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talesofesther · 5 months

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what once was mine | ch 7

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: I apologize in advance lol.

Masterlist | Read ch 6 here

Your feet buried in the sand, just inches from the gentle waves crashing to shore. You could smell the salt in the air, feel it on your skin as the wind carried droplets of water until it reached you. The sun kissed the horizon of the ocean beside you, painting the waves in streaks golden.

This was possibly your favorite thing about New Asgard, the ocean.

Or, second favorite, you thought, as you squeezed the hand holding your own.

"And Thor wouldn't listen to me, of course," Loki continued the story, his feet burying in the sand just as yours did. One of his hands interlocked with yours, the other holding his shoes. "Not until the whole tent came crashing down on him."

You giggled, the soft wind carried your laughter and messed up your hair, "Thor never was the brightest at learning our 'contraptions', as he would call them."

"No, I guess not," Loki mused, a smile of his own lingering on his lips.

You looked up at him then, watching as the fading sunlight reflected against his bright eyes and shaped the curves of his smile. You'd never tire of the sight, of him by your side.

"You should come with us next time," Loki suggested, apparently just as lost in you as you were in him.

"Camping?" You raised a brow.

Loki nodded, stopping in his tracks. He dropped his shoes to the sand without a second thought, so he could take hold of both your hands. "You'd make it better."

His voice, however, began to sound far away. You frowned, looking around as the golden sunlight seeped away, making room for a grey and stormy sky. The wind picked up speed, cutting into your skin like needles. The sea, once calm and serene, now raged and thundered against the shoreline.

"You always do." Suddenly, Loki's voice was nothing but an echo.

You didn't have time to hold him tighter before his hands were snatched away from yours.

Stumbling forward, you tried running after him, but the sand began to swallow your feet. Panic settled into your chest and got your heart racing.

You looked up, but you shouldn't have.

His eyes were bloodshot, his feet held off the ground as he struggled against the bruising grip on his neck. When Loki looked into your eyes, tears were running down both your cheeks. Blood trailed down his mouth as he choked for a breath. "Run," it was a plea, so quiet and weak past his lips.

The last thing you heard was a sickening crack.

You woke up with a scream lingering on your lips, sitting up on your bed and already clawing at your chest for the air that you desperately needed yet couldn't get a hold of. You didn't know if you were sobbing or coughing, perhaps a bit of both.

The tears were non-stop, dripping down your chin and dampening the collar of your pajama shirt. You threw the covers away from your body, feeling trapped on your skin. Burying your head on your trembling hands, you did your best to try and catch your breath.

It had been a while since you've had a nightmare this haunting.

─── ·❆· ───

You felt numb. The day began and you couldn't feel anything besides the emptiness in your chest. Foolishly, you had thought you'd finally outgrew the bad memories, the grief. You wondered if you ever would.

As you walked through the hallways of the TVA, you thought back to yesterday; to the rain, the northern lights, and him. He who had those same dark curls, those same bright eyes, and alabaster skin that you saw in your dreams and nightmares. Each day it became harder and harder to believe the lie you insisted on telling yourself.

As if on cue, you heard the stomping of someone running to catch up with you.

"Good morning," Loki greeted, just a tad out of breath as he fell into step beside you.

You closed your eyes for a moment after hearing his voice. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you nodded without looking at him. "Morning."

Loki noticed, he felt the shift in the mood, heard it in your tone. You know he did, because he hesitated. "Um-" He tried to start; you could perfectly picture his eyes being unable to find a place to focus even if you weren't looking.

"I've been thinking," he tried again, and you could hear the tentative smile on his words, "For the next time you manage to borrow Mobius' tempad, I- I have a place I would like to show you, if you'd like."

There were tears brimming in your eyes. You weren't sure why. Maybe because this was such a Loki way for him to try and ask you out. Maybe because you could feel your heart melting for him as it found its home again after being in the cold for so long, and that terrified you.

"Yeah…" You cursed under your breath when your voice came out broken and strained. You cleared your throat. "I don't know when he'll let me borrow it again, so," you shrugged, quickening your steps, "I guess we'll see."

Loki fell behind just for the time it took for him to mull over your words. It didn't take much effort for him to match your pace again. "Yes, of course."

The sadness dripping from his voice made your heart clench. You didn't want to hurt him. But you didn't want to hurt yourself either.

Finally reaching your desk in your secluded nook of the library, you immediately busied yourself with threading over the fresh stack of documents resting on top of it. Pointedly avoiding Loki's concerned look.

"I can help you with those," Loki suggested, already reaching for a spare chair.

"You really don't have to," You tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, turning on your table lamp.

"I want to," he told you with that softness reserved for you only. "We can finish it twice as fast and maybe stop for tea-"

"Loki, stop!" You suddenly snapped, finally turning to look at him. "Can you just leave me alone for one goddamn second?" You hadn't meant for your voice to come out as harsh as it did.

Loki lowered his head so you weren't able to see the pang of hurt in his eyes. His hand went limp as he slowly let go of the chair. Still, he took a step closer to you and asked; "Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Of course he would be able to tell. Of course he'd put your pain above his own.

You surrendered the facade with a sigh, and a single tear rolled down your cheek. "I keep seeing…" It was difficult to think of it, let alone say it. You closed your eyes. "The day I lost him, I- I keep seeing it over and over. Even after all this time."

