#i’m gonna miss you so bad i will cry nearly every night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

typicalopposite · 2 months

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𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙸 𝚃𝚛𝚢 𝚃𝚘 𝙵𝚕𝚢 (𝙸 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕)

BuckTommy Fic | M | Chapter 6/7 | 7419 words

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚒𝚡: 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 (𝙸'𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔)

There is a For Sale sign at 3416 Hillhaven Drive, and in all of Buck’s thirty three years there has never been another time that he recalls feeling so hopeless.

(A month earlier)

Buck has hope when he leaves the hospital, climbs into his Jeep, and goes straight for the interstate, ignoring the fact he has a shift he’s already late for… a shift he’ll miss if he makes this trip. He should call Bobby, instead he just takes the exit for I-5 and doesn’t look back.

He has hope as the hours pass by (nearly nine of them); every second bringing him closer to Whispering Pines Rehabilitation Center of Northern California. He has hope when he pulls into the facility parking lot, turns the Jeep off, and walks inside. He has hope and he clings to it for dear life.

He just has to tell Tommy the truth; how he feels, what they are, where he wants to be. He wants Tommy, he loves Tommy. He just has to tell him.

He will tell him and all will be fixed.

Sure, he’s taken this spot at Whispering Pines… but he can transfer; and even if he can’t… even if he doesn’t want to… Buck will gladly drive to NorCal every day off to spend with him through his recovery. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do anything.

He feels flushed and sweaty as he approaches the nurses desk. “Thomas Kinard,” he says, voice embarrassingly shaky.

“Room 25,” the woman says, and she’s nowhere near as bubbly or as friendly as even the toughest nurse back at Presbyterian’s rehab. Already a reason this place isn’t good for Tommy. Kind, caring, sweet Tommy… Who is going through a very stressful time, and needs compassion.

Buck has hope. He will fix this, and bring Tommy back home where he belongs.

He is about to turn down the hall Tommy’s room is on when he hears voices. Dreadfully familiar voices, and he feels his stomach twist into a knot. He dips into a bathroom, just as they round the corner, and goes into the large stall at the end. He hopes his feet aren’t visible, and that they don’t try to open the stall door when he hears them enter the bathroom. “You know…” Sal says, after the door closes behind him. “You could at least try to not be so smugly satisfied about this.”

“Oh, fuck off, Sal…” Morris groans. “I’m not happy about this… but this place is good for him.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Morris sighs. “Look… I know he’s not a bad person, okay? I know he’s sorry, and I know he’s trying to fix it all… and that’s his thing… and all that. I have heard it plenty of times from everyone else who has gotten past everything. Hell, I've heard it from Tommy.”

“And yet you still can’t let it go? Colin, it’s Tommy’s life, man… if he can—”

“You weren’t there, okay?!” Morris suddenly shouts, so loud it causes Buck to jump. He hears Morris clear his throat. Buck holds his breath, trying to will his heart to slow down. “He— he showed up one night after everything happened at the bar… and I’ve never seen him like that. He was drunk off his ass, and about out of his mind; talking about how he can't live without Evan... how he doesn’t want to live without Evan…”

Buck hears a sniffle, he wonders if Morris is crying… he feels like crying. He clings to hope like a final lifeline. He can still fix this…

“I sat up all night, Sal… watching him,” Morris continues. “Scared of what I might find the next morning if I didn’t…”

“Damn, man… I— I didn’t know all that. I’m sorry,” Sal says. Buck wishes he could apologize too; he suddenly gets what Lucy meant by Tommy not caring about making it back in one piece. It makes his stomach sour. He has to fix this. “C‘Mon, long way back to LA, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Well if you’re offering, I’m not gonna try to talk you out of it,” Morris laughs and Buck listens closely as they leave the bathroom. He quickly gets up and goes to the door, cracking it enough to see which way they went. Thankfully not back in the direction of Tommy’s room.

Once they are far enough away that he’s certain they won’t see him, he continues down the hallway towards room 25. He passes 23– he just has to tell Tommy that he loves him. 24– and that he wants to be with him, and only him, forever; Tommy is his forever. He stops outside Tommy’s closed door, his hand mid-lift to knock.

He freezes. What if it’s not enough, he thinks. His heart starts racing, his mind goes blank… maybe this was a bad idea. Before he can snap out of it (rethink it over, or just turn and run for that matter), the door swings inward, a nurse exits, and Buck sees Tommy.

He just saw him a day earlier, and yet it feels like it’s been so long.

He’s sitting in a big recliner by the window—and okay… maybe that’s a nice feature to have in the patients’ rooms. However, he looks so small sitting in it. He’s still so skinny, but this is beyond that. He looks exhausted. He has a five ‘o clock shadow, that’s leaning more towards grown out stubble now. There are deep, dark circles under his eyes. Buck has to remind himself it’s only been a day; he has to ask himself if Tommy looked so peaked and worn out before and he just hadn’t noticed.

He still has hope. He just needs to walk in— Tommy looks at the door; at Buck.

His eyes go wide, like he’s seen a ghost; Buck doubts he looks any less panicked. “Uh, h-hey…” Buck says, stepping into the room, grabbing the door and gently closing it behind him.

“Hey…” Tommy replies (or maybe repeats… his voice is cautious and he is staring at Buck so skeptically, maybe it wasn’t a hey back…. But instead a ‘you seriously show up after I fled you to come upstate, and just said hey?!’).

“Can— can we talk?”

Tommy shifts in the chair; eventually he nods. That’s a good sign. Buck holds on to hope.

He holds on… and then he opens his mouth… and lets it all go. “Tommy, I am so—” he begins, and Tommy instantly tenses up.

“I swear to god, Evan… if you start apologizing,” he says through a clenched jaw.

“Just— just listen… I need to—”

“You don’t need to apologize…”

“I do! Because—”

“No you don’t!” Tommy screams, and Bucks not sure he’s ever heard him actually scream before. “Oh my god… why should you apologize. You haven’t done anything?!” Buck opens his mouth— not so much to disagree (which he does) but to try to calm Tommy down—Tommy doesn’t give him a chance. “If I felt like any of this was on you… if I felt like I didn’t deserve for you to leave… or— or for you to stop wanting to be with me… stop loving— I would have said so! I wouldn’t have let you stay around so long.” Buck can feel his brows knitting together; feels the confusion painting itself across his face. Tommy won’t look at him— does he really believe what he’s saying?

“Tommy… just listen—”

“No!” Tommy’s eyes are wide and frantic, he’s breathing too fast, Buck is so worried he is going to make himself pass out. He steps forward, tries to touch him, Tommy shifts away. “No… y- you listen. If— if you want to make unnecessary amends so bad, then you need to go make them with people who were actually upset with you. Colin… or Lucy... or hell, with yourself.” Tears fall down both cheeks, he wraps his arms around himself. Buck thinks of when he asked about Jay, how Tommy held himself then; he looked so small. He looks even smaller now. “I—I don’t need it. I don’t deserve it— I did all of this… to myself!”

“Tommy… Please, listen to me! I just need to tell you—”

“Just go, Evan,” Tommy cries. He clutches at his chest, and sucks in a sharp breath. He shouldn’t be crying this hard, he shouldn’t be crying at all. He doesn’t need to be worked up or stressed. His lungs are still so weak. Buck doesn’t know what to do; he won’t listen. “I— I can’t, Evan please. I can’t— just go. Please!”

“Okay. O- okay…” Buck says. He takes a step back, towards the door. “Okay, I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone…” Tommy wilts at that—it confuses Buck more… but— but this is what he wants, right? It’s what he’s saying, right? He’s telling him to leave… “I— I’m sor— I’ll see you— um… bye. Bye Tommy.” He is fumbling over his words, and stumbling over his feet trying to get to the door.

He could still tell him. He could just spit it out. Get it into the universe and what happens with it, happens. But Tommy’s still taking deep gasping breaths, and he’s digging his palms into his eyes. He’s softly weeping— actually weeping— and Buck just doesn’t want to hurt him anymore.

So he leaves.

He pulls the door to, and pretends he can’t still hear Tommy crying through it. (It’s a sound he’s sure is going to haunt him regardless, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it.) He takes the walk of shame down the hall. He passes the door to a courtyard; there’s some patients playing basketball… Tommy loves basketball. Another positive… maybe this place is good for him after all. He feels the burn of tears and continues towards the exit trying to blink them away… it only pushes them out.

“Evan…” he hears, and dammit he might never hear that sweet voice again; that makes the tears come on stronger. He looks up, and Mrs. K is coming towards him with a nurse. “You go on dear,” she tells her. “I’ll be right there!” The nurse looks from her to Buck, and back, then nods and continues down the hall. “Oh… sweet pea,” Mrs. K says, her face softening. She walks up to him, and cups his face with both hands, swiping her thumbs under each eye, catching the tears; they keep coming. “How about I walk you to your car?”

Buck looks at her. So many times he thinks this woman can’t be real. She’s too kind. Too caring. Too understanding… That’s where Tommy gets it from… and look what Buck did, he took those qualities and broke him with them. He doesn’t deserve her kindness… just like he didn’t deserve Tommy’s. Tommy needs her now, not him. “It’s fine,” he says. “Tommy—”

“Will be fine for a moment, his nurse is going to check on him. I won’t take long.” She gives him a stern look like he’d better not argue. He doesn’t. He is glad he at least gets to say goodbye to her. “Come on.” She offers a smile, and hooks her arm around his, leading him past the nurses station and out the door into the parking lot. “Oh! Tommy had told me you have a Jeep!” She exclaims when they stop at it. “How many little ducks do you have?”

“Uh, I have a few…” he says, a weak laugh loosening the knot in his chest just a little; he appreciates her even more because of it. He watches as Mrs. K walks up to the front and checks the dash.

“I love it!” She exclaims, smiling at his little collection and he thinks he’s going to miss her… a lot. He’s reminded that he’s going to miss Tommy a lot… He pop has to do something or he’s going to start crying again.

“You, uh, like Jeeps?” He asks.

Mrs. K’s expression shifts, a fond look crossing her face. “I always wanted one,” she says. “My brother had one, and when he’d visit, he would take the doors off… then take me and Tommy out on some back dirt road and just let her rip. Tommy loved it… I loved it.”

“Why didn’t you ever get one?”

“Oh… I don’t know.” She looks the vehicle over, and sighs. “I guess it was partly because so many people were in my ear telling me why I shouldn’t. I was a mom… I needed to grow up… It wasn’t very lady-like. Eventually their negative opinions became so loud it drowned out my own, until I believed it too.” She shrugs; smiles at Buck. “Tommy really loved riding in that Jeep. He would have loved it if I’d got one. I should have…”

Buck thinks of the things he should have done. He should have listened to Hen and Chimney when they told him not to listen to Gerard. He should have waited for Tommy to be comfortable telling him about Jay. He should have heard him out about the whole Sal kiss. He should have gone to talk to him when they were telling him Tommy was spiraling. He should have told him how much he loves him—how much he needs him… how much he can’t live without him—the second he opened his eyes in that hospital bed.

Should have… could have… but he didn’t, and now he’s here.

Mrs. K looks at him; those similar steel blue eyes, giving that similar sympathetic look. She takes his hands, and he squeezes hers in return. “This is gonna work itself out, Evan, I know it will. Hope is a race that must be run.” She gives him a smile. “At least that’s what my daily motivational app said this morning.” That pulls a laugh from Buck he wasn’t expecting, the knot loosens a little more. He wraps his arms around Mrs. K and pulls her into a hug. “I just know I'll see you soon, sweet pea.”

Buck is sure that’s not the case, but he will start crying again if he thinks too much about that. “I’ll uh— I’ll have to give you a ride when I do,” he says instead. “Doors off.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Mrs. K laughs. She squeezes him one more time, then lets him go. “Don't you give up hope just yet, okay?”

“I— I won’t…” he says. (I’ll try, he means.)

And he does… honestly, he does.

He tries to hold on to hope as he has to explain to the 118 that Tommy went to NorCal, and that they are over, and that it’s once again all his fault. He tries to hold on to hope as his day to day slowly starts to resemble his life before—not before the accident, or before the break up… before Tommy. He tries to hold on to hope as he navigates the looks of pity and the sympathies and the offers to go out— for drinks, or food, or just to hang— anything they can do to help ease his mind.

He tries to hold on to hope as he reads, and re-reads Tommy’s card religiously like it’s a daily prayer. (He could probably recite it forwards, backward, and out of order, but he needs to see Tommy’s handwriting, his artwork on the front, his signature with the little heart. He tries as the days pass, and the little updates Mrs. K sends to keep Buck in the loop on how Tommy’s doing space out more and more… then stop all together… She’s older and she’s doing this behind Tommy’s back, Buck expected it eventually.

Still, he tries desperately to hold on to hope…

“Buckley! How about a hand over here?” McCarthy shouts across the wreckage of a multi car pile up. It’s the first time the 118 has been on scene with Harbor in a while. This is a bad one though; they needed air support.

Buck blinks at his name, snapping out of his thoughts and back into the chaos around him. He looks at McCarthy, still waiting for an answer, or the help he requested. “Oh— uh, yeah… C- Coming!”

He helps pull the guy out of the opening McCarty and Dominguez just made from cutting the door off the smashed car. Hicks is there, too, ready to start administering fluids and vital checks. It feels so reminiscent, Buck feels his face begin to flush. “You good, kid?” McCarty asks, and Buck hasn’t even noticed the backboard has been carried off towards the helicopter; Collier lifts off from the scene with Lucy and another medic leaving the rest at the scene to continue with assistance. “Buckley?”

Buck blinks. He looks at McCarty… at Dominguez and Hicks, who are all waiting for an answer. “I’m— I’m fine… sorry,” he says, shaking his head and plastering on a fake smile. “Been a long shift…”

McCarty smiles at him, sympathetically… he’s starting to get Tommy’s distaste of apologies… “Well, alright… come on, we still got a mess to clean up out here,” the older man says, mostly to the members of his own team but Buck snaps into action as well.

“For the record…” Hicks says, helping Buck move some of the wreckage out of the road. “I'm really sorry things didn’t work out. I, uh— I know I wasn’t very welcoming when everything went down… but I was rooting for you two there at the end.”

“Yeah…” Dominguez adds. “Hopefully y'all can work things out once he’s home…”

Buck’s throat feels tight. He nods.

It is nice, on one hand, to seemingly not be on everyone’s shit list anymore. Everyone that is—“You two come on!” Morris barks, not even sparing a look in Buck’s direction. He gets it now, though… he deserves the hate. Buck sighs as the two wave goodbye before jogging over to continue with clean up.

He tries to hold on to hope.

“What's that?” Christopher asks, and Buck’s attention is broken from his upteenth reread through the day of Tommy’s card.

It’s Buck’s day off and Eddie insists he needs the company… Company in the form of a moody sharp witted teenager. “It’s just— uh, just a card,” he lies so maybe it will stay at that and he won’t have to explain it further.

“From Tommy?” Buck’s head snaps up, looking across the table to where Christopher is doing his homework. “There’s a picture of you two on it…” he explains. Buck flips the card over looking at the picture and sighs. “Are you and Tommy still together?” Christopher asks.

Buck tries to swallow the groan he feels coming up, wishes the dinner timer would hurry up and go off so he could use it as a diversion. “Uh, that’s— that’s kind of complicated…” he says.

“Complicated how? Either you’re together… or you’re not,” Christopher replies, his attention drifting back to his school work.

“Well, we’re— we’re not… together… anymore.”

“Why?”

Buck thinks this is plenty of reason to never have kids. He sighs. “I told you… it’s complicated.”

Christopher looks up, and Buck could maybe laugh at the face the kid gives him if the conversation wasn’t currently driving a knife into his chest. “Buck…”

“Okay, okay…” Buck relents. “I… messed up, big time. I hurt him… in a lot of ways.”

“Did you apologize?”

And that’s what gets a laugh out of Buck. “Uh, I don’t— I don’t think an apology is gonna work this time, buddy.” Christopher looks up at him, confused. “He uh… said he doesn’t want me to apologize. He said he doesn’t blame me.”

Christopher’s brows furrow. “Then… Why aren’t you still together? Do you not love him anymore?”

“What?!” Buck gasps. “Of course I still love him… I’ll always love him,” Buck says, and realizes that it’s possibly the first time he’s said it out loud since the break up… Christopher somehow manages to look more confused. “It’s just—”

“Have you told him?”

“Told him?”

“That you still love him.” Buck feels his throat tighten. I tried… he wants to say. But the reality is he should have done it to begin with. He waited too long… waited until Tommy truly thought he didn’t. “You should tell him.”

“Chris… I don’t think—” Christopher sighs, gives Buck that look again. “You really think so?”

A big smile spreads across Christopher’s face. “Heck yeah! You could make him something like your card, since apparently old people still do that.”

Buck laughs, and grabs a napkin to ball up and throw at Christopher. He considers it. He tries to hold on to hope.

He tries to hold on as the day comes to an end and Christopher goes home. He tries to hold on as he lays in bed and contemplates what Christopher said, and Dominguez said, and even Mrs. K… they all have faith this will work out. Maybe he should too.

“Did you hear Tommy’s coming down with his mom this weekend to get some things from his house?” Lucy asks casually over drinks. Buck nearly chokes on his own.

