate swings with a rhythm that seemed almost mechanical. You had seen him do this before. It was his way of working out whatever was on his mind, his way of channeling anger or frustration. It was a pattern you knew all too well, one that had been there even before you left.

When he split wood like this, you knew better than to interrupt. It was his space, his time, his way of dealing with things. He didn’t want anyone there. He didn’t want to talk. It was his silent, solitary method of pushing everything down, of pretending that the world around him didn’t hurt.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest as you watched him swing the axe, each strike carrying the weight of things unsaid. Your eyes burned slightly, the tears you hadn’t realized were threatening to fall welling up. 

The sight of him like this—the man you still cared about, the man who had been so much a part of your life—hurt in a way you hadn’t prepared for. You’d hoped that seeing him here, in this space, would make things clearer. But instead, it made you question everything.

Was this your fault? Was he out there, splitting wood because of you? Because of the things you’d said, the things you’d walked away from?

You could almost feel the tension in his every movement, the frustration he was releasing with each swing. He wasn’t angry at the wood. He was angry at everything that had happened between you two—at the distance that had grown, at the things left unsaid. He was angry at himself for not being able to fix it, and maybe, just maybe, angry at you for walking away.

You stood there for a long time, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter, your breath shallow. You wanted to go outside, wanted to talk to him, to ask him to stop. But you knew better. You’d learned that lesson a long time ago. When Tyler was like this, the best thing you could do was give him space. He would come to you when he was ready. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch.

You blinked, trying to clear your eyes, but the image of him out there—alone, working through his pain in silence—stayed with you, heavy and haunting.

You sighed, picking up your bag and making your way to the door. As you stepped out into the cool afternoon air, the weight of the ring seemed to grow heavier in your bag. Walking down the front steps, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything you had with Tyler was still there, just waiting for you to reach out and claim it. But you were scared. Scared of reopening old wounds, scared of trusting again, scared of letting yourself believe that it could work out this time.

As you drove away from the house, the ring resting silently in your bag, you couldn’t help but think about what Tyler had said. For the first time, you started to wonder if you’d been too afraid to face your feelings for him. 

* * * * *

The house was quiet when you finally got back to your parents’ place, the weight of the past few days pressing down on you. The hours spent at the hospital, the conversations with your mom, the raw argument with Tyler—it all swirled in your mind, and you couldn’t seem to escape the echoes of the past.

You were sitting in the living room now, curled up in the old armchair. The dim light from the lamp beside you cast long shadows on the walls, and the soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the house. Your mind was running through everything that had happened. Your mom’s voice rang in your head, reminding you that you were likely pushing Tyler away because you were afraid of getting hurt again. But even as you replayed her words, it was hard to shake the feeling of uncertainty.

It wasn’t love you were lacking. That much was clear to you. The memories of your time together—both the good and the bad—flooded your thoughts, and the love you once shared was still there, even if it was buried under layers of hurt. You could still feel the way your heart had raced when Tyler kissed you, the way he had held you close on the coldest nights. You had loved him with everything you had, and a part of you still did. But now? Now, it felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, too scared to take the leap, too unsure of where it might lead.

Your thoughts drifted to the last few days—Tyler’s quiet presence when you needed him, the way he had shown up, consistently and without hesitation. He brought you coffee when you needed it most, offered to run errands, texted you just to check in. Every little thing he did was a reminder of the person he had become, the one who wanted to be there for you, no matter how hard it might have been for him.

You couldn’t ignore the changes. He wasn’t the same as he had been before. He’d made mistakes, but he’d also shown you that he was willing to work on himself. The way he had apologized, the way he had acknowledged his faults—it was all part of the healing process.

And yet, even now, as you sat there in the silence, your heart was heavy. You were scared to trust again. Scared to believe that this time, things would be different. The fear of repeating past mistakes loomed over you, a constant companion in your thoughts. How could you know for sure that Tyler wouldn’t hurt you again? 