“Really— he— no, I hadn’t— is he… really?” Buck sputters. The table laughs; a good chunk of both stations sitting around the booth. “That’s— uh, that’s great! I’m sure he’ll be glad to see… everyone.” He feels his face heating up, and starts picking at his bottles label.

“Yeah,” she continues. “I’m sure he will be too… glad to see everyone, that is.”

The way she emphasizes everyone makes Buck feel a little bit lighter; a little more hopeful. “You— you think so?”

“Think? No…” Buck wilts. “I know so… he still can’t shut up about you.” Buck soars.

“R- Really?!” He asks, surprised.

She nods. “Oh yeah… the best part is when he uses you to correct the nurses doing his PT. It’s always: well Evan would do it this way, and it didn’t hurt, or; well Evan would give me breaks in between exercises so I didn’t tire myself out. Evan was gentler, Evan was calmer, Evan was better. I miss Evan.”

“He— He said he misses me…”

Lucy pauses, the 217 looks at her like maybe she shared a little too much. Buck feels his heart slow to a near stop. She sips her beer and sighs. “More than just during PT…” she finally says, and Buck catches the approving smiles of both McCarty and Collier.

He has hope.

He has hope when he leaves work Friday evening and goes straight to the craft store. He’s not the best with finding the right words… but he is a little creative, so he skips the card and gets some red leather cord, and some gray beads instead.

He has hope when he goes back to the loft and dumps everything onto his table. He will do anything, and right now that’s finding his own way to tell Tommy what they are; what Tommy is to Buck; what he wants.

He has hope as he strings each bead, the round balls, the long skinny bars, onto the cord. He tries it on for size, gives it a little more slack for Tommy’s wrist, and then ties the ends off in an adjustable knot.

He has hope as he puts the bracelet in a little gift box, writes To Tommy on it; looks it over one more time… checks that the placement of the beads are correct, closes the lid and grabs his keys. He drives straight to Tommy’s, feeling like this might just actually work.

He has hope as he turns onto Tommy’s street. He has hope when he sees no one in the driveway, he’ll just wait… he can wait. He has hope until he sees the sign in the front yard.

There's a For Sale sign at 3416 Hillhaven Drive— Tommy’s House— and suddenly Buck feels completely hopeless.

The cool metal of the Home key Buck’s been wearing around his neck suddenly feels like it’s scalding hot against his skin. He reaches under his collar and pulls the chain over his head.

He has passed by Tommy’s house after every shift—regardless of it being in the complete opposite direction of his loft; regardless of the memories it brings flooding back, and the added pain it puts into his chest—and the one time he doesn’t… the one time he lets himself be too occupied floating around on his delusional cloud nine… this happens.

He parks the Jeep, climbs out and just stares at the sign… He isn’t sure why that leads to him walking up the pathway to the porch, then to the front door. He isn’t sure why he takes the key, and tries it… maybe a part of him thinks it won’t work, but it does.

The door creaks open (Tommy always complained about that…. said he needed to take some WD-40 to it). He steps inside. It feels the vice tightening itself around his chest as he looks around at the empty house; not of things, but empty of life, and happiness, and two am wine drunk slow dancing around the living room to one of their favorite love songs… Empty of Tommy. His life has been so empty of Tommy, and now it seems it always will be.

Was this why Tommy was coming down? Did Lucy and the rest of the 217 know? Maybe they were hoping he could talk him out of this. His thoughts are interrupted by a car pulling into the driveway. Buck contemplates turning and running from the house, but a part of him wants to stay and finally fight for Tommy… the way he should have been all along.

He hears a door open and then close—just one, he wonders if it’s Mrs. K… No such luck he thinks when he sees Morris walking up onto the porch. He looks through the open door at Buck, and sighs.

It just had to be Morris… he’s going to enjoy this, Buck is sure.

“Hey Buckley…” Morris says, walking up the steps towards the door. There's nowhere for Buck to go now—not much he can do in response but offer a tight lipped smile, since his voice has abandoned him. “Uh… listen,” Morris continues. He turns and looks out to the road. “For what it’s worth… I didn’t know he was going to sell his place. No one did. He just called and sprung it on us yesterday.”

Buck swallows around the lump and thinks that if Tommy didn’t want the people he is closest to to know until he was already in the process of selling… he must be serious about this… he must want this.

“So— so he’s… Tommy is still coming?”

“Yeah,” Morris says. “He’s actually almost here,” Buck suddenly feels the urge to run from the house again… “He just asked me if I could get the stuff ready… said he doesn’t want to be here too long.”

“Ah,” Buck manages around his building emotions. “Well… I, uh, better— I better let you get to that… then.”

“Are you not gonna wait ‘til he gets here?” Morris asks. Buck shakes his head and quickly goes around Morris and gets halfway down the steps. “Buckley, wait…” Morris calls, he looks back. “Can you— uh… I hate to ask you this but can you show me where he keeps his suitcase?”

Buck feels the vice on his chest tighten… was this some new torture method? Except, if Buck didn’t know any better—and hell maybe he doesn’t—Morris actually looks sad… he actually looks sympathetic. “S- Sure… yeah, sure, it’s right in his closet. I’ll show you.” Then he’s walking back into the house and getting the suitcase down himself. He gets Morris to show him the list he made for Tommy and Buck easily finds it all, packing it into the suitcase against Morris’ constant requests to let him do it instead. “Um, here…” he says, rolling the suitcase out to Morris. “And also give him this…” Buck holds out the thick fur lined jacket he bought Tommy just before all this… when they were talking about a trip up north, and Buck learned Tommy didn’t own a single warm jacket. “I know he didn’t ask for it… And— and he might not want it because— b- but it’s getting cold up there, and I just— he needs to take something to keep him warm, at least until he gets a new one.”

Morris takes the jacket, and the suitcase, and smiles. “I’ll let him know you—”

“No,” Buck quickly interjects. “No, please… just… just say you found it.” Morris stares for a moment then nods. “And uh, also, I— I know things have been pretty tense between you and I, but—”

“Hey that’s all on me, kid… and I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not…” Buck says, his throat tightening. “You were right, about everything. I left… and then just tried to come back like I didn’t cause a huge mess for everyone else to clean up…” He rapidly blinks back the tears threatening to burst free. “And— and you did. All of you… Everyone was there for him when I wasn’t. When I should have been. So, thanks… for being a good friend. He’s lucky to have someone like you who will be there… no matter what.”

Morris looks speechless. He moves the suitcase handle from one hand to the other. “Thanks Buckley,” he says.

Buck feels like he’s about to crawl out of his skin, so he doesn’t wait around any longer, and takes that as enough of a goodbye to once more walk out of the house, this time pulling the door behind him. He speed walks towards the Jeep, sparing one last look at the sign. Then he climbs behind the wheel, puts her in drive and pulls up by the trash bin… he takes the little gift box, tosses it inside, and flips around, getting away from the house, that sign, Morris, and all the wasted hope as fast as he can.

He drives straight back to the station.

He goes in and practically begs Bobby to put him back on the schedule for the rest of the team's 24 (he was only on a 12). Bobby stares at him confused. “Buck, what’s going on?”

“I— I just— I need… Please. Please…” he begs, trying his damndest to keep his emotions held in. He can’t go back to his loft, not right now. He can’t be alone. He can’t handle the emptiness, it’s too big. He’ll just go sleep on the couch if Bobby won’t let him work. He’ll make them a meal; he’ll deep clean the entire station; he’ll play the little Firehouse Wife like Gerard had called him the first time he saw Buck in an apron… As long as he’s here, and not in his damned loft, where the terrible reminders of all the pain he’s caused resides, and won’t leave.

“Okay,” Bobby says, his eyes still full of worry. “Go get changed, I’ll put you back on.”

“Thank— thanks Bobby… Thank you.”

Buck blinks rapidly against the tears blurring his vision as he stumbles his way out of Bobby’s office towards the lockers. “Buck?” Eddie calls from stocking EMT supplies. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah— yeah. Fine. Good. I just… I needed to—I wanted to… I decided to work the rest of the shift…” He misses the door, pushing on the glass pane beside it instead. “I mean… might as well right?” His voice breaks, the tears bulge in his eyes. Eddie’s face pulls further down into a frown, he sets the supplies in his hands down. “Nothing at home… no reason to leave… Not anymore…”

“But I thought you were—”

Buck sucks in a breath, and shakes his head hard, before pushing the door open to the lockers and going inside. Eddie continues watching him, making him wish the walls weren’t all glass. He opens his locker… he really should have cleaned it out already. Pictures of him and Tommy are plastered all over the sides… Tommy’s dog tags are hanging by his uniform… One of Tommy’s shirts is wadded up— he’d kept it in there like a personal scent booster, making his things all smell like Tommy. He can’t breathe now… the scent is too strong.

The door pushes open when he grabs the trash can and like the bracelet, their happiness and future starts throwing everything in the locker away. “Buck,” he hears Hen say, her voice soft and calming... it doesn’t help. “Hey, stop… you don’t really wanna get rid of all this.” And she’s right. She’s always been right.

“Why didn’t I listen to you Hen…” he says, peeling another picture off of the inside of the locker door. He looks at it; at them. Holding each other, kissing, and just… happy. His lip starts to tremble, he doesn’t bother trying to stop it as he brings the picture up to his chest. “I threw it all away…”

He feels arms wrap around him. He’s aware he’s started crying so he gets why… not that he deserves it. Another pair wrap around him from the back; Chimney. Then there’s Eddie, and Ravi… Bobby. He tries to hold them all back, and lets himself be comforted, finally. He cries until he feels dried up, until it feels like he’s about to pass out.

“Bobby,” Hen says, keeping him held firmly against her chest. “He can’t work like this.”

“I know…” Bobby says. “I have someone coming…”

Maddie arrives with Jee in tow, handing her off to Chimney while she comes over and accesses Buck. Unfortunately nursing school doesn’t teach much on how to mend a broken heart. She cups his cheek and offers a smile instead, which he tries to return but it comes out shaky and unconvincing. “Come on,” she says. He sighs, but lets her pull him to his feet. “Let’s get you home.” Except… the loft will never feel like home again. He doesn’t say that, just tries to force another smile as Jee runs over to him, arms raised wanting to be held. A hug from her at least does something in the way of making him feel a little better.

The loft is quiet. The remnants of his little (pointless) crafting project cover the table. Maddie doesn’t question the mess, just guides Buck to the stairs and nudges him up them. “Take a shower,” she tells him. “Get in something comfortable and get in bed. I’ll make you something to eat.” He could argue she doesn’t need to do that. It’s Maddie, she would just do it harder.

The water feels nice… so he turns it cold. The warmth feels wrong when he is facing a lifetime alone because he self sabotages and over thinks and runs everyone off. He stands under the stream until the icy water becomes unbearable, then he dries himself off and goes into his closet for something to wear. A plain shirt and some basketball shorts suffice, and he turns to go to his bed and notices Tommy’s flight jumper… hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

It’s not just one of his uniforms kept at Buck’s for just incase moments… It’s the flight Jumper uniform he had on in the crash. Buck doesn’t even know why he kept it. It’s blood stained and cut to pieces—they had to cut him out of it. Maybe he wanted something to remind him of what he caused. Well he doesn’t need a ruined uniform to do that now… but it does add to his despair. He takes the uniform down and carries it out into the room; sits with it on the bed.

“Ok that will be done in about…” Maddie stops at the foot of the stairs and looks up at him. “Buck?” He doesn’t respond, so she comes up the steps. “Is— is that—” There’s a knock at the door. “That’s probably Athena…” she says.

“Athena?”

“Yeah, she said she’s bringing something from the station.”

He listens as Maddie opens the door, greets Athena. He lays the uniform out on Tommy’s side of the bed and joins them downstairs. “Hey Buck,” Athena says way softer than her normal straightforward tone. “Bobby figured you’d be missing this before too long,” she continues, holding Tommy’s card out to him. He stares at it, and feels his face tugging down into a frown. He doesn’t take it, so Maddie does. She starts to open it, checks with him to see if it’s okay, he nods. Athena steps around to see the words as well, both have soft smiles when they are through. “That’s love,” Athena says.

“Was… love,” Buck corrects.

“Was?” Athena repeats.

“I doubt he feels that way anymore…”

“What makes you so sure?” Athena presses, arching a brow. “Because I remember the way he stared at you like you hung the moon… and that was just at his little hospital party…”

Buck shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself. “A lot has happened since then…” both Athena and Maddie look at him confused. “He— uh… he’s selling his house.” Buck lifts his eyes to see their understanding looks; he gets heavier confusion. “He’s leaving LA. He… he doesn’t want to be here anymore.”

“And you think it’s because he’s stopped loving you?” Athena practically deadpans. Maddie’s lips twitch, she bites them.

“It would make sense,” Buck attempts to argue. “It’s not like I’ve given him much reason to keep loving me— I haven’t even told him how I feel since everything happened…”

That gets a new reaction from both women. “You haven’t— Buck?!” Maddie gasps. “What are you waiting for?!”

“I— I don’t— I don't think it matters much now…”

Maddie laughs. She sets the card down so she can take Buck’s face in her hands. “Isn’t this exactly what you said love should be? When you’re at your worst and they're at their worst… you have every reason to give up, and you still decide you want to try again…” She catches a tear as it falls and smiles up at him. “Do you want to try again?”

“I do… but—” Maddie tightens her hold, stares deep into his eyes. “I do.”

“Then you have to tell him how you feel.”

“What if I waited too long… what if he doesn’t feel the same anymore?”

“Only one way to find out,” Maddie says. She’s right. He has to tell him.

There’s a knock at the door…

Athena gets it. “Oh…” she says around a laugh. She stares through the crack she’s made in the door for a moment, “Well I’ll be damned. Looks like you might have your answer sooner than you thought.”

Maddie lets go of Buck's face and he walks over to the door… to see Tommy standing at the door. Well, leaning really… panting as he tries to catch his breath. “T- Tommy?!”

“Hey,” Tommy says, and smiles. It lights every nerve in Buck’s body up.

“Hey?” Buck repeats. “What are you— Why are you… wait…” There’s no elevator in this complex. “How did you get up here?!”

Tommy’s smile spreads, Buck's heart swells. “Not easily,” he admits.

“Ain’t that the truth…” a voice says from the hall. Morris steps into view. If Tommy looked exhausted… Morris looked half dead.

“Can we talk?” Tommy asks, and Buck tries to find words—unsure of what words he’s even looking for. Then Tommy lifts his hand to the door frame, uses it for support as he takes a step into the loft. He stumbles and everyone jumps to catch him, but Buck is who he reaches for, grabbing his arms and steadying himself back onto his feet. Tommy clings to Buck's arm… and that’s when Buck sees it.

The bracelet.

Tommy follows Buck’s eyes to his wrist. “Oh, uh… yeah. I— maybe I shouldn’t have already put it on…” He lets go of Buck, and brings the arms close to his body, picking at the different beads of the bracelet, the faintest hint of a blush creeping to his cheeks.

“No it’s— it’s fine,” Buck quickly says. “It’s yours. Of course you should wear it… but how did you get it?”

Tommy looks at Morris. Morris rolls his eyes. “What? I found it after you left… it said to Tommy with a heart,” he says, a little mockingly… but not hostile. “What should I have done; thrown it away before he could see it?” Morris looks at Buck and Buck feels his lips tug upward.

He feels a little nudge from behind. “Tell him,” Maddie whispers.

“Tommy, I—”

“Do you mean it?” Tommy asks, still looking at the bracelet. He slowly lifts his eyes to Buck’s, searching them for the answer before Buck can give it.

Buck thinks of everything they have been through; all the good, all the bad, all the doubt, and pain, and uncertainty…

He reaches out and touches the bracelet, runs his fingers over each bead.

-- -.-- / ..-. --- .-. . ...- . .-. (My Forever)

Does he mean it? Is this what he wants?

Buck feels the vice that has been around his heart for so long, loosen for a change, and moves his hand up to cup Tommy’s cheek. “Of course I do… I love you!” He smiles and it spreads so easily across his face, he forgets how long it’s been since he’s truly done it last. “And I’m never going to make you doubt that aga—” Tommy leans forward, catching Buck’s lips, successfully silencing him… he doesn’t mind.

“Finally…” is (not quietly) mumbled in three different voices around them. He doesn’t mind that either, they are all quickly fading into the background of existence at the moment anyway. All he cares about is that Tommy is here, and he is in his arms, and he is kissing him.

Tommy finally pulls away and Buck tries to chase after. “Hold on, I need to breathe,” he gasps, swaying on his feet.

“Here,” Morris says, getting Tommy’s chair from the hall, and unfolding it. “Please sit down before you pass out.” Buck helps Tommy lower into the seat, keeping a hand on him, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever let go of him again. “So, does this mean we don’t have to pack up all your crap, now?”

Tommy’s face falls, and Buck’s heart follows.

“About that…” he says, fidgeting awkwardly in his chair. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“What do you mean?” Buck asks.

“Well… my release date may have gotten pushed out a little,” he says, and throws his hands up defensively when everyone gasps and questions start flying. “I’m fine, I just… I fell…”

“What?!”

“When?!”

“How?!”

“And you climbed the stairs?!” Buck adds.

Tommy smiles and shrugs. “I needed to talk to you.” Buck swallows the frustrated groan he wants to let out. He takes Tommy’s hand. “I’m really okay. It just set me back some… and the doctor at Whispering Pines called for six more weeks. My insurance won’t pay for that… and— and I didn’t think I had anything left for me here, so…” He squeezes Buck’s hand.

“Well you do,” Maddie says before Buck can. “Can you just transfer to a facility here?”

“The only one accepting new patients is the outpatient one,” Buck says. (Yeah… maybe he was already checking from when he was going to confront Tommy earlier.) He glances over to Morris. He wasn’t wrong—whether Buck had wanted to admit it or not—it wouldn’t be easy with Tommy needing constant assistance.

“Okay, and,” Athena says, putting her hands on her hips. “Like Maddie said, Tommy has plenty here. Us; his family.”

Maddie nods enthusiastically. “Between all of us I’m sure we can figure out a schedule to get you through the rest of your recovery?”

“Yeah?” Buck says unsure. Athena gives him that stern look, and he laughs. “Yeah… yeah of course we can figure this out.”

“But… I couldn’t ask that of—”

“You’re not asking,” Athena says. “We’re offering. I, for one, know of a certain 18 year old who has a lot of free time while he works off his probation,” she adds. “And he enjoys hanging out with the cool fire pilot anyway. We got you, Tommy.”

Maddie and Morris nod in agreement. Buck squeezes Tommy’s hand. “So what do you say?” He asks. “Will you come home?”

Tommy blinks back against newly building tears, he looks around at them all—he looks at Buck—and smiles. “Okay… I'll come home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@bucksxkinard & @marvelousbuckley Thank you both for giving this one a read through <3

@30somethingautisticteacher @girlwonder-writes @kinkley-are-adorkable-flirts @sira1420 @somethingaboutfirefly @ilikethe-internet @itsametaphorok @mannafromtevan

(let me know if you want to be tagged in the last part <3)

one more chapter. The Epilogue! Will be posted tomorrow <3

#bucktommy #angst fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #118 firefam #911 abc #bucktommy fic #we're almost there yall

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1whore1gang · 8 months

Text

Post MW3 Drabble:

Implied Soap x Reader, Platonic! TF141 x Reader, Potential Ghost x Reader if you squint. (made for f!reader)

SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVENT PLAYED THE GAME

enjoy :)

CW: causing,mentions of death, mental health, grief

It was hard for all of you when it happened. It was so quick, yet everything moved in slow motion as his body hit the ground.

The moment still haunts all of your dreams, replaying over and over in your minds.

It was the worst for you. It took weeks before you stopped crying as soon as you woke up. You’d gotten so used to rolling over and snuggling into Johnny every morning. He was your sunshine.

The first few nights were the worst, staring at the indent in the bed where he’d laid not even a week ago. You didn’t dare touch it, wanting to preserve him in a weird way.

You couldn’t even shower without breaking down. Johnny would always come sit on the sink and talk to you while you showered. It felt so empty without him.

Everything felt empty. Brushing your teeth without his arms wrapping around you. Making food and only making enough for you. Going to bree coffee and accidentally grabbing his mug with yours.

Nothing felt right, and you couldn’t bear it. Luckily you weren’t grieving alone. Simon was struggling just as bad as you were. Johnny was like a brother to him.

Many night the two of you sat in silence in the common area. No words are exchanged most of the time, you both just needed company.

The team all made sure to try to do little things for you. They bought you flowers, took you out for lunches. Price did whatever he could to attempt to keep you from spiraling. He even offered to let you give him a haircut, knowing you’d always make fun of him for how scruffy he was.

Gaz would make you sweets or help with chores around base. He would take you on walks or take you with on errands just so you wouldn’t be alone.

No matter what though, you still had this void in your life. You felt like a piece of you drifted away on that cliff with his ashes. It felt like you had watched your life dissipate into the wind.

He took a part of you with him, and you were afraid you’d never get it back.

You’d spend countless nights looking at old photos, reading old love notes he wrote you. You’d watch videos of him just to keep his voice fresh in your memory.

The only thing you were beginning to forget was his touch. The way his hands would ignite sparks at the slightest graze was slowly leaving you. The gentleness of his grasp was slipping away.

You missed him so bad, and it was beginning to become unbearable.

You were awake one night a couple of days after his death, lost in a rabbit hole of pictures and videos. It was nearly 3 AM, but you didn’t notice nor dare. A knock hit your door, and it creaked open to reveal Simon.

“Hey Johnny have you seen my-“ He looked up at you and realized his mistake. “I’m sorry Y/N…”

It took you a second to collect yourself but you smiled at him. “Hi Simon. Are you okay?” You watched as he began to slightly tear up. Simon wasn’t a cryer, but Soap’s death has broke him to his core.

“I miss him.” He said, his voice breaking your own heart. You looked down for a second, deciding if you were ready.

“Need a friend?” You said as you patted the side of the bed where Johnny used to sleep. Simon nodded but paused.

“Are you sure?” He said, cautious.

“Mhm. It feels too empty in here. It’s too quiet.” Simon nodded again as he removed his mask and sat next to you.

You both sat and reminisced on Johnny’s life. Sharing memories and laughs, you both began to feel better.

“I’m gonna try to get some rest. Just wake me if you need anything okay?” You began to lay down, feeling the bed shift as Simon rolled over with a ‘Goodnight.’

You felt the mattress dip and it’s like your body went into shock. That feeling was all to familiar and your brain was screaming at you to turn over and look for Johnny.

Sniffles began to sound out of you at the feeling and the memories it brought to your mind. Maybe you weren’t ready after all.

“Hey, are you okay?” You felt Simon place his hand on you gently.

“I don’t know.” You sobbed out, not strong enough to look at him.

“Do me a favor, roll over.” He helped you move onto your opposite side to face him. “Trust me?” You nodded and he pulled you into his chest as he held you, brushing his fingers through your hair and quietly shushing you. “I know how bad it hurts and I’m so sorry.”

From that night forward, Simon spent almost every night in your room, just so you both could actually get some sleep. The comfort of having someone there brought you both peace.

Weeks had gone by and you realized something was off with yourself. You woke up and looked at the day and panicked.

You were a week late.

You sneakily ran down to the store a block away and bought a pregnancy test, or two, or three.

Running back to your room unseen, you were quick to unwrap them and take them.

Minutes passed that felt like hours when your timer went off. You flipped each one over, looking at the results.

Positive

“Shit!” You yelled, your hands flying to your hair. As soon as the word left your mouth, you heard your door open and Simon enter. “Y/N?? You here? We missed you at training.”

You walked out of your bathroom, quickly shutting the door behind you and standing in front of it. “Are you okay? You look pale.” Simon walked up to you and placed his hands on your face to feel for a fever.

“Yeah I’m fine, I woke up late.”

“No, something’s wrong. Your eyes widened when something’s wrong and your pupils are dilated. Your breathing is elevated too.” How the fuck does he know that?!

“Just panicked about the fact I woke up late.” You shrugged it off, unmoving.

“What’s in the bathroom Y/N?” His voice drew serious. He wasn’t asking, he was telling you to move.

“Nasty stuff really, that time of the month ya know?” He didn’t believe you.

“Let me see. Nothing I haven’t seen before. In fact, I’ve seen worse.” What the fuck? “Please move.”

You swallowed HARD. “I don’t want you to see it though.”

“Y/N. Move. I know better than that. I’m not stupid. Let me see the bathroom.”

It took a lot of arguing before you stepped aside. Simon walked past you and his eyes laid on the tests. “You’re pregnant? This is what you were hiding?”

He turned to you. “Yeah…I don’t know how far along I am.” Simon nodded and chewed on his lip for a moment in thought.

“Johnny’s?”

Although it wasn’t a question, it was more of a statement, it hung heavy in the air. “Yeah, Johnny.”

Simon audibly swallowed as he continued to stare at the positive text on each one. He hasn’t moved hardly past the doorframe, hand still on the knob.

“I’ll help you.”

“Huh?” His words hadn’t registered in your mind yet.

“This is going to be okay. I’ll help you.” Simon turned to you and grabbed your hands, squeezing them. “You’re going to be okay.”

And you were. Simon helped you. You both went to appointments and began to buy things little by little. Simon even applied for housing so you didn’t have to do this in the barracks.

6 months in and it turned out everything was going to be okay.

#captain price x reader #modern warefare 2 x reader #simon ghost riley #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #tf141 x reader #cod mw2 #johnny mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick

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satelliteddie · 2 years

Text

like uncle, like nephew

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie is terrified to introduce you to his uncle, not because of you—but because so much rides on it. however, little does eddie know that you and uncle wayne have a few tricks up your sleeves.

content warnings: cursing, suggestive language, kissing, eddie crying, pet names

word count: 2.9k

author’s notes: this quite possibly is the cutest request I’ve ever gotten, I’m melting

photo credit: @fefemunson

Eddie was petrified. He ran his fingers through his hair so many times the curls started to become less defined and give him, what you affectionately called a “mane”. It was irrational really. He knew Uncle Wayne would love you, and you would love him; but he couldn’t stop himself from picturing every possible outcome of the night. He was on his way to pick you up, driving as slow as he could without getting pulled over; Eddie thought maybe if he was late you would want to cancel and forget about the whole thing. He should have known better because he knows you. You were over the moon when Eddie suggested you finally meet his Uncle Wayne. You wanted to meet the person who saved and raised Eddie to be the boy you were in love with. There were countless nights where you just missed Wayne as he left for his shift at the plant, or you left in the morning right before he got home. It was a synchronized routine that Eddie had down to a science. You and Wayne were like ships in the night and that’s how Eddie wanted it to be – or at least that’s what made him comfortable. However, everything that once made him uncomfortable he was now comfortable doing with you. Because of you. He took you out on public dates in Hawkins, drove around singing cheesy love songs, let you hold his sweetheart guitar, and gradually allowed you to see who he was – aside from the persona he projected while in school.

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls up in front of your house and steps out of the van just as you close the front door. You step down from the porch with ease, racing towards where Eddie is parked in the street. Your sundress blows against your thighs, the color of the material such a pretty pink it nearly matches the blush creeping onto your cheeks. You stop a few feet in front of Eddie, tilting your head at him as he leans on the passenger side of the van.

“Baby,” Eddie coos, placing an adoring hand over his heart. He kicks off the door closing the gap between you, “Look at you. Jesus. How did I get so lucky?” His hands find their place on the sides of your neck, his thumbs brushing over your jaw before bringing your mouths together. You giggle against his lips, a sound that makes Eddie’s heart swell. He can’t help but smile in the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a small love bite.

“Eddie,” you grin up at him. You climb your fingers up his chest and slide them under his denim jacket. Even though the air is warm, Eddie still wears his classic jacket and vest everywhere. “We’re gonna be late,” you slip a finger under his shirt and poke his soft skin.

“What if,” Eddie tucks his face into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin. “We don’t go and we stay here and I admire you in this sundress some more.”

“Eddie,” you try to say more sternly, but end up saying his name in between a laugh. His soft lips trail up and down the base of your neck, his hands getting lost in your hair. “Cmon,” you pinch the skin of his waist. “I don’t wanna make a bad impression already.” Eddie turns to you with a frown, which you try to kiss away, “we’ll have plenty of time afterwards.”

“Promise?” Eddie raises an eyebrow while you roll your eyes.

“Let’s go,” you shove him lightly back towards the van. Eddie tips his head as he opens the passenger door for you. He scurries around the hood of the van, hopping into his seat. After starting the car, Eddie immediately grabs your hand in his covering the back of it in small kisses.

“It’s gonna be okay, Eds,” you whisper. If he wasn’t driving you would have smoothed out the stress lines in his face. He drops your joined hands onto his thigh, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of your hand. Eddie’s shoulders relax as he sits back a little bit more, turning to you with a quick smile.

“I know he’s going to love you, it’s just that-” Eddie starts, tapping his free hand over the steering wheel. “You’re the two most important people in my life. I- I can’t stop thinking about what could happen after today.”

“Nothings happening, Eddie. We’re just going over to your house,” you pull your clasped hands from his lap and place Eddie’s one hand inside of both of yours. You squeeze it gently, “Just us…and Wayne may happen to show up. That’s all.”

Eddie nods quickly, hoping he’s coming across believable. He doesn’t want to be so anxious about this, he shouldn’t have to be. Logically, you and Wayne both love him so you’ll love each other….right? His mind races as Eddie takes the long way back to his trailer. You don’t say anything halfway through the drive when you notice the route he’s taken. Eddie scrolls through the radio before finding a channel that is just enough to distract him. Your hands never leave your lap, playing with Eddie’s much larger hand. Rubbing the stress from his joints and twisting the rings around his fingers, Eddie flashes a content look at you. Your soft touches and gentle smiles are enough to convince him that he’s doing the right thing by introducing you to his only parental figure. Thankfully the trailer park comes into view before Eddie has time to change his mind again. He throws the van in park, puffing out his cheeks and releasing a shaky sigh.

“Eddie you have nothing to worry about,” you try to be as supportive as you can. The nerves are rolling off of Eddie in huge waves, they crash into you and make you want to feel every bit of anxiety he is. He nods before stepping out to let you out of the passenger side; even in his flustered nervous state he still remains as chivalrous as ever. You slide out of your seat, brushing out the wrinkles in the edge of your dress. Eddie stares down at his shoes pushing around a stone near his feet. You lace your fingers together, squeezing his palm to yours. The steps from the van to the front door seem like they go on forever, but once you reach the trailer time stops. Eddie freezes, looking at you with panicked eyes. His mind races faster than it ever has, but his body refuses to move. Pressing a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder, you take your free hand and knock once before Wayne calls from inside to “just come in!”, so you do. The small door opens with a creak, you pull Eddie inside like you have a thousand other times. Even though Eddie is home he feels like a stranger in the room, everything seems wrong. The irrational questions start to bounce around his brain again, replaying every which way this could go wrong.

“Maybe we should just-” Eddie starts to say, hoping to make a break for it. The words get caught in his mouth as you pull your hand away from him and step even further into the house. Eddie watches as his uncle stands from his recliner, wrapping you in a tight hug without any hesitation from either of you. Wayne smiles down at you with the brightest smile Eddie has seen in days, hell maybe even weeks.

“How’ve you been, kid?” Wayne asks in the most calm voice ever. Eddie’s convinced he’s hallucinating when you answer Wayne without any wavering or introductions. Neither his girlfriend or his uncle, who have never met, have bothered to introduce themselves… every other question Eddie once had is now replaced with: What the fuck is going on here?

You slip into the sofa next to Wayne’s recliner as he sits back down, leaving Eddie lingering by the front door. The crease in between Eddie’s eyebrows only deepens the more the conversation grows between you and his uncle. You finally turn to Eddie, patting the space next to you for him to sit. Eddie shakes his head frantically, before stepping into the small living space. He watches as you and Wayne continue to talk about work and friends, as if this was a conversation that was simply paused and started again now. The bewildered look in Eddie’s eyes never changes the longer you and Wayne talk so you decide to toss him a lifeline.

“Eddie? Come sit,” you place a hand on the sofa again. “You should tell Mr. Munson about—”

“Please, sweetie. You can call me Uncle Wayne,” his uncle raises his mug to you with a proud smile. “You’ve known me long enough.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Eddie’s confused eyes scan over the two of you.

“Eddie,” you gawk at his language, frowning at Wayne – who dismisses Eddie’s cursing with a roll of his eyes.

“No,” Eddie turns to you with a frantic voice. “What is happening? Why are you- how do you- I don’t understand what’s happening right now.” Eddie stumbles over his words, running his hands through his hair again.

“I’ve known Y/N for, what is it? Two years now?” Wayne turns to you, hiding his smirk behind his mug. Like father uncle, like son nephew.

“Yep,” you pop the ‘p’ on the word as you smile. “Mr. Mun- Uncle Wayne, has worked with my Dad for a few years. I met him before I met you.” You turn to Eddie, watching as he finally puts all the pieces together in his mind.

“To be fair I didn’t realize your Uncle Wayne and Wayne from the plant were the same guy until recently, but after you kept trying to hide Uncle Wayne and I from each other before his shift…I put two and two together.”

Eddie stays silent while you and Wayne exchange worried looks. His fists clench at his sides for a moment before he relaxes his fingers. Eddie puffs out his chest in a huff, opening his mouth to speak but quickly shuts it.

“C’mon Eddie,” Wayne says, setting his mug down on the side table. “Don’t be mad at her, it was my idea.”

The questions Eddie had outside the trailer are long gone and are replaced with so many conflicting emotions. His chest feels like it’s grown twice its size since this morning, the pressure building inside him. Eddie bounds down the hallway into his room and slams the door.

You turn to Wayne with wide eyes, “I was not expecting that.”

“Me either, kid,” Wayne rocks back in his chair. “Go check on him. Blame me if you have to.” He offers a smile before picking up his coffee again.

You walk as quietly as you can down the small hallway to Eddie’s room. You don’t hear any yelling or grunts of frustration from the other side, which is a good sign. You turn the doorknob, stepping into the room slowly. Eddie sits on the far side of his bed near the windows; his elbows on his knees, face pressed to his palms.

“Eddie,” you whisper, shutting the door behind you. “Eddie, I'm so sorry I didn’t tell you. Uncle Wayne and I thought it would be good to get you back for all the times you hid us from each other. Clearly, we were wrong…it was a stupid idea.”