You thought back to the day you broke up—how Tyler had tried so hard to be what you needed but had failed, leaving you to feel abandoned. You remembered the words he said, the frustration in his voice as he admitted he didn’t know how to fix things. But now, you knew he was trying. He wasn’t perfect, but he was showing you he cared in a way that mattered.

Maybe it wasn’t about being perfect. Maybe it was about being willing to try. And for the first time in a long while, you started to wonder if you were ready to take the risk.

As you sat there, you felt the weight of the ring in your pocket, still a physical reminder of what could have been. The family ring. The one Tyler had almost given you. He’d wanted to give you everything, to make you his forever. It stung, thinking about how close he had been to doing that, and how you had walked away before you could even see what might have been.

But maybe now was the time to face what had been left unsaid. Maybe now was the time to acknowledge that you weren’t as afraid of him as you were of what it would mean to trust him again. Maybe it was time to stop holding onto the past and to start letting yourself heal, to start letting him back in.

Your thoughts lingered there for a moment, wondering where things might go if you took that next step, if you allowed yourself to be vulnerable enough to take the chance on him again.

* * * * *

You took a deep breath, staring at the screen of your phone, your finger hovering over the “Send” button. You’d thought about this moment a hundred times, but now that it was here, the weight of it was almost too much.

Tyler. You hadn’t really spoken since that painful argument over the ring. But something in you had shifted. The clarity that came after your reflection—the understanding that your hesitation wasn’t about love, but about trust—had led you to this point. You weren’t ready to give up on him, not yet. You needed to talk, to lay everything out, and to figure out if there was a way forward.

With one last deep breath, you typed out a quick message: Can we talk?

You stared at it for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, and then hit send.

The response came a few minutes later, fast and blunt: Sure. What about?

You hesitated, your mind racing. Can you meet me?

There was a long pause before his reply. You could almost feel his hesitation through the screen: Why can’t we talk now?

You chewed on your bottom lip, heart racing again. I just think we need to talk in person.

Okay. Where?

You agreed on a quiet spot at a local diner, one you used to go to together when things were easier. The diner was just as you remembered it—faded red booths, a flickering neon sign in the window, and the faint smell of coffee and fried food hanging in the air. It had been weeks since you’d sat here with Tyler, sharing laughs over milkshakes and fries. Now, as you pushed open the door, the memories hit you like a wave, bittersweet and unrelenting.

Tyler was already there, seated in the far corner by the window. His back was to you, his shoulders hunched slightly as he stared out at the parking lot. He didn’t look tense—just tired, like someone who had long since stopped hoping for something he knew wasn’t coming.

When he turned at the sound of your footsteps, his expression softened, and he offered a small, polite smile. 

“Hey,” he said, standing as you approached the booth.

“Hey,” you replied, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Thanks for meeting me,” you added, unsure of how to start.

Tyler waved a hand dismissively. “Of course. Everything okay? Is this about your mom or... something else?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by his assumption. He thought this was about your mom—or maybe something unrelated entirely. You realized he hadn’t even considered that this might be about him. That hit you harder than you expected.

“No, she’s fine,” you said quickly. “It’s not about her.”

A waitress appeared with two menus, setting them down before taking your drink orders. Once she walked away, Tyler leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed loosely. “So, what’s on your mind?”

You traced the edge of the menu with your finger, searching for the right words. “I’ve just... been thinking a lot lately,” you started, your voice steady but quiet. “About everything. About us.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t speak right away. When he did, his tone was careful, like he didn’t want to assume too much. “Us?”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Us.”

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something in his expression—hope, maybe, though he tried to mask it. “Okay,” he said slowly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “I’ve been thinking about why I’ve been so hesitant... why I haven’t been able to just move on or figure out what I want. And I realized it’s not because I don’t care about you. It’s not because I don’t... love you.”

Tyler’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. 

“It’s because I’m scared,” you continued, pushing through the lump in your throat. “I’m scared of trusting you again. Of getting hurt again. And I know that’s not fair to you, because you’ve done so much to show me you’ve changed. But it’s the truth.”

Tyler leaned back slightly, his hands dropping to the table. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but firm. “I can’t blame you for being scared,” he said. “I don’t. And if I could go back and change the way I handled things back then, I would in a heartbeat. But I can’t. All I can do is try to show you now that I’m not that guy anymore.”

You nodded, your heart pounding. “I see that,” you admitted. “And I want to believe it. I do. But this is going to take time, Tyler. If we do this—if we try again—I need to know we’re on the same page.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, his voice full of sincerity. “Whatever you need. Time, space, anything.”

The words hit you with a mix of relief and fear, but you pushed past it, meeting his gaze. “I need honesty. Communication. Consistency. If I’m going to trust you again, I need to know you’re not going to disappear or pull away.”

Tyler reached across the table, his hand stopping just short of yours, as if waiting for permission. When you didn’t pull away, he covered your hand with his, his touch warm and steady. 

“You have my word,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

The vulnerability in his voice broke something open inside you, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this could work.

“I’m willing to try,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to give you away. “But we have to start over. From scratch. No rushing, no expectations. We figure this out one step at a time.”

Tyler’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, the kind that reached his eyes. “One step at a time,” he echoed.

The conversation between you and Tyler drifted into lighter topics as the waitress returned to take your order. You both opted for the diner’s signature cheeseburgers, a choice that made Tyler chuckle.

“Some things never change,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You always did love their fries.”

“And you always managed to steal half of them,” you shot back, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

For a while, it felt easy—almost normal. The tension that had weighed so heavily at the start of the conversation seemed to fade as you reminisced about old times. Tyler told you about the farm and the projects he’d been working on, and you found yourself laughing at his stories about the chickens escaping their pen and wreaking havoc in the garden.

When the food arrived, Tyler immediately reached across the table and snagged one of your fries, grinning mischievously as he popped it into his mouth.

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Consider it interest,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

As the meal wound down, the check arrived, and Tyler reached for it without hesitation.

“Oh, no you don’t,” you said, grabbing for the small black folder.

“I got it,” Tyler said firmly, holding it just out of your reach.

“Tyler, I can pay for mine,” you insisted, leaning across the table in a futile attempt to snatch it.

He shook his head, his grin widening. “You can get the next one.”

“Next one?” you echoed, your cheeks flushing slightly.

He froze for a split second, realizing what he’d said. But instead of backtracking, he leaned forward, his expression softening. “Yeah. Next one.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t argue. Tyler slid his card into the folder and handed it to the waitress, who returned moments later with a receipt for him to sign.

As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, the world felt quieter. The neon sign buzzed faintly above you, casting a soft glow on the sidewalk.

Tyler walked beside you, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. You fell into step together, the sound of your footsteps the only noise between you.

When you reached your car, you paused, turning to face him. He stopped too, standing so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the chill in the air.

“Thanks for dinner,” you said softly.

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, Tyler reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before curling gently around your hand.

The simple gesture sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in years. You squeezed his hand, your heart swelling at the unspoken promise in his touch.

As you started to pull away, Tyler hesitated. His other hand lifted, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, and when his eyes met yours, they were filled with something quiet and certain.

“Can I—” he started, his voice catching, but you didn’t let him finish.

Instead, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as if you were both testing the waters. But as Tyler tilted his head, his free hand moving gently to your waist, it deepened just enough to make your heart race.

When you finally pulled back, your faces were still close, your breath mingling in the cool night air. Tyler’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mixture of wonder and relief.

“Drive safe,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, though it carried the weight of so much more.

“You too,” you replied, your voice steady even as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

As you climbed into your car and drove away, you couldn’t stop glancing in the rearview mirror. Tyler stood there on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching until your taillights disappeared into the night.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel quite so uncertain.

[g00d--m0urning]

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four