Eddie sniffles in response, turning to you with glossy eyes over his shoulder. You stand in the center of his room, waiting for him to look fully at you before you move closer. Eddie stands, rubbing his hand over his face before walking to stand in front of you.

Panic courses through your veins, Eddie has cried in front of you before but never out of anger. You reach out to him, “no baby, please don’t cry. Don’t be mad, I’m-”

“I’m not mad,” Eddie finally says, a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Sweetheart, I’m so happy.”

“You are?” You ask, your voice cracking with nerves. Eddie runs his fingers into your hair, pulling you close to him. He rests his forehead against yours, the smile on his face growing by the second.

“Are you kidding?” Eddie closes his eyes, his heart pumping and mind finally calm. He inhales your scent with how close you are to him and he wants to memorize this moment. This feeling. He’s so in love with you. Eddie wishes he could keep your smell, your kind eyes, your soft skin, everything about you with him at all times. You’ve made this day one he’ll never forget, but he can’t take risks so he tries to remember every detail as best he can. Eddie kisses your forehead once before bending to meet your eye line, “I’m so fucking relieved. I got myself so worked up over what could happen tonight that I lost track of you.” Eddie’s nearly convinced he’s having a heart attack; his heart is pounding so fast. You look up at him with curious eyes and he captures your lips with his. The kiss is sloppy but passionate, Eddie’s mouth moves over yours frantically. It’s like he can’t get enough of you.

You giggle against his mouth, “Eds.”

“Jesus,” Eddie smirks, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I can’t believe you two hid that from me. That was good.”

“So that wasn’t one of the 25 scenarios you had planned out for today?” You ask coyly, slipping your fingers into the belt loops of his jeans.

“No,” Eddie throws his head back in a laugh. “It was a million times better.” His brown eyes look over your face admiring the way you look up at him. Eddie slips his hand under your jaw, inching your mouth to his again. He places a kiss on your cupid’s bow, the smile on his face never fading.

“I’m glad you decided to finally introduce us,” you mutter, rubbing your fingers over the soft skin of his cheek. “I know I already knew Wayne, but it meant a lot that you would let me into that part of your life.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie tugs you to his chest. He presses kisses across your hairline; it’s like he can’t kiss enough of you today. “You are my life. I was worried when you two met, you would see too much of me and want out. I wouldn’t be able to handle that.” You lean away from his chest to shoot him a confused look, but Eddie presses on.

“Wayne has seen me through all the rough patches. The loss of my parents – in more ways than one. Repeating senior year. My nightmares that went on for years. He’s seen it all. I’m talking about the really shitty stuff. I was in my own head about the ‘what-ifs’ of today when you heard all those stories from him. It’s stupid really.”

“Hey,” you interrupt his self-deprecation with a pinch on his sides. “Nothing you feel is stupid. Ever.”

“Wayne used to tell me that,” Eddie smirks. “I should have known you and my uncle would be best friends.”

“Best friends is a stretch…”

“You’ve known him longer than me!” Eddie jokes with a roll of his eyes.

“Shush,” you giggle, nuzzling yourself closer to him. Eddie makes you feel so warm and fuzzy, you would crawl inside of him if you could. Eddie senses your need to be close and wraps his arms around the tops of your shoulders. Your hearts beat together as you press your chest to Eddie, the rhythm of them syncing together the longer you hold onto him. “Wanna go back out there?”

“Nah,” Eddie smirks, squeezing your shoulders one more time before leaning away. “We don’t have to worry about first impressions now. We’re staying here,” the smirk on his face grows more flirty.

Eddie slips a cold, ring-covered finger under the strap of your sundress. He runs his digit over your shoulder slowly, creating goosebumps in its path. “I believe someone promised me I could admire you in this sundress.”

Your mind and heart become putty in Eddie’s hands as he plays with the seams of the dress. Logically you want to argue with him, you both came over for Wayne. In the silence of the rest of the house you can hear the muffled footsteps of Eddie’s uncle. Just as you’re about to speak again, you hear the steps circle the trailer with a call from the living room: “have fun, kids. Don’t be mad at her Edward, it was my idea!” followed up by the slam of the front door.

“Edward?” You raise your eyebrows at Eddie. Even though you knew it was his full name, poking fun at him was totally going to be worth it.

Eddie shoves you away playfully muttering, “shut up.” He quickly spins you around to press your back to his chest pressing kisses up the column of your neck. Eddie acts annoyed only briefly because the fullness he feels in this chest makes every bit of the teasing worth it.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

eddie and wayne content >>>>>

omg this request was just the sweetest I cannot handle it... we were robbed of wayne and Eddie’s relationship, but I imagine them as the father-son duo that always involves teasing, pranks, and zero judgement for their feelings... maybe I'm projecting but I don't care! I love ‘em :)

✭masterlist ✭ requests

-meg

#eddie munson #eddie munson writing #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fics #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x y/n #requested

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updownlately · 1 year

Text

‘cause when you love someone (you tell ‘em that you do)

you had gotten used to it at this point. the pattern had become obvious to you- engrained in your mind. seven long rings before the call would automatically switch to voicemail, the distinct beep following shortly after.

letting the call go to its final ring, you futilely wiped away the tears streaming down your reddened cheeks, blotched from the innumerable times you had rubbed them already.

swallowing hard to gain an ounce of composure, you took a deep breath in just as the final ring went through, the resounding tone following shortly after indicating for you to start speaking.

“hi...it’s me again. i know you’re probably sick of me…i don’t even know if you’re hearing this, or if you’ve heard the other…twenty? fifty? i’ve sent but-” you stifled a sob, a shaky breath escaping you. letting yourself sink more towards the floor as you continued. “i’m sorry. i know i’ve said it so many times now, i think the word’s almost lost its meaning, but i’m sorry. i swear i am. i swear…i swear…i really do...”

feeling your hands start to shake, you stiffened your arms in hope that they would stop. taking another big breath in, you found your voice once more.

“your voice still rings in my head y’know? reminding me to pack my cleats. convincing me to stay in bed just a tad bit longer. telling me to come cuddle you after practice. it still rings. it rings and rings and rings. and i wish i could just make it stop- but i can’t. i can’t. ‘cause if it does, i lose you. i lose you completely. forever. and i don’t know if i’m ready for that just yet.”

you were aware that you were rambling- too caught up in your emotions to stop the words, the anger, from slipping out, but you couldn’t help it.

maybe if this was a sane you, you would have stopped a while ago. maybe after the second call, or the third. but this wasn’t the sane you, the same you, from a month ago. so here you sat, on your cold bathroom tiles, slumped nearly halfway in a position that could not, in any universe, be comfortable, holding your phone as used kleenexes littered the bin beside you.

sniffling, you reached for another tissue, before continuing.

“i should’ve told you i loved you a bit more…should’ve picked my phone every time you called, should’ve taken more pictures of you y’know? taken you out more. more dinners. more nights. more cuddles. more everything. because i can’t now. i can’t…”

by now you could feel the silent sobs working their way up your chest again- a feeling you had become all too familiar with in the past few weeks. the uneasy butterflies flying around your stomach. the way your chest would constrict just enough that breathing reminded you of the weight on your chest- the regret that you carried. the voices that were just a distant souvenir. the good times that no one else could ever remember for you.

giving up on trying to stop yourself from breaking, you let yourself cry without restraint, weeping uncontrollably, not trying to stifle your sobs in the least, well aware no one was going to check up on you.

you couldn’t imagine how stuffy your voice sounded, how absolutely wrecked you looked, photo frame clutched to your chest by one hand, puffy eyes, near-lifeless body hidden by the corner of your dark bathroom.

“i know i only have a little bit more till this thing ends so just know that it breaks my heart every second that i realize you aren’t here. it hurts each time the memories play in my head- the good and the bad. i didn’t think this would be that hard, but it is. it is and i don’t think i know how to do this. how to grieve. how to miss you when i still can’t believe you left. how to get over you when all i want is for you to be here.”

rushing now to get your final words out, well aware the clock was ticking, you sped up.

“i should’ve told you i loved you when i could. i didn’t know i was gonna lose you so soon. there isn’t a single thing i wouldn’t do to get another second with you. i didn’t get the chance to even tell you i love you one last time, but just know that i do…i promise i still do. i do, i do, i do. i still-“. just as the final words were about to slip out of your mouth, the all too familiar dial tone took over, the timer up, the clock running out…just like it had for you both, unsaid words still on the tip of your tongue.

i love you.

#my writing #cwyls(ytetyd)#not proofread #my random writes #its literally straight outta my 2am drafts.#angst #go hug your loved ones for me please #go listen to their rambling #tell them you love em #hug em a bit tighter

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outpost51 · 1 year

Text

— The Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself (18+)

Expiration dates are for bologna and bad boyfriends, not sisters.

Chapter WC: 8,363

Warning(s): violence, gore

{READ HERE ON AO3} or below the cut ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Dillon was grateful for the emergency towels Cheryl kept in the trunk, because both she and Daisy were covered in enough mud to start another garden for their mom.

“I think we’ll need to hose off in the backyard.” Daisy’s voice was soft, but Dillon’s nerves were so frayed she almost ran a red light. If her sister was affected by the jolt, she didn’t show it. “Like when we were little, remember?”

“Yeah,” Dillon replied numbly. Of course she remembered. Her sister’s death forced her mind to unlock every happy memory they ever made together to protect it from the trauma of losing her. The sun had just started its ascent when they pulled into the driveway. She felt like a robot helping her sister out of the car and sneaking around the back of the house; her limbs were stiff and her heart was shuttered the whole way when she knew she should have been ecstatic — Daisy was back, but at what cost? Had her sister left anything behind? Would she be forced to relive the night she died in her dreams night after night? Would she even dream anymore?

Would she ever smile again?

A cold blast of water hit her square in the ass and she squealed, then nearly collapsed as a wheezy giggle filtered through the stuttering stream of the hose. Oh, how she missed that sound, even as weak as it was. When she turned, Daisy was looking down at herself, clad in nothing but the frumpy church dress she’d been buried in and holding the drooping hose in both hands, as if she couldn’t believe she was standing in our yard again. “I’m alive,” she whispered, and Dillon wasn’t sure if those two words broke her heart or made it swell so large it popped.

“That’s good… right?” She suddenly wasn’t as sure of her actions as she was when she first lit the candles.

Daisy dropped the hose to prod at her stomach, chest, and face. The pause was long enough for Dillon to give herself two separate internal lectures and a mild anxiety attack. “Yeah,” she finally replied, an echo of her sister. “When my car landed… I wanted to text you. I wanted to tell you I was sorry I wouldn’t make it in time, and that I loved you, but I think my phone went out the window, or maybe I dropped it.” She wrung out the hem of her dress, and the action was so unnervingly… normal. “I thought about how sad you’d be, and Mom and Dad. I had so much I needed to tell you and I just, I couldn’t stop crying, I couldn’t find my phone—”

Dillon didn’t know what she expected when she brought her sister back; maybe something shambling, maybe a hollow echo, but not… normal. “Daze, it’s—”

“I know, I know. It was such a silly thing to fret over, wasn’t it?” She looked up and smiled. It wasn’t the same one that brightened the breakfast table every morning. “Think Mom’s gonna flip if we waddle in with our clothes soaked?”

Dillon shook her head. “I think she’ll fuss about us catching cold,” she snorted, then froze. “Fuck, I’m sor—”

“Whatever for?” Daisy’s eyebrows crinkled in sympathy. “Oh, Dill, I’m not upset at you, it just feels weird being back in my body, and my stomach kinda hurts, and I’m still trying to shake off the heartache.” She closed the distance between them and sank to one knee to hug her little sister.

That was it, that was the thing that finally broke what thin veneer of composure Dillon had managed to work up on the way home. “Because you died?” she sniffled.

Daisy lifted her head, resting her chin on Dillon’s chest. “Because I lost my sister, too.”

There was no telling how long it took them to stop sobbing on each other, but the sun had almost cleared the copse of trees at the edge of the neighborhood by the time they stumbled through the front door. The smell of bacon and eggs assaulted Dillon’s senses and made her knees wobbly. She hadn’t eaten since picking at breakfast before they left for the funeral.

“Cheryl, we’re home!” she called, toeing off her soggy boots by the door.

“Who’s ‘we’ this morning?” Cheryl didn’t look up from the stove. “Did you pick up Moira?”

Daisy waved at her back. “Hi, Mom.”

A pancake hit the ceiling and stuck there. Their mother might have, too, if she wasn’t in heels. Her scream made Dillon’s ears ring, though.

“That’s what you get for springing the werewolf thing on me last year,” Daisy mumbled as she made her way towards the stairs. “I’m gonna get cleaned up for breakfast. Did they find my phone by my car?”

Cheryl shook her head numbly.

“Bummer,” Daisy sighed, and continued up to her room.

The door had just barely shut before Cheryl was on the phone with her ex husband. “Darren? Darren, shut up, I don’t care if you’re at the office, it’s never mattered before,” she huffed. “Daisy’s home.”

There was a pause, a few muffled words Dillon couldn’t make out. Her mom hung up the phone and turned to her. She suddenly wanted to be anywhere but shoveling pancakes in her mouth at the kitchen counter. “Dillon Marie, what in God’s name did you do?”

“I’m pretty sure a god was involved, but I don’t think capital-G had anything to do with it.” That was apparently not the correct answer, because the fork was removed from her hand and her mom’s fists went to her hips. “A weird lady gave me a zombie recipe book when I stayed behind at the grave. I was desperate and stupid, I know I shouldn’t have messed with forces unknown, but Daisy—”

“What book?”

Dillon retrieved her bag, then the book inside it. “I did what it said to do. It worked, but Daisy’s headstone—”

“Your dad doesn’t remember.”

“Remember what?”

“That your sister died.” Cheryl flipped through a few pages. Raised her eyebrows a few times. She set the book down and went down to the basement, leaving Dillon alone at the counter with a massive stack of pancakes. Unattended. Four fell prey to her grabby hands before Cheryl returned.

With a severed head, its face frozen in a scream.

That she promptly whacked against the counter over and over until it cracked open.

“You cut up bodies three nights out of the month, pickle,” Cheryl chided as her daughter lost her pancakes in the sink.

Dillon looked at her mother with a mix of shock and disgust. “Yeah, I cut ‘em up, I don’t brutalize them.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, it’s not like it’s bleeding.” Cheryl dropped the pulpy remains in her daughter’s outstretched hands. “Do something with that, please. I need to scramble this before your sister comes back down.”

With her mind completely dissociated from her physical form, Dillon sputtered, “Like what? I can’t just throw this in the trash!”

Cheryl exhaled through her nose. “Of course not, that’s wasteful. Put it in a bag and put it back in the freezer. I’ll boil it later to make freezie-pops.” She scoffed at Dillon’s continued perturbation. “What? Werewolves get hot, too. It’s too much work to fill a kiddie pool with ice for Gus to roll in every time we go on a run. Get some of my bacon while you’re down there.”

Dillon inhaled to respond, but swallowed the thought at her mother’s look.

Until she returned from her task. “Who’s Gus?” she asked as she set the paper-wrapped package on the counter. She’d taken to labeling the meat in their freezer according to what living thing in came from after one unfortunate incident involving a pig-bacon and people-bacon mixup that left her with far more questions about herself than she ever wanted answered.

The stairs creaked under a weight much more significant than Daisy’s, and the clicking of heavy claws on the kitchen floor prickled painful gooseflesh over her whole body. “I heard my name,” a gruff voice rumbled behind her as a massive shadow fell over the kitchen. “Pancakes?”

Cheryl smiled up at the mountain of scruffy black werewolf draped over her head and shoulders. Like he belonged there. Much too fucking comfortable for Dillon’s liking. “Mmhm, eggs and bacon, too. Dillon resurrected her sister.”She pushed the grabby wolf-hand away from her pan. “Don’t touch the scrambled ones, Gus-Gus, there’s brain in there.”

Their guest — or intruder, by Dillon’s perspective— looked like he told his mother he wanted to be a cloud when he grew up and subsequently made weightlifting his entire personality. His piercing yellow eyes might have been intimidating if Dillon hadn’t seen the same glow in her mother’s. “Daisy died?”

“Long story.”

He grunted in response. No shock, no theatrics. Was it such a casual thing in their world? “Coffee?”

“Still fresh. Make Dilly a cup, would you? I doubt she’s gotten any sleep.”

Dillon accepted the mug with far more grace than she expected she would have when faced with a potential — “So are you gonna make Cheryl an honest woman, or do I need to go put my boots back on?”

Gus choked, sputtering black coffee out of his nose. It matted down the thick, fluffy fur on his chest in twin rivers like tire tracks through a cornfield.

“Dillon Marie!” Cheryl’s hands went to her hips.

“There’s a naked wolfman in our house, Cheryl!”

There was a squeak of surprise from the stairs, rapid thumping away, and finally Daisy skidded into the kitchen, one of Darren’s abandoned golf clubs in her hands. She wound up, ready to swing.

Cheryl nearly turned purple. “Gus, I am so sorry, they’re just protective.”

“No harm done, Cherry, I’m the same way with my mom,” Gus snorted as he scrubbed the coffee out of his fur with a kitchen towel.

The outrage from the girls was simultaneous, though the volume was inversely proportional to their sizes — where Daisy was softly inquisitive, Dillon shattered a wine glass in the rack above the sink. The jolt of energy almost, almost startled her enough to derail her tirade.

“Cherry?”

“Cherry!”

“Dillon!”

“Rasso,” announced another newcomer, who caught Daisy’s golf club in a sandy-furred hand an inch from his head. “Nice swing. Why are we yelling names?”

“Oh, there’s a naked werewolf in our kitchen,” Daisy replied. “He hugged Mom, I think, Dillon’s protective.” She looked at her captured golf club, then up further to Rasso’s face. “You pulled me out of the car.”

The action in the kitchen froze as everyone looked to the eldest Monroe daughter on the stairs; Gus had Dillon in both hands, held aloft in a rocketship pose, she had one of his ears in a vice grip, and Cheryl was doing her best to keep one eye on her youngest daughter and the other on her oldest.

Rasso tilted his head. “What car?”

“Long story,” the kitchen inhabitants intoned in unison.

Daisy’s bright smile brought a choked sob from her sister. “Dill brought me back from the dead last night,” she explained. Pride coated every word in a gilded shell as they fell from her mouth in a waterfall of riches. “Nobody can remember, apparently. My friends think I lost my mind, but I remember your eyes. You held my hand and told me about the lake in Arizona so I wouldn’t be scared.”

“Well, how about that? Small world.” Cheryl gave Rasso a warm, grateful smile and plated Daisy’s breakfast. “Come eat, baby, you must be starving.” That warmth turned into a glare that froze him to the stairs when he stepped forward at the same time as Daisy. “If you want to stay for breakfast, you can ask nicely instead of assuming.”

Gus’s snicker abruptly ended in a choke as Dillon managed to land a solid kick to his Adam’s apple. He released her to the wild. “If this is what she’s like at twelve, she’ll be the first human to run with a pack by the time she hits twenty.”

Daisy at least had the courtesy to shove a bite of eggs in her mouth to hide her laugh.

“She’ll be nineteen in a few months, Gus,” Cheryl snorted.

As if the silent shock bulging his eyes wasn’t enough to give Dillon the vindication she deserved after her unjust humiliation, the wayward pancake chose that moment to unstick itself from the ceiling and crown Gus as the king of fools.

“Got something on your face, Gus,” she sneered as she plated up her own breakfast and took the spot next to Daisy. To her great disappointment, he merely put his hands up in surrender, then accepted the plate of meat and eggs Cheryl offered. He at least possessed the skill to read the room, leaning his hip on the counter to eat rather than sitting at the table. Rasso followed suit, and Cheryl took her usual seat.

“Dilly, I know you love your dad—”

“But,” Dillon huffed. She cut into her stack of pancakes a little more aggressively than necessary and with a little too much eye contact with her mother’s guests. Rasso twiddled his fingers in a cheeky wave. “There’s a ‘but’ in that sentence.”

Cheryl exhaled through her nose. “But I am an adult, and I can date if I’d like to, and I am not dating my packmates,” she concluded. “We just buried your sister and I needed my pack. That’s what werewolves do when we’re upset.” Dillon must not have hidden her watery eyes and wobbly lip as well as she thought, because her mother’s face softened with heartbreak. “We both needed to process things on our own in our own ways, pickle. Daisy wouldn’t be here if I made you spend time consoling me.”

The thought sobered the entire room, and they ate in a tense silence until Daisy broke it.

“Brett ran me off the road,” she admitted.

Dillon checked her pockets for her phone when a sudden rumble rattled the plates on the table, the windows, and her entire skeleton. She must have left it in her bag, then, and the violent pulse came from three pissed off werewolves.

Cheryl went unnaturally still. Politely set down her fork. “Excuse me?”

“He doubled back and pulled over to make sure I didn’t get out, I think. I saw his car, but he was making a bunch of vague threats the day before too.” Daisy frowned at her eggs, pushing them around the plate. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t you dare say what you’re about to say,” Cheryl warned. “Don’t you dare. None of this is on you, do you understand me? Not a single bit. You didn’t make him hurt you, or yell at you, or run you off the road, Daisy-mae, all you ever did was want somebody to love you, and that is not a fucking crime. Pass me the people-bacon, Dilly.”

Dillon passed the plate across the table without question. “Holy shit, Cheryl.”

“Language, pickle.”

Dillon was wired as she laid down to sleep that night, kicking her feet and tossing and turning until finally, mercifully, her brain and body gave in around two in the morning. She’d feel like shit when she inevitably dragged her carcass out of bed, but it was fine; she had her sister back, her mom was still single, and she was right about Brett. She just had to figure out how to bring him to justice, but that was a problem for future Dillon. Present Dillon just wanted to sleep.

A weight sank down on the edge of her mattress, stirring her slightly back into awareness but not enough to jolt her awake. Cheryl checked on her a lot that week, so it was nothing new. She’d probably kiss her forehead and go back to her room. “Dillon, wake up, baby,” she whispered.

“Muh?”

“I need you to drive me somewhere. I’ll buy you burritos.”

Dillon pulled her blanket up higher and scrunched her nose up. She didn’t want burritos. She wanted to go back to sleep. “Why?” she grumbled. “It’s late.” The overhead light seared her eyes even behind her eyelids. Fuck it. She peeled one open to see what all the fuss was about. The other followed suit with gusto.

Her mother stood over her in her silky, auburn-furred glory, wolfed the fuck out and clearly ready to party; her gardening belt was strapped around her waist and loaded down with knives, a hammer, duct tape — “I thought werewolves didn’t need weapons to hunt,” Dillon slurred.

“These aren’t for hunting, pickle,” Cheryl growled. “They’re for making that piece of shit wish he never looked at your sister.” She pulled out a screwdriver, twirling it around between her fingers. “And to make sure he never looks at another girl again.”

Dillon had her helping-Cheryl-in-the-garden pants on and her backpack slung over her shoulder before her mother could utter another word. It was funny what a little time and a heaping spoonful of trauma could do to someone; just two years ago, she was worried about disposing of a body her mother left on the front lawn, but now? She was more than happy to help her make one.

She plugged the address Cheryl sent her into the car’s GPS, handed her mom the aux cord, and off they went to pay a visit to her sister’s murderous piece-of-shit ex.

A murderous piece-of-shit ex whose car was not in the driveway of his parents’ grotesquely huge house. “Cut the lights and stay here,” Cheryl hissed, and before Dillon could ask why and what she was doing, she was halfway across the yard, loping silently through the shadows to check all the windows. One must have been open, because her ass shimmied right inside and Dillon felt her heart stop. What if they got caught? Was her mom going to murder Brett’s parents? That wasn’t part of the deal, she didn’t sign up for —

Cheryl slammed into the car, a shirt in her mouth. “Drive, pickle!”

Once she stopped screaming and remembered how to breathe, Dillon floored it. “Where are we going?”

“To the edge of the neighborhood, I can catch his scent from there.” She took a deep whiff of the shirt and discarded it at her feet before rolling down the window. “Slow down at the intersection, I think I have it.” Cheryl hung her head out the window and sniffed a few times. Her snout abruptly jerked to the left. “That way, go! But stop at each intersection and I’ll tell you whether to turn or stay straight.”

They tracked him to a gas station a few miles down the road. Dillon pulled the car up behind a truck to stay out of sight while Cheryl kept a lookout. She didn’t know what he could possibly be doing that took half an hour, considering his was the only other car in the parking lot, and she didn’t want to know.

Cheryl climbed back in and rolled up her window. “Keep the lights cut until it’s too dark to see the road, and don’t follow him too close, not yet,” she said, keeping her voice low and steady. She was way too calm about what they were doing. What Dillon suspected they’d be doing next. Just what did her mom get up to on her runs besides hunting predators in the park? “You okay driving, or do you need me to shift back? I’m not going to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with. We can even turn around if you want to, but once we leave this parking lot, we have to commit.”

“Commit to what?” Dillon didn’t think she wanted the answer. She wanted to be blissfully unaware until the very last minute.

Cheryl answered anyway. “We’re gonna run this motherfucker off the road and make him wish he didn’t survive.”

Dillon swallowed. She needed less time to think about it than she probably should have. He hurt Daisy, and if he wasn’t hurting Daisy, he’d hurt someone else, and no one was doing anything about it. It ended tonight. “Okay,” she breathed. “Let’s do this.”

She kept the lights off as they drove in silence until she couldn’t make out anything in the dark but Brett’s taillights. “I can’t see anymore,” she said.

Cheryl nodded. “Count of three, turn on the brights and lay on the horn. Three… two…”

Dillon clicked the headlights all the way up and slammed all her weight on the horn. Brett swerved, but stayed in his lane.

“Do you trust me?”

Dillon nodded, afraid to take her eyes off the road. Her mom might have been practically invincible, but Dillon was still very much a small human with bones that broke and skin that cut.

“Speed up, get beside him in the left lane.”

She pressed the accelerator as hard as she could with her limited reach.

When their windows were side by side, Cheryl barked, “Now flip his ass the bird.” Dillon gladly did so. Her mom rolled down her own window and snarled. Where she expected to see anger on Brett’s face, she saw only palpable fear. “He’s gonna run. Let him.” Sure enough, he sped up with a sudden screech of tires. “Keep on his ass, baby!”

It was exhilarating. Terrifying. Was that how Cheryl felt when she ran free during the full moon, hunting the worst of the worst?

When her mom screamed, “Clip his flank!” she jerked the wheel without hesitation. There was a sickening crunch like breaking bone and Brett’s candy-red car lurched hard towards the shoulder. His front tire caught on something and the whole thing went airborne, flipping sideways twice before landing on its side. It slid into the woods running along the interstate and Dillon hit the breaks, skidding to a squealing stop a hundred yards away, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged pants.

It was a lot easier to think about when it wasn’t real. When she wasn’t faced with the glossy smear of fluids Brett’s car left behind. When her bones didn’t ache from the impact.

“Holy shit,” she wheezed. “We just killed somebody. We fuckin’… oh my god. Oh my god, we killed—”

“Back it up, Dilly, come on, we can’t make assumptions,” her mom urged.

She nodded numbly and carefully reversed the car until her mom held up a hand to stop her.

Cheryl was out of the car before Dillon could even park, bounding down the hill on all fours with an excited howl. She’d never seen her mother hunt, just the aftermath, and for a few seconds, the logical, human part of her brain made her hesitate. They ran him off the road. If he survived, he’d be scared out of his mind and probably wouldn’t fuck with Daisy ever again.

It was the probably that boiled her blood and thawed her feet. He didn’t spare Daisy a second thought except to make sure she wasn’t getting back up. There wasn't room for probably.

They were going to make it a definite thing.

She could have her morality crisis later, after she’d taken the eye that he owed.

They found the car flipped on its side, slotted between two trees like a CD on a rack. The engine was still ticking to the beat of whatever country song warbled out on the radio’s dying breaths.

Dillon kicked her foot up on the door and leaned into the smashed window. “Sup, bitch,” she spat. Brett’s eyes weren’t quite focusing, and he squinted like she was blurry and swayed like she was floating around. He sure as hell didn’t have a problem seeing six-foot-nine Cheryl hulking behind her. “You’ve met my mom, yeah?” She leaned in closer to sneer in his face. “You’re about to meet your maker.” He got half a scream out before Cheryl ripped his door off with one hand and yanked him out of the car with the other.

“How did you like that taste of your own medicine, Mr. Lawson?” Cheryl asked sweetly, or as sweet as she could through an elongated snout and dozens of very big, very sharp teeth.

“How’d you… nobody else rem-remembers,” he slurred. He definitely had some kind of head trauma. Oh well. “You wrecked my fucking car, you psycho bitches.”

Cheryl pulled him closer in case he didn’t see her dozens of very big, very sharp teeth the first time. He kicked his feet uselessly. A mouse dangling in the talons of a flying owl. “Tell Little Red Riding Douche what the book said, Dilly-willy.”

Dillon climbed up on her mom’s back and held up the book. “When somebody dies tragically, it makes a shallow scar on the world and a deep one for people directly affected by their death,” she explained. “When they come back, it heals that shallow scar and erases it from everyone’s memories, but the deep scar stays. Cheryl and I were waiting up all night for Daisy to come home when your itsy-bitsy teenie-weenie havin’ ass decided your poor widdle feelies were too hurtsy-wurtsy over getting dumped like the trash you are.”

Brett bared his teeth. Cheryl bared hers. Brett pissed his pants.

“So we remember,” Dillon continued. “We remember how it felt to bury her, and you remember because you’re the reason we had to.” She pointed the book’s spine at Brett. “But you? There’s not gonna be enough of you left for your folks to bury.”

“Pick a piece to leave behind,” Cheryl sneered.

Dillon thought it would make her sick, the crunch of bone, the slick squelch of viscera being torn inch by inch from a living, screaming person. He was another human being, flesh and bone like her. It should have. She knew that on a logical level, she should have been repulsed. Guilty. Afraid.

Maybe losing her sister broke something in her. Maybe it had been broken long before that, when she butchered John Doe. Or even before that, when Darren and Cheryl divorced. Maybe, maybe, maybe. The maybes didn’t matter anymore. Life was too short for maybes.

Dillon pulled a filleting knife from Cheryl’s gardening belt. “I never liked you, Brett,” she said, gently pushing the point of the blade under his chin.

“Fuck you,” he spat, turning his head blindly to find the source of her voice. Cheryl hadn’t waited around to use the screwdriver. “Dunno why my Daisy even bothered with your emo little ass. I told her not to fuck with you anymore, it fucked up her image.” He coughed up a wad of phlegm and blood.

“First of all.” Dillon applied more pressure and drew blood. He screamed. “I’m not emo, I’m goth, there’s a fucking difference. Not that it’s gonna matter in about twenty minutes.” She looked up at her mom, who was lurking close by and picking her teeth like she was bored. Nice touch, Cheryl. “Ten if I get tired of you.” She pressed the knife in further. “And second, you lost the privilege to call her your Daisy the second you hit her, you worthless, pathetic little worm.”

Dillon didn’t know this version of herself. She didn’t know where it came from. It was twisted, angry, sadistic. She wasn’t any of those things.

But grief did funny things to people, made them do things they wouldn’t normally do.

And so did assholes.

“Pathetic? I make more in a week working for my dad than your whole family makes in a year. You’re nothing, noth—”

Brett’s tirade was cut short by a strangled yelp as Dillon brought her heel down between his legs until she felt a pop. “No, Brett. You made more in a week. Past tense, buddy.” She removed the knife. “And now you’re nothing but breakfast for the next couple weeks.”

“My dad—”

“Can fuck a better son into existence,” she barked, slicing her hand through the air. The ground shook. His body jolted and fell limp.

Cheryl nudged his prone form with her foot. Something sloshed around with the motion. “Shit, pickle, I think you liquefied his insides,” she muttered. “Might need to have a family meeting about—”

Something slammed into Dillon’s head, and she managed half a realization that it was the force of her mother catching her before the world went dark.

Dillon awoke to the world moving around her and a headache to rival the time she fell off the monkey bars in elementary school. Her upper lip felt tight, and when she rubbed at it, her hand came away crusted with blood.

“How’re you feeling, Dilly?” Cheryl’s voice was soft and gentle so as not to contribute to the pain she clearly expected.

Dillon grumbled in response, rolling her face across the cool surface of the door’s interior. The chill made it feel moderately better, so she opened the air vents on her side. Cheryl turned the air conditioning up without prompting. She heard the motors inside the door whir shortly before a strong gust of wind sucked her hair out the window. “Thanks,” she mumbled. Her throat was scratchy.

The car turned gently, but the speed stayed constant. She was about to ask where they were, but when she looked up, the sight of her mother hanging her head out the driver side window, ears back and mouth open, wiped all memory of potential questions from her mind.

Cheryl glanced back at her and a smile tugged at the corners of her maw. She leaned out further, rolling her head and lolling her tongue.

Dillon’s headache all but disappeared in the wake of a full on giggle fit, and when Cheryl howled with joy, she couldn’t help but do the same, though hers was much quieter and less haunting.

Her mom finally retreated into the car and rolled up the windows when they approached their neighborhood. There was a noise ordinance, after all, and the Homeowners’ Association was notoriously bitchy about it. The vice president once called the cops on a toddler greeting her mother, who had been deployed overseas, at nine p.m., because the volume of her enthusiasm exceeded the allowable limit. “So, we’re not telling Daisy what actually happened, right?” Cheryl proposed as they pulled into the garage.

Dillon snorted. “You got it, Mom.” She imagined the utter surprise on her mother’s face matched her own. She touched her fingers to her mouth to assuage the tingle; the word felt so foreign now, it was like she’d repeated a swear in another language. “Lights are still off,” she redirected, gesturing to the darkened upstairs windows. “I think we can get him down to the basement through the house, Daisy’s still asleep.”

Cheryl checked the tape binding the plastic tarp they wrapped around Brett’s body, ensuring the seals were tight and it wouldn’t leak on the carpet. Satisfied, she gathered the bundle into her arms and followed closely behind Dillon once she got the door unlocked. She wasn’t as silent as she was on a hunt thanks to the crinkly plastic, but between the two of them, they managed to get Brett’s body down to the basement and processed without waking Daisy.

As it turned out, they had enough time to get showers, change clothes, start a load of laundry, and get breakfast mostly done before the eldest Monroe daughter shambled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Turns out being dead isn’t the same as a long nap,” she sighed. “I feel like I haven’t slept in a month, it’ll take weeks to get back to normal.” She flopped down in her seat next to Dillon and sniffed at her plate, nearly drowning in her own salivation when one was set down in front of her. It smelled different than her sister’s, but not in a bad way. “What’s for breakfast?”

In unison, her mother and younger sister chirped, “Brett!”

She blinked slowly. Poked at the eggs. There were little greyish-pink bits hiding among the egg curds again, and her bacon had a different fat pattern than Dillon’s. “Mom…?” she hazarded.

“Yes, Daisy-mae?” Cheryl sank down across from her. Her wet hair was just starting to shrink up into gentle waves.

“Is this… actually Brett?”

Her mother took a few bites of her own bacon and eggs, and for a minute Daisy thought she wasn’t going to answer. “You read those articles I sent you, right?”

“Yes, Mom, I know I have different dietary needs now, and that’s fine, I’d just like to be in the loop if I’m helping you cover up a crime by eating the evidence.”

Cheryl grinned proudly. “That’s my girl,” she beamed. That was all the answer Daisy needed, and after another moment of hesitation, she tucked in.

A few days passed before the authorities located Brett’s car, but no Brett. From the evidence they did find, however — a few patches of thick fur, claw marks on nearby trees, the entire door ripped off — they concluded it was a bear attack. Coincidentally, there were quite a few empty liquor bottles covered in his DNA and fingerprints in his back seat, and in the absence of a body, they assumed he was drunk, drove off the road, and bears came across the wreckage. So while Brett thought he got away with murder for a little while, yet again the Monroe girls had him beat. They actually got away with it, and had enough meat in the freezer to last until the next full moon.

Two years later

The first sign something was wrong was how late Daisy was for breakfast — typically, she was up minutes after Cheryl to help out and was already on her second cup of coffee by the time Dillon dragged herself to the table. She took her new diet in stride, and was downright enthusiastic about it, learning and modifying recipes, mixing up her own spice blends, and even learning a few recipes for their mother and her packmates, too. That was just how Daisy was; she didn’t just make lemonade out of the citrus storm life threw at her, she made everything she could think of and used the leftover zest in a cocktail.

The second was her lack of pep. Even before she had her daily dose of caffeine, Daisy at least had a little bounce and bubble, but when she shambled down the stairs in an old t-shirt, looking like she hadn’t eaten in weeks and slept in just as long, Dillon knew something wasn’t right. “You okay, sis?” she asked. “Did you get a zombie cold?”

Daisy’s eyes took a while to follow her head as it turned to her sister, but they were still dull and unfocused. “I don’t… I’m not sure,” she replied, voice dazed, airy, quiet.

She went down in a heap of limbs.

Dillon shouted her name. No response.

Cheryl shook her. She was limp.

“No, no, nonono,” Dillon sobbed. “Not again, please, not again, you just opened your own studio, Daze, you can’t go yet, you can’t—”

Cheryl dropped a firm hand on her shoulder. “Go get your books, baby. I’ll call Denise. Her heart’s still beating, she’s still with us.”

It was the still that bothered Dillon. Still wasn’t a certain word. It wasn’t permanent. Still was what you said to people so they wouldn’t panic while the boat was sinking. It was still above water, sure, but it wouldn’t be forever. She sprinted up the stairs, not even acknowledging the pain in her chin, hip, and hand when she tripped on the top step in her haste. They didn’t have time for her to lick her wounds. She could do that later, when Daisy was back to being Daisy.

She had only just set down the last of her books on the table when the front door slammed open and Denise jogged in, kitted out in her hunting gear — khaki cargos, black tank top, boots, utility belt, entirely too many weapons for the current situation but sometimes, somehow, still not enough for the particular brand of nasties she hunted — with her short brown ponytail swishing behind her. “What can we do to help, girls?” She always called them girls, despite Cheryl being thirty-eight and Dillon nearly twenty-one; she was the second oldest in Cheryl’s friend group at forty-eight. “Where’s — oh, Daisy,” she gasped.

Dillon raised an eyebrow. The fresh piercing did not like the motion and she winced. “We?”

Denise’s veritable army filed in — Charlotte, Dottie, Regina, Joyce — followed by Cheryl’s pack, or at least the ones who were off work. Dillon counted ten people in total, but then Bailey, her mother’s newest (and shortest, clocking in at two whole inches taller than Dillon) packmate, squeezed out of the crowd to hoist Daisy into her arms and move her to the couch so she could at least be a corpse with dignity.

No, not corpse, that was a bad thought, and Dillon didn’t need to be thinking those things lest they come to pass.

Eleven people had dropped everything they were doing and hauled ass to the Monroe house. For Daisy. Dillon quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and swore. She’d already put eyeliner on that morning. Fuck.

“Move, bitches!” Moira’s voice was the most heavenly sound, bellowing over the din of the gathered crowd’s planning and brainstorming. Regina didn’t even chastise her daughter for her piss-poor manners. Not with bigger things to worry about. The familiar jingle of her best friend’s heavy pants was the only warning Dillon got before she was tackled nearly off her feet in a tight hug. Her shoulder-length shock of pink hair enveloped Dillon in the familiar comfort of strawberry sparkle body spray. “Show me what to read, Pugsley.” They’d called each other Wednesday and Pugsley for as long as Dillon could remember, because even when they wanted to kill each other, deep down they had an unbreakable bond. Moira dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “I brought the sacrifices.”

“Please don’t sacrifice us,” Faith quipped, dropping an armload of books next to Dillon’s.

Rosie, ever the perfect twin, was right behind her with an entire basket of baked goods and other snacks. “Mmhm, we’d be really rotten sacrifices. Scream the whole time. Mom and the other church ladies sent this, we were at Bible study.”

“When Daisy wakes up, I’m so thanking her for picking today to pull a Princess Aurora.” Dillon appreciated the when, and knew Faith picked the word on purpose. When was certain. When was sure.

Bonnie dropped her backpack in the only empty spot left on the table. She was the most recent addition to their friend group, having been dragged in by the twins a year prior when they met her in the local used book store. They liked her vibe, and thus Bonnie Lucas was adopted into the fold. “My cousin’s in town. You know, the one that’s spooky by our standards,” she explained, pulling out beat-up notebooks that smelled like incense and books that looked like they might have been bound in human skin.

“Damien?” Moira grimaced. It took a lot to make her cringe, but Bonnie’s cousin was definitely a lot.

Bonnie snorted. “Yeah, Eugene. Don’t call him Damien, it makes his ego annoying. Anyway, apparently he’s a necromancer for a private firm that like, brings rich old people back from the dead for succession issues, or whatever.” She scrunched up her nose. “Sorry, ‘resurrectionist’” she mocked. “He said it sounds like your ritual is wearing off.”

“What do you mean ‘wearing off’? I put her soul back in her body and she’s been taking really good care of herself,” Dillon sputtered.

“Yeah, he said you’re a fucking badass for managing it without any training whatsoever, by the way. And if you want a job that pays better than night stocking at Sprawlmart, he’ll vouch for you,” Bonnie replied idly as she flipped through her cousin’s books. “Here, look.” She set one of the possibly-skin books in front of Dillon and pointed to the page she was looking at. “This isn’t the same book you used, but see how this one says it lasts… five years, but in really pretentious magic terms? There should be a follow-up ritual in your book.”

Dillon looked through the pile of books on the table for the one the mysterious graveyard woman left behind, then thumbed through the pages until she found her ritual — still as vague as ever — and turned one more page. There it was right at the top, in bolder lettering than the rest:

TO BE EXECUTED BEFORE THE THIRD ANNIVERSARY OF RISING.

“Fuck,” she sobbed, quickly turning her head so the escaping tear wouldn’t damage the pages any further.

Moira looked up from the thick tome she was digging through. “Why can’t she just use that other one? It lasts longer.”

“Because it has to be the ritual specifically designed to follow the one used to bring back the person in the first place,” Bonnie explained, holding up something that looked like a textbook.

Rosie cocked her head and pushed her glasses up with a finger when they threatened to fall off with the motion. “And why can’t Dam— uh, Eugene do it?”

“Because he’s a fucking prick,” Moira scoffed.

“Because he probably costs money we don’t have,” Dillon corrected.

“You’re both right, but also wrong. Dillon has to do it. It’s her energy binding Daisy’s soul to her body.”

Faith furrowed her brows. “Well, why can’t we just let, ugh, this sounds so insensitive, Dill, I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “Why can’t we just let Daisy… uh, leave and then someone else can bring her back with a ritual that lasts longer?”

Dillon felt her heart shatter as Bonnie’s RBF softened like butter next to an oven. “If her soul gets detached, that’s it. Game over. People can only be resurrected once per reincarnation. She has to be refreshed by the third anniversary of her resurrection, by Dillon, out of that book, or Daisy’s gone for real this time.” Her lip wobbled, but the mask was back before Dillon could blink. “I’m really sorry, Dill. I wish I knew sooner.”

The twins called over the group before Dillon could tell them not to. They were just trying to help. Everyone was just trying to help, but their help was overwhelming, and she felt the heartbreak of inadequacy roiling within her. She couldn’t figure out the problem herself, other people had to step in and fix the mess she made, because she was stupid, and weak, and—

“Hey, stop,” Moira urged softly, pulling her into a hug to shield her from view. “You haven’t fucked around with magic in two years, Pugs, and you fucked around with it before without knowing anything about it. You can ask for help with this.”

She couldn’t, though, this was her mess, and her sister —

“You know Daisy would tell you the same thing, Dillon, you know she would.” Moira pushed her away to dab her sleeve under Dillon’s eyes. “Would I lie to you?”

She wouldn’t, and she was right. Dillon shook her head and looked up at the expectant crowd. “I have to—” Her voice cracked as she choked on a thousand emotions all at once. “I need—”

Moira stepped up and placed her hands on her best friend’s shoulders. “Daisy’s batteries are losing their juice, folks, that’s all,” she announced with all the confidence of a lighthouse in a storm. “Pugsley here just needs to reset her zombie clock, and we have a few months for her to train before Daisy goes critical.”

“What happens in a few months?” Cheryl asked.

Dillon tried to look everywhere but directly at her mom, but the tears came anyway, because no matter where she looked, she saw family. “We lose Daisy.”

“Ah, shit.” Regina’s brows sank as she dropped down to Dillon’s level and wrapped her in a hug. “We’re not gonna lose Daisy, pickle, you’re both Monroes. Monroe girls are unstoppable,” she cooed, peppering the top of Dillon’s head with kisses. She was the only other person that could call her ‘pickle’ and get away with it; she’d been Aunt Reggie since Dillon and Moira met in preschool and bonded over a vampire cartoon they both loved. Daisy and McKinleigh, Moira’s older sister, becoming fast friends sealed her place as an honorary Monroe. She could use Cheryl’s dumb nicknames if she wanted.

Her hair tickled Dillon’s neck and ears, and when she turned her head to escape it, she only managed to get the black shoulder-length waterfall up her nose. She tried not to sneeze on Regina’s very nice fleece jacket, even though she knew she was already smearing the remnants of her eyeliner all over her shoulder, but she couldn’t fight it. She bruised the bridge of her nose on Regina’s shoulder.

“D’you get snot on my jacket, missy?”

“Sorry, Aunt Reggie,” Dillon grumbled, wiping at the spot with her own hoodie sleeve.

A small noise in the living room drew everyone’s attention, and from the immediate, ecstatic uproar, Dillon knew Daisy was awake. “I need to tell her,” she insisted. “I need to be the one she hears it from. I brought her back, this is my—” Moira yanked a handful of her hair, knowing damn well what was about to come out of her mouth. “This is my thing.” Not much better than blaming herself, but at least Moira didn’t pull her hair again.

Regina let her go to start shooing people out of the house. Denise and a few of Cheryl’s packmates stayed behind ‘to help out around the house,’ which was code for ‘Cheryl didn’t want to be alone but was too proud to ask in front of a crowd.’

Dillon found Daisy sitting up on the couch, staring absently out the window and clutching a blanket to her chest. She looked confused, lost, unsure how she got there and where she was in the first place. “Daisy?” She perched as carefully as possible on the edge of the cushions, caging her sister between herself and the back of the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I fainted in the kitchen and got hit by a train,” Daisy replied. She sounded distant, and when she finally turned to look at Dillon, her eyes weren’t as clear as they usually were. Was she going blind? “Did everybody come here for me?”

Dillon nodded. “Yeah, you had us worried for a second.” How did she even approach the subject? She couldn’t just say ‘hey, so, you’re dying, sorry.’ There wasn’t a segue in the world that would cushion that blow enough.

Lucky for her, she didn’t have to come up with one. “I’m dying, aren’t I?” Daisy was so matter-of-fact, so calm, so… accepting about it, it broke Dillon’s heart all over again. “I’ve felt a little off all week, but I didn’t want to worry anybody.”

“Daze, you can’t do that anymore. This isn’t a head cold you can sleep off.” Dillon took a deep breath to stave off the tears. She needed to be brave. Daisy was facing her second death with grace and—

“I’m scared, Dill,” she said softly.

So much for sucking it up. After several agonizing minutes of painful sobs wracking her body, she found herself leaning heavily against Daisy, her sister’s arm wrapped protectively over her shoulders and cradling Dillon against her collarbone while she played with her messy mop of hair, brushing out the tangles. Daisy was comforting her, when she should have been the one comforting her sister. “I just have to do another ritual to refresh your binding, or whatever, but I’m scared, too.”

“Because you haven’t messed with the magic stuff since Brett?”

Dillon made a noise in her chest.

“Mom told me what happened,” Daisy sighed, holding Dillon tighter so she couldn’t whip a betrayed look at Cheryl. “I asked, Dill. You know she can’t lie to us, it would break her. You scared yourself, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t try to… to—”

“Turn his guts into a smoothie?”

A bitter snort snuck its way out. “Yeah. That. I didn’t tell it to do that, I was just… angry. I was so angry, and I just wanted to shut him up, and I put my hand out like—” She repeated the motion from the woods, slicing her hand through the air in front of her. Nothing happened. She didn’t know why she expected anything different. “But it hurt, Daze. It hurt bad.”

Daisy hummed. “Maybe because you used it as a weapon, and a really big one at that. You’ll tear muscles if you try to sprint a mile without training or stretching. Magic is the same thing, isn’t it? Just using a muscle to bend the world to your will?”

Dillon shrugged.

“How long do we have?”

“Until next July. The twentieth. The ritual only lasts three years, and we can’t use a different one to make it last longer.” Dillon knitted her brows. “I’m so stupid, I should have studied it more and maybe I would have known that and picked a different one, or—”

Daisy shushed her with a squeeze. It wasn’t as strong as her hugs used to be. “It’s fine, Dill. I believe in you,” she said, with all the confidence she could muster in her weakened state. “You did it once, right? You can do it again. And even if you can’t, if the worst comes to pass, I won’t be upset. I got to see my family again and spend a few more years with you, and I’ll get to say goodbye this time. You gave me that, you know?”

Dillon’s lip wobbled. Her throat seized around everything she wanted to say and everything she couldn’t find the words for. She had to do it now. She had to, and she would.

Because Daisy believed she could.

Arsonist Chronicles Taglist: @sparatus @thetrashbagswasteland @writernopal @tabswrites @starknstarwars @asher-orion-writes @captain-kraken @teamdilf

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#the arsonist chronicles #unlikely adventures #my fic #paranormal romance #chapter update

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verawhisk · 2 years

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my dear friend. i am so mentally exhausted and have shed literal tears tonight. i am so happy. i will catch up on everything you’ve posted for tonight in the morning, but what were ur thotz abt tonight <3

omg hi you dont have to do that! you’re too nice to me rosey. besides i turned into a little autistic creature last night lolol, sorry y’all had to witness that. but im so glad you saw that card! it was INSANE!! i was so prepared for it to be not that great because 2022 has kinda sucked in terms of fights yknow? just lots of dubious, weird moments with injuries and strange decisions within the organization and ofc its not the fighters’ faults but still i was so ready for this to be bad

luckily it was actually amazing all the way from the start of prelims to the end of the main event!! it was incredible!! they said it broke the record for first round finishes! i just cant believe the show they all put on… they have so much heart and courage, every single one of them

i was actually considering not buying the ppv this time because 280 was so bad LOL could you imagine if i didnt buy it? i would have missed possibly the best card this entire year

first of all i was so overcome with joy when dan got the win over puelles, i was damn near crying hahah. i mean a win over costco ryan hall is not SUPER impressive but who cares?? THAT’S MY BOY!! HE’S SO CUTE!! and i want him in perth dammit. give him his flowers dana. (fun fact: i started watching mma mainly because i watched the conor vs. urijah season of tuf and i thought ryan hall was so cool LMAO)

(this crusty ahh drawing from 2021…. yup i thought he was super cool and im kinda sad that he’s less active than other fighters but if i were offered a fight with ryan hall i’d probably turn it down too)

as for frankie vs. gutierrez my stomach dropped when he landed that knee bruh. what the hell was that? bro HAD to know that was frankie’s last fight and to do that to him in front of his family is just sick… i mean good on him for not sandbagging just for someone else’s career to go out on a nice note but did you have to finish him that brutally?? idk man maybe im just a casual but he deserves more than that

poirier vs. chandler… im not even exaggerating when i say that fight made me nearly puke and pass out bro. i got fucked up sweat glands so your girl can’t sweat but if she could she woulda been DRIPPING from head to toe last night LOL. guys i think the reason i went so crazy was because i actually mentally prepared myself for the fight to be bad, for real. that’s genuinely what i did. i went into the fight telling myself that there was a well and good possibility that michael might actually just wrassle him into a decision and i was all good with it because i was still gonna like them no matter what. but HOLY CRAP i need to remind myself to never doubt them ever again because that was AMAZING!!!! start to finish was just an absolute dog fight. they looked so exhausted and broken and blood was pouring everywhere and michael was tossing dustin like a bag of flour only for said bag of flour to start raining punches on him (a la justin gaethje lol) and it was fucking incredible and i cant believe it really happened. not to mention the alvarez-chandler-gaethje-poirier circle of violence is finally complete hahah omg it feels unreal. and i can't believe dustin finished ALL of them.. he's so classy and talented and handsome lul he's really the perfect fighter

but hol on i wanna mention michael cheating because i’m not gonna lie that really made me question him?? not that iron michael chandler cares about what some delusional mma fan in canada thinks about him LMAO but still he always carries himself like a professional athlete everywhere he goes and he seems to pride himself on his ability to stand out among the fighters who don’t have the speaking style or the business etiquette that he does, so when he went into the fight and started pounding on the back of his head and actually HOOKING HIS FINGERS on the inside of dustin’s mouth trying to make him show his neck, it made me scratch my head because why are you behaving like an olympic athlete in front of the press only to go in the cage and treat your opponent like an abused farm animal lmao?

though im ngl… the idea of this polite, charismatic, american psycho type dude entering the cage and turning on mean ape mode is actually fucking hilarious? and he’s kind of more interesting to me now?? so i guess it doesn’t really matter that my opinion of him went down a little hahah silly observation but there’s my two cents. i’m still super impressed by both of them and they both have my heart at the end of the day

during weili vs carla i was playing runescape. i’m so sorry. i was just tryna level up my fishing i really have no clue what happened other than that weili finished carla because she’s really awesome and she kicks ass and i feel really bad that i wasn't paying attention IM SORRY LMAO!! my social credit score is in massive danger rn

izzy vs pereira had me biting my nails into little shreds because i could feel exactly what they were feeling. alex is just one of those “one clean hit and you’re out” fighters but izzy is obviously still a master of striking so watching those exchanges was like watching two people balancing on a plank over shark-infested waters lolol it was crazy nerve wracking. however y’all know that i was rooting for alex so i am super duper happy and i can’t wait to see who challenges him next!! tbh i’d prefer anybody but khamzat because if he really does move up to middleweight and becomes alex’s first challenger he’s fucked lmao cries… please start training in dagestan alex thank u <3

thanks for asking me ahh it really means a lot to me that you actually care about what i think. :D let me know what you thought about it too!!

#mma

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softly-potter · 2 years

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Still Friends | Chapter 6: Grief

Summary: After a chance encounter at a party, Wanda and Bucky find they have more in common than they realized.

This fic is heavily inspired by 'Friends' by my lovely friend Poppy. She is aware of this fic and I've been given permission for this marvel-version retelling! If you haven't read her dramione fic 'Friends', I HIGHLY suggest it. I fell in love with the story and couldn't help but wonder, what if it was Wanda and Bucky instead of Hermione and Draco? Thus "Still Friends" was born. Enjoy!

Pairing: Bucky X Wanda

Word Count: 33,068

Warning: smut, drug use, depression

Chapter 6: Grief

“Rebecca, I told you not to follow the boys and what do you do? What have I told you about your listening skills? Or lack thereof?”

She had just wanted to show how she was just as good as the boys. Bucky knew so, she’d told him. But his kid sister was just a kid, and even though she’d been a foot shorter than him, he’d always felt like the younger sibling. Rebecca had always one-up’d him, expect in this case.

Their mom had been less than pleased, scolding her daughter rather than comforting her as they stood on the stoop of their Brooklyn home, clutching her sprained wrist. She’d been crying, her bottom lip wobbly, and Bucky had stood watching, waiting.

After the scolding, Rebecca had ran into his arm, sniffling loudly.

“I told you so.” He chastised, but lightly. He didn’t want her to feel worse; he didn’t want to sound like their mom. “Come on, I’ll bandage you up.”

When they got older, Rebecca had a few run-ins with less-than-manly men. When she showed up later than her curfew one night and a purple hickey on her neck, their mother yanked on her hair, exposing her neck before dragging her to the bathroom.

“I cannot believe you prance around these god-damn streets like a common whore.” She was still drunk from dinner, and Bucky kept his bedroom door open, sitting up so he could watch them.

“I didn’t mean to.” Rebecca cried as their mother began viciously scrubbing at her neck, as if that would make it disappear.

“Just like your father, making every excuse in the book.”

When he’d been woken up at nearly four in the morning, Bucky knew it was all crumbling down.

“I’m going to keep it, J.” Rebecca had whispered, her fingers shaking. He held her hands, but he was just as afraid. “you should meet him, his name is Hoyt and oh, he’s so sweet. He wants the baby too.”

“What about mom?” Bucky asked, squeezing her hands. “I’m gonna be leaving soon, near weeks now. I won’t…be around to make sure…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Rebecca had soft eyes, and she gave him a winning smile. “We’re gettin’ married. Next week. I’m leavin’ tonight, were goin’ to the courthouse.” She squeezed his hand, her nails digging in. “come with us.”

Bucky had felt sick, his head swimming.

He wished he’d gone with her.

Dearest J,

I'm a married woman! Hoyt got me the prettiest ring, its oval shaped, not that ugly square like grandma. It's the loveliest thing I own. I’ll show you when you visit. How’s the weather over there? Steve told me you’ve written to him too, I’m glad y’all kept in touch. He misses you, but I think he misses the war more, and feels bad that he ain’t fighting. But really, what can little sticks do? I’m just teasing. Hope you’re well, your nephew is about ready to be born. He can’t wait to meet you.

Love, RBC

He’d written her back, the hot weather scalding him as he knelt over the envelope. It had taken nearly three weeks for his letter to arrive, and another three for him to get hers.

Mom insists on coming to the birth, which will be any day now. I wish you could instead, but I guess we all gotta forgive at some point. Aunt Ida is gonna come too, to ease the tension.

I miss you. Come back soon.

Yours, RBC

Bucky had been happy that his sister and mother were reconciling, his body full of relief. As he’d read the letter, he could nearly smell his sister perfume. The fact that she was about to become a mother was mind blowing, it seemed like the functioning family she’d always wanted was coming together.

He died. I named him Bailey, but it don't matter. Stay safe.

-RBC

The letters stopped coming so often after that. He still received some from Steve, until he too eventually joined the army, underwent experiments and became the first super soldier. After Steve's surgery, Bucky had written to her, gushing about the experiment's success, asking about Hoyt, and sent her a photograph of the Howling Commandos.

She didn’t respond until after he’d fallen in the ice, and he never heard from her again. Eventually, Bucky found Steve, the Avengers’, and his mind; he tried tracking her down, and eventually was led to her grave site.

She’d been buried next to Bailey, and Hoyt wasn’t too far either.

Bucky had brought her flowers, daisys, and when he read on her headstone that she’d been 39 when she died, he sobbed into the grass.

Every detail of his sister was engraved in his head, even when his mind had been lost he could always remember her face, the sound of her laugh. She visited him often when he slept, in his dreams, and she wasn’t always nice. Sometimes she just stared at him; other times she hurt him, blamed him.

“If you’d been there, I would’ve been healthy. I was worried sick about you, and it killed my baby. The worry killed him, you killed him. And I was never the same.”

Bucky awoke with a start, his limbs stiff, forehead sweaty. Wanda snored softly next to him, hair loose and wrapped down her back as she faced away from him. He slowed his breathing trying to calm himself, hands shaking.

Quietly as he could manage, Bucky stumbles from bed, striding to the window. Ever since Wanda, he’d placed a cushioned bench below the window; inside it held some of her clothes, makeup and anything else she could need when she spent the night. He sat on it gingerly, elbows balanced on his knees.

Maybe he could write to her. No, Rebecca would never read it, but it was the sentiment behind it, or some fluffy shit like that, no? His brain was swimming, lungs aching as if he’d been running miles.

It had been years since he’d known she was dead, he’d figured it the first time he was freed from his prison of a mind. Years and he was still dreaming about her.

He misses her bitterly, physically aching for the family he’d been graced with when he was a boy.

He’s the only Barnes left. It makes him sick.

“Buck?"

Wanda is sitting up in his bed, her sleepy eyes trying to focus in the semi darkness. He hadn’t heard her shift, hadn’t registered that her breathing was not as deep as it usually was when she slept. He wonders how well she can see, if she can see that his cheeks are tearstained.

“Is something the matter?” She crawls out of bed, taking a tentative step towards him. He cowers, shoulders bent over and he curls his chest to his knees, feet still planted on the floor.

“Go to bed.” He huffs, his voice thick. When she doesn’t move, he shuts his eyes. “Just go to bed, baby.”

He didn’t call her many names. The occasional ‘baby’ or ‘my girl’. Sweetheart was one of his favorites. And eventually when he wasn’t such a damn coward, he’d call her ‘my love’.

Because that is in fact what she is.

He can hear her shift, practically hear her brain thinking of anything to do. She wants to help him, and he adores her for it, but this is something not even a witch with magic can heal.

Her hands cover his, fingers lacing, and she tugs at him. He tries to blink the tears away as he looks up at her. She smiles tentatively, and then dips down in front of him, knees by his feet.

“What's wrong?” She asks. Her voice is sweet, softly caressing him, and it aches him. “You’re crying."

He internally groans. The lump in his throat was so large it felt like he was slowly suffocating. He can’t look at her, knows that if he looks into those shining emeralds he’ll crack, and he isn’t sure how to put himself back together, so he turns, shifting his gaze to the edge of the bed.

Slowly, Wanda reaches out, places her thumbs over his eyes that flutter shut. The hands move, cupping his face, and she leans her forehead against his. “May I give you a hug?”

The question is hesitant, like she’s nervous of his response, and he wants to fling himself into her arms like a child, but he stays still, instructing his body to not give in. This isn’t her burden.

She swipes her hand over his lips lightly and he kisses her thumb. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

When her arms come around him, he leans into her, and his carefully constructed wall begins to crack. Arms loop around her waist, dragging her to him, his cheek pressing against her shoulder as a sob leaves his mouth. He’s gripping her so tightly he wonders if it hurts; she holds him just as fiercely.

Stroking his hair, she kisses his head, saying nothing. Her touch is light, grounding. He cries harder.

Bucky isn’t sure how long they stood like that, his head on her shoulder as she sat between his knees, comforting him. At some point she’d dragged him back to bed, tucking the covers around him, and he curled into her, arm locked around her waist. Eventually her breathing deepened, and he listened to her breath beside him, chest rising slowly. Her heartbeat was steady as he shakily placed his palm over her clothed chest, right near her sternum, and he could feel it beating. As he felt the warm tremor beneath his hand, he sucked in a breath.

He was in love with her. And while he wasn’t sure he could ever verbalize it first, he had an odd feeling that she knew.

#winterwitch #still friends #bucky x wanda #bucky barns fanfiction #cross posted on ao3

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julemmaes · 2 years

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Your on a year abroad?! That’s so cool which country is it in? I’m glad ur having a good time - i have a year abroad next yr I am TERRIFIED 😭😭 any tips???

You signed up for this, but I'm still sorry it came out this long, so... sorry:)

I'm actually doing Erasmus if you know what that is. If you don't, the quick explanation is "your home country and university pay you to study abroad for a period of time that goes from 5 months to 11".

I'm almost halfway through my stay in Valencia, Spain, and I've had my highs and lows. I'm very attached to my family and I have a very very V E R Y large and close group of friends that I used to spend my entire days with, so at the beginning of the stay all I wanted to do was go back to Italy. I went home for a couple of days at the end of October and it nearly destroyed me coming back here (I literally just got to my apartment after spending three weeks at home and I'm numb but in a good way), to the point where I was considering giving up on the scholarship and cut the lease. My friends were supportive as fuck in that decision and my family has no idea I was doing that bad, but then I booked a trip to Morocco for December and from there it was honestly like a smooth ride. My days started to look brighter (let me romanticize my life) and I had way more motivation that I could have hoped for in that period.

I'm so mentally unstable that many of my friends doubted I could make it out alive, but I'm handling myself and reminding myself every day I'm just a 20yo living on her own for the first time, 1500km from her home and family. Which might not be that weird for some, might look like the end of the world for others. I'm in between that.

I recognize the chance I was given and the fact that this opportunity is not something I should take for granted, hence why I decided to stay in the end. This isn't forever. It's just a couple of months where I can push my limits and see where I stand in the world and what I wanna do with my life.

I'm not gonna lie and say everything is perfect cause I fucking hate my roommates and the way uni things are handled and having to buy water and walk from the groceries to my house with a 30km pack in my arms every time. But it's worth it. It's so worth it.

The people you meet. The places you get to see. Nobody stops you. You're your own person. You get to really find out what free will is (and let me tell you I did some weird as fuck things since I have no one controlling what I do), (like eating mandarins and only mandarins for three days straight—do not reccomend), (eat consistently).

Tips I'd give out are:

1. Check free card or student discounts for transportation. I literally paid zero (0) euros since I got here for the metro, bus, tram cause Valencia is perfect and people under 30 don't pay shit.

2. Every event your school or university offers, go. It's the fastest and best way to meet new people without having to worry of strangers on the internet.

3. This is controversial and really personal, so I'll give you the tip everybody gets and then my personal experience. A) Make friends fast as soon as you get there cause otherwise groups will be formed and you'll be alone forever. B) Don't worry too much about that cause you're constantly meeting new people every single day. Some you will find lame, some you will want to strangle and some will become your lifelong friends.

4. Let yourself feel and don't neglect your body. It's easy to forget you're not on a very long holiday and sometimes I lose sight of that as well. You're tired? Sleep. Don't feel guilty for not going out with your friends for the fifth night on a row. You're angry cause your roommate didn't throw out the trash on his day? Send him that fucking text cursing him through the seven realms of hell (idek if they're seven). You miss you bed and your pillow? Cry.

Remember it's okay if you feel sad AND happy at the same time. Those two emotions being contraries to each other doesn't mean they can't coexist. I'm constantly feeling grateful for being here and homesick cause I wish I was in my parents bed gossiping with them. I'm always anxious I'm missing out on everything going on back home while signing my lungs out at a club with my friends. I've had two long months where I was guilty 24/7 cause I wouldn't let myself feel any of those emotions and end up depressed.

Just, feel.

5. If you'll live on your own, grocery shop smartly. Don't over buy. The food will still be there in the shop the next time you go. But it WILL get moldy and spoiled if you buy it and then don't have enough time to eat it.

6. If your program offers weekends trips (even daily trips) go on them cause it's the best choice ever. I took one on the third day I was here and I meet the one person that later became my very bestest friend ever. They might be pricey but it's worth it.

7. Be ready to be disappointed by many things. Not everything will go as planned and not everything will be as you imagined it. And that's okay. Brace yourself for failure and accept things as they come. If you have no control over it, it's useless to stress about it.

8. Idk which country you're going to, but make the most of it and travel around. Find some friends with the same will go explore and take trains, busses and cars to wherever. Even the city you live in might have some secret gems, you just need to look for them.

I'm literally sleepwalking at this point, so I think this is enough, but don't hesitate to send other asks or dm me directly if you ever need something❤❤

#i got an aask #personal #ire

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kimberkingrivers · 10 months

Text

I miss you tonight.

Why I don’t know.

I know why I walked away.

I know why I broke my promise

But you never intended to keep yours

I held you while you cried

I stayed up all night talking to you

I told you things I’ve never told anyone

I let you in

I broke down my walls

And you didn’t help me removed the debris

No you helped me build it back

Brick by brick

Piece by fucking piece

But you said it “we were always too different”

But I find it funny all the things you accused me of

You are

I’m not open minded

I’m too closed off

I’m too traditional

But I accepted you…

I kept my mouth shut

I kept your secrets

Even when they broke my heart

Even when they broke my heart again

I still kept those secrets

I kept my mouth Fuckin shut

Even when you lied to me

Made me look like a fool

Every time you changed

Every new job or new outlook on life

Every time you cut

Every time you took the pills

Every time you snuck out with him

I thought it’ll be different one day

Next time she’ll call me

But I was wrong

I was never gonna be able to save you

You were gonna drown me with you

One of the last things you texted me

“I look forward to you making me cry on my birthday every year”

Nearly everything in that letter felt like a lie

I knew better but I wanted it to get better

If I’d only known

My things have probably been taken off the walls

hidden in the negative energy box under you bed

My pictures will be burned

The letters burned

One day the record of our relationship gone

Turned to ash

I still remember the call

I knew something was wrong

when your name and face appeared

on my screen that day

You tried to act like it was nothing

What you don’t know

If why you told me everything that had happened

Knowing I had texted you

I miss you

Less than a hour before you were loaded into an ambulance

And yet I still didn’t get a text

I’m not trying to be entitled

But the 24 hours before I got that phone call and the next week after that

It gave me a glimpse into what my life would be like if you were gone

You do get it

I walked around completely out of

I hurt so much I couldn’t get myself to feel anything

I was so vulnerable I never wanted to talk to the person that was supposed to be my other half

The person I was supposed to call when I got my heart broke

You weren’t supposed to break my heart

I handed you a gun pointed it at my heart and prayed you wouldn’t pull the trigger

But you did

And what hurt more what you didn’t even care that you hurt me

You didn’t care that you pulled that trigger

shattered my heart

But that’s the way it always was

It was always about you

You were always the priority

You couldn’t handle the stress of life

Not enough sleep

Too much work

Too much school

You would work for a day and sleep for two

You would go days without communicating with me

But if you needed me

and I didn’t respond

I would have 50 plus messages

on my phone

If you had a long day and didn’t want to do something we didn’t do it unless it was your idea

But I had a bad day you would drag me along anyway because I was being too dramatic

I clearly wasn’t what you wanted anymore

You felt out of place in my life,

And i felt like gosh out of water in yours

Maybe you were right

We’re too different

I’m just a reminder of who your parents wanted you to be

All I know is i hope I would have found the confidence and drive I did to do what I’m doing now

But I never would have texted you that day

Outside therapy to ask you that question if I knew what would come of it

I know I didn’t do everything right

There’s things I would change if I could

I wish I could have walked away with less scars

Too dramatic

Doesn’t care

Live life

Don’t fuck up your life

Get to know what you want by trying different things

If you want it you’ll work for it, in anything life, relationships your career and skills

You would probably get a lot of satisfaction if you saw this post

Because I know how much you love to mess with people

I just never thought I would be one of those people

But I was naive

There won’t be heartbreak song out of this maybe a bitch get over me but not a heart break song

I built my walls back up because of you

I tried new things because of you

I learned a lot of lessons

But I also broke my promise

I think that’s what I regret the most is I broke my promise

A promise I never should have made

A promise you needed to hear

A promise I wanted you to make to me as much as I made to you

But when I say “we’re going to have to communicate” and you hear “lose my number”

When I got in the truck that day

You didn’t even care I was leaving

The only reason you contacted me was to give me my things back

The last time I talked to you

I choked back the tears

You wouldn’t look me in the eye

You couldn’t stand to be near me

I wanted to kiss you on the forehead and walk away

But I didn’t

I say call if you need anything

You said of course

And that was it

It was over

The wall was built

Door shut

And the lock was locked

The key thrown away

The door won’t open again

The lock will not be picked

The wall will not come down again not for you

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victory-cookies · 11 months

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I had the worst, most murphy’s law, comedy of errors day today it was actually ridiculous. So last night I was feeling good. I was feeling motivated. I had put all of my laundry away immediately after getting it out of the dryer. Today was gonna be my day to turn my life around bc I felt motivated to clean to do homework to run my errands I was ready

and then I sleep through my fucking alarm.

okay, whatever, it’s fine. I had to go out to get shit for my Fionna costume so I decided to head out once I’d had breakfast. It wouldn’t take me much longer than an hour and I could come home and get right to my tasks.

so I’m at the fabric store, with a meter of fleece and some velcro, and I go to pay. And my debit card doesn’t fucking work no matter what I try. So I ask the woman if she could hold my stuff while I run to the atm to get cash. But the atm declines me too. I try to log onto my online banking and that doesn’t work either. At this point I assume I’ve been locked out of my card so I head back to the store, apologize, and tell her I need to drive to the bank about ten minutes away to try to get my card fixed. She says that that’s no problem and she’ll hold my stuff until the end of the day (they close at 5. It is currently 1:30)

so I head to the bank. The line is absurdly long but finally I get up to a clerk and am like “hey I think I’ve been locked out of my card please help” and so he checks and yeah I have, bc the two scholarship cheques I deposited yesterday had been flagged as “unusual and suspicious activity” and he says he’ll call and see if he can get it unlocked for me. We’re on hold for like fifteen minutes. At this point my sister has asked me to come pick her up from her friend’s. Finally this guy gets through and they’re like “lol we can’t do it unless she has the cheques there and you can verify” and obv I didn’t have them so he was like “well either you can go get the cheques and bring them in or you can wait until tomorrow when the photos will show up in the system and then your card will be unlocked”. I don’t want to do either of those things bc going home and coming back then going back to the fabric store would take another like two hours. So I say fuck it and go to pick up my sister with the intent of dragging her back to the fabric store and getting her to use her card.

at that moment it starts fucking bucketing. I start driving to her friend’s house and the road is nearly flooded I was so worried. And then as I’m heading out I end up directed onto the highway (highway driving makes me really anxious so I try to avoid it so I’m panicking). At this point the rain is coming down in sheets and I can’t see anything. Im about to cry. I exit the highway and then get directed onto another highway. The traffic is so bad that I can’t make it to the left turn lane and I miss my turn. I only barely make it to the next left turn and thank god I did bc if i didn’t I’d be on my way to the next town.

I get to my sister’s friend’s place and my sister gets in the car and I ask if we can go back to the fabric store and have her buy the poor fabric I have left cut and alone just sitting there (I felt bad. They had cut it for me already I needed to get it). She says no problem and so we head once more to the fabric store.

we pull up and the lights are off. It’s 3pm. They should not be closed. Confused, we get out and go to check, and they are in fact closed. A woman comes up to us and explains that THE FUCKING POWER WENT OUT IN THE ENTIRE MALL. They were closed for the day, along with every other store there, including the spirit halloween that I needed to go to as well and the a&w my sister wanted to grab food at

so we drive away. I have literally gained nothing from this. I have bought none of the things I needed to get. I have wasted so much gas. It is now 3:30 and I have done zero of the things I wanted to get done today. I was literally crying

#it’s almost funny how awful it was #Friday the 13th hit three days late #I was so frustrated tho like nothing was fucking going my way #Plus my card is still locked! For no fucking reason!#they didn’t even like. send me an email either like maybe tell me if you think smth sus is happening?#maybe tell me if you’re locking my card?#fuck man I’m so tired and I barely got anything done today

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i-am-hoo-iyam · 2 years

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@mega-punani Navy stared at red across the table at dinner one night. “What? Why are you staring at me? Is it the fly?” Red took a scoop of mashed potato’s in his spoon and flung it at the fly buzzing around his head. He missed by a mile and hit sans, who was faking asleep at the table and got startled and spilled his bottle of ketchup on razz, who took sans hat and yanked it down hard over his eyes. Bear fixed the issue by clapping the fly while it was midair and then went to wash the dead fly off his hands. Everyone settled back down to finish eating and razz went to go change his clothes.

“Sorry red I was only wondering how you got so many scars… but asking that would be rude so I didn’t wanna make you self conscious”. Red lit up. “Oh boy. You got it all wrong kid. I’m proud of each scar I got!” Cash chimed in. “Even that one where you got drunk and played the knife game and nearly took a finger off?” ( where you stab between your fingers faster and faster). “Shaddup. Anyways. Wanna hear how I got all of em?” “YEAH!”

Navy snd blue sat on the floor around reds bees and red sat on his bed showing off his scars. “And this scar is when I got stabbed on an old scar so I got a scar on a scar! It was a fine take of how a human insulted the wrong skeleton and got slapped in the face. Then he stabbed me and I took off his head! With my fists!” Navy jumped into blues lap and hugged him tight. “There was blood everywhere! I still remember the feeling of brains in my” “STOP IT your scaring navy and that’s the grossest thing I think I ever heard.” “Oho! Thsts just the start of the story. This guys whole crew came at me and I single handed my took them all down. I sent them all to Davy Joseph’s locker! One guy I smashed a beer bottle on his head and there was blood everywhere! The other guy I took his eyes out and hey what’s up with navy? Why is he crying so bad”. By now blue was crying too. “Snf wy do you hafta tell every gorey detail? We wanted to hear about your Snf scars not all the murders you did the get them”.

Blue left reds room hugging navy. Five minutes later sans came in looking mad, with navy and blue clinging to him. “Hey what did I do?” “You scared the babies! You know these two are sensitive about blood. Do it again and thte blood spilled might be yours”. “Try it and the blood spilled is gonna be yours”. Sans and red glared at each other, forehead to forehead. Sans growled and left reds room to help calm the little beans down.

Edge came to reds room. “Hey I wanna hear about your scars and all the battle you fought! Wanna hear about how I got this scar? The person didn’t even finish giving it to me before he was dead” “yeah!”

You gotta consider your audience when telling a story.

#undertale #one peice #undertale au #ut #one peice au #navy the skeleton #red #underfell

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angelplummie · 3 years

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revoking kirishimas pussy privileges cuz he was annoying :P (first part)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, so much dirty talk (just oh my god too much), jealousy, possessiveness, all that good shit

His incessant begging, surprisingly, wasn’t getting old.

his constant whining is music to your ears, as he gets progressively hornier.

“babe please, i said i’m sorry!”

“I bet you are”

“Babe! please! i’m gonna die!”

“You don’t have a hand?”

“babe :(“

You have NEVER seen him this horny. His sex drive is incredibly high, you guys normally have sex basically every day, so this is ROUGH for the lad.

You could do anything and hes up.

hes going insane, he’ll do anything to get your attention, try and persuade you to break your vow of this fortnight of celibacy.

he’ll wait for you to finish washing up before going to sleep on your bed, tugging at his hard, painfully hard cock.

Kiri makes the prettiest noises, he knows how much you like them, so he speeds up at he hears your footsteps down the hall, excited for you to walk in and see him in this state for you.

You walk in on him furiously fucking up into his big fist, bed creaking and big balls slapping against his hand. the tip leaks precum and it’s bright pink, obviously, achingly, painfully hard.

he’ll turn his head and look at you, smirking through half open eyes, mind mostly on task, if not a little muddled. his cheeks are flushed, mouth slightly open. then he’ll pant something nearly incoherent to you,

“hey, uhhhhhggg fuck, don’t you wanna, don’t you wanna help me baby? Don’t you wanna help me with your tight little pussy? Said i was- fuck! said i was sorry. you must be missing this too. Come on, come on just, hhnng let me make you fuckinh scream.”

While you do appreciate the sentiment, and while you do get wet at the sight of your dreamy boyfriend fucking his fist because you did this to him, you still don’t let up.

“Do the crime pay the time Eiji, tough luck. Please, finish though.”

and u scoot down next to him, tucking urself in as he stares in disbelief. he was annoyed, but he was too close now, he couldn’t stop. so he went until he finished like you said, cumming all over your sheets with a strangled moan. it was so hard not to touch you when you were right there, he hopes it was hard for you not to touch him too.

he sees a small smile on your face, and he swears to himself that when these two weeks were up, he was going to make you pay.

if u decided to be truly evil and properly tease him, oh lord, he will literally cry.

you start rubbing his crotch during a movie, he’s thinking THANK FUCK THIS TORTURE IS OVER. but no, that’s all you do. you rub him a little bit over his sweats, press your boobs against his arm as you cuddle into his side, and then out of nowhere you stop and pretend nothing happened.

he literally felt his eyes start stinging, he was literally about to start bawling because of how bad he needed you.

“Baby...” he whimpers burying his face in your shoulder, “baby, you’re so mean.”

you laugh softly, bringing your hand up to his hair and stroking it comfortingly, as if you weren’t the cause of his distress.

“i know, i know. a few more days ok? you can do it, i believe in you,” you joked. he was not in a joking mood.

he still had a hard on the whole rest of the movie, it hardly ever went away.

when the two weeks are finally, finally over, oh boy you are in for it.

the day it ended, you hear the slam of the door as kirishima gets home from work. a little smile creeps up on your face as you keep scrolling thru ig. ur surprised he didn’t wake you up at midnight last night just to satiate himself. unless he was exaggerating, he sounds like he’s been in agony, you would have thought he would want relief. but little did you know, kirishima wanted to wait until he could really take him time with you, till he could make you beg, lord knows it took a while, stubborn girl you are.

he didn’t say hello. he just stormed into the living room were you sat, too nonchalant for his liking. he knew you liked to pretend, be all cool around him, but he knew your heart was racing, and your pussy was wet as anything.

he didn’t say anything before yanking you up by your wrist and dragging you to the bedroom. you wanted to giggle, but you also didn’t want to try kirishima.

it doesn’t take long before ur both naked and hes fingering u with his big, long fingers, making sloppy noises cuz ur so wet. ur whimpering already, all bravado gone.

most people would think you were the dominant one, but kiri knows better.

kiri knows it looks like he just trails behind you and does your bidding, but you both know you’re equals, he just likes to worship you and you like to be worshiped.

and, in being equals, kiri wants to give you what you want, what you know you you need. he knows you need him to take over, to put you in your place with a warm smile. big soft dom vibes from kiri, probably even service dom.

n e who, he’s moaning into ur mouth, all deep n desperate

“such a tease, such a fuckinh tease.”

hes palming at ur tits, fingers going so fast in you.

“u liked watching me sweat for you didn’t you? i gotta say baby, you make me a real whore. can’t help it tho, u know that.”

your crying as his fingers bully your g sport, making you writhe, but he pins ur shoulder down with his hand that isn’t knuckle deep in ur pussy.

“no baby, gotta take it, gotta take it n be my good girl, for once,” he laughs breathlessly,”but u kno i love like this, love putting you in ur place. you talk so big for such a little girl.”

you whine and he finally pulls his fingers out, watching the string of arousal that connects them to ur throbbing pussy.

he uses it to jerk his cock a few times, lubing it up for u.

he lifts your thighs up and pushes the back of them against your torso, watching in delight as u watch with a subdued desperation on ur pretty little face.

“aren’t you pretty? who knew such a pretty girl could be so evil?” he said it lovingly, warm smile on his face. you were so far gone, u just giggled quietly.

“it’s ok, i’ll just have to fuck the mean out of you. then you’ll be my sweet little girlfriend.”

he lined himself up with you, groaning when he felt your soft wet warmth against his tip.

“although, i don’t really want you too change, you’re perfect, even when you put me through hell. my perfect little angel.”

he strokes your face softly, grinning as you melted into his soft touch.

“you’re so quiet baby, it’s not like you. where’s my mean little girl?”

you hum in response, trying to get him in you as fast as possible. kiri was never one to tease or punish, so he pushes in as fast as he can without hurting you.

you let out a strangled moan, it’s been weeks since you were properly stretched out.

“ohh fuck, you’re so tight, you’re so tight, fuuck,” he whines, inching into you bit by bit until he’s balls deep inside you, your juices creaming around the base. little baby tears form in the corners of ur eyes.

“eiji, move,” you breathe.

that’s when he starts, rocking into you, easing you in

“mmmhhm, such a good little girl aren’t you, so good, you’re just a little protective. don’t worry baby, don’t even think about other girls, don’t even think about them.”

the squelch of your pussy has him pounding you harder, beginning to lose control.

“fuck, missed this wet fucking pussy, wanted to fuck you so long. you’re mean-you’re mean keeping it from me. ‘s mine anyway.”

his dick hits all the right spots in you, filling you so good, you can’t take it. the noises leaving you are music to his ears, you really can’t help it.

“yea, s mine. my pussy. you’re mine, and i’m yours. i love you. I love you baby i love you, i belong to you, you’re mine-“ he moans, bed shaking and cracking against the wall.

“Love you eiji, love you, i’m yours, you-you belong to me.”

it’s like neither of you can stop fuckinh talking, whining and moaning and sobbing.

“No one does it better, no one.”

you aren’t sure if he’s talking about you or him, but you don’t care, you just want him to keep saying nice things. you didn’t realise how badly you needed it.

you feel it creeping up on you as he continues furiously humping your little bitch cunt like wild animal.

“Eiji, eiji, i’m cumming, i’m not gonna last much longer-“

and you do cum.

and he keeps fucking you, even after your let all go on his fat dick.

he keeps fucking you as you twitch and cry and sob, never stopping talking about how he’s yours, you’re his, he belongs to you, you belong to him.

he keeps fucking you till he lets out fat spirts of cum deep in your pulsing little pussy, and even then he doesn’t stop.

he ruts into you over and over, overstimulating the both of you, but he has to keep going, he can’t let up, not even a little. he has to cum inside you again, to claim you, to prove he’s yours, that he doesn’t give his cum to anyone else, that you don’t get cum from anyone else.

your tears wet the sheets as he stuffs you full with his third round of the night, your fourth orgasm, and he finally stills.

“euh,” you squeak out, panting, ”love you eiji.”

he smiles tiredly, dick still inside you, plugging you up with his hot seed.

“love you more angel.”

he rolls you over and onto his chest while u cockwarm him, heart glowing as you rest yar head on his enormous peck, snuggling into him. he loved being your safe haven, he wanted to give you everything.

“no you don’t,” you mumbled, stifling a yawn.

“yes i do.”

“no, i love you more.”

“no way, i love you way more. i give my baby what she needs, unlike some people.”

“hush. i only did it because i love you.”

he kissed your little head and smiles.

“oh yeah?”

“yeah. i’m only jealous cuz i care.”

“mh.”

he waited for you to drift off, before pulling you tighter to him.

“i still love you more though.”

masterlist

#mha x reader #mha smut #mha fluff #mha kirishima #mha thirsts #bnha x reader #bnha smut #bnha fluff #bnha kirishima #bnha thirst #kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #kirishima fluff #kirishima thirst #daddy kirishima #kirishima plough me challenge #this is real hes mine #he only wants me the rest of u can fuck right off

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