You had gotten better, for a while, keeping busy in the TVA had somewhat helped. But you knew you only buried the feeling, never dealt with it. And then Loki—this Loki, the one who would be yours—found his way to you, and everything crumbled again. Those bright eyes of his were still the same you've always known, after all; and between the memories you had together that only you had lived, and the way his soul tangled with yours as if they never parted, you didn't know what to feel.

Your chin wobbled and a sob fell past your lips. "And I just want it to stop hurting… I just him back."

Seeing you like this, it hurt. Loki took half a step closer to you, his glassy eyes gauging every twitch of your muscles. If you told him to leave, he would, even if it's the last thing he wanted. Your pain pierced his soul like an arrow, tearing and making it bleed. More than anything, he found himself only wanting you to be okay.

No names were needed. Loki knew, just from the way you were adamantly refusing to look at him; he knew you were talking about… him.

Carefully, testing tentative waters, Loki reached for one of your hands. He held his breath when you tensed as his skin touched yours. His fingers closed gingerly around your wrist and he pulled your hand up with a gentleness he didn't know he was capable of.

You let him. You weren't sure why, but you did.

Loki brought your hand to rest above his chest, flat against his beating heart, and held it there, with his own hand still grasping yours tightly. He hesitated. He was afraid, he realized. Afraid of losing you.

Only when Loki opened his lips to speak, did he taste his own tears that had fallen. "I'm here." It was nothing but a breath. "I promise. I'm here." He tried, it was all he could give you; himself.

You clutched the fabric of his shirt, fingers shaking. You leaned your forehead against his shoulder as another sob escaped you. As the waves pulled you under.

In a place out of time, time stood still. For a precious second, only you and him existed.

You looked up after what felt like an eternity, your lips hovering as you struggled to hold his gaze. "But you're not him." The half smile that stretched the tear tracks on your cheeks held nothing but sorrow.

As if ripping apart a piece of his soul, Loki reluctantly let go of your hand. "What is it you have against me?" He whispered, pleaded.

You'd never seen him this vulnerable. His ocean eyes glimmered under the dim artificial lights of the library, eyebrows pulled softly together in what looked more like loss than confusion.

"And what is it you have with me?" You found yourself whispering back, just as desperate. "For you, we never met." Your voice broke and then dripped with frustration, "You have nothing to lose. So what is it that you want from me?"

It was selfish to put the blame on him, just because he brought back the same warmth you've been missing for so long. But you were hurting, and broken things tend to have sharp edges.

Loki's lips hovered open and he shifted his gaze down, almost as if ashamed. He held the silence for a beat longer. "I guess I just…" He stopped, and forced himself to look into your eyes. "I saw how much you loved your Loki… I think I was jealous, and I was selfish, for wanting the same thing he was lucky enough to have." His smile was that of someone who knew when he'd lost. "You."

All emotion drained from your face. It felt like a bucket of icy water being dropped on top of you.

Had Loki actually fallen in love with you?

For a moment you wondered if, in every reality and every lifetime, you were destined to fall for each other. As the universe's own twisted version of soulmates.

You would've laughed at such a sweet thought, if it hadn't just made your heartbeat skyrocket. Because deep down, you knew you'd fallen for him as well. Again. As you always knew you would.

In every lifetime. As you promised you would.

And it terrified you, because what if you were destined to fall, yet also destined to lose?

"I'm sorry," you breathed, tasting the salt of your tears on your lips. You took staggered steps away from Loki. "I'm sorry, I- I can't."

I'm sorry, I don't know if I can pick myself back up if I ever lose you again. So I'd rather not have you at all.

"Please, I-" Loki started, yet he didn't know what he was pleading for.

But you shook your head vehemently. "I need," your voice stumbled, "I'm sorry- I just need a moment alone."

You turned around then, walking away and taking Loki's heart with you. His eyes refused to watch you leave again, luckily he had tears to blur the memory.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ch 8 coming soon.

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munson-blurbs · 10 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Summary: Grandma's funeral brings out a side of Ms. Sweetheart that Eddie hasn't ever seen, leaving the two of them questioning everything they've built up together.

Warnings: funeral service (I tried to keep it as neutral as possible so it could apply to any religion), mentions of cause of Grandma's death, failed attempt at sex, pretty much all angst sorry

WC: 5.1k

Chapter 10/20

Divider credit to @saradika Harris's note credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers

Eddie can’t remember the last time he went to a funeral. It might’ve been for one of Wayne’s friends, or a distant great-aunt twice removed. He doesn’t even own a proper suit for such an occasion; everything he’s wearing actually belongs to Wayne. He smooths down the creases in his black slacks; the material of anything other than worn denim is foreign against his legs. The elbows of his coat jacket are patched, and he slides his palms over them in embarrassment.

He takes a seat in one of the back rows, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible while the other mourners file in. There’s a pit growing in his stomach as his gaze swoops to the coffin resting at the front of the room. The realization that Grandma was inside was almost too much for him to handle, and he’d only met her a month ago. He hadn’t known her when she was…herself, but he saw glimpses of her now and again. The last time he was over for a Wednesday night dinner, she rested her head on his shoulder as though she’d done it a million times. You’d mouthed sorry, but Eddie had simply smiled and let Grandma stay there as long as she wanted. If he was being honest, he felt special, knowing that she was comfortable with him.

Eddie’s eyes are only drawn from the casket when he sees you walk among your family. He immediately takes note of your face, normally soft and vibrant, now stoic and emotionless. It’s a sharp contrast to your relatives, who wear their grief through bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The hymn playing in the background fades out as a man speaks up at the podium.

Eddie’s barely listening, keeping his attention on you. He watches your mouth move as you recite the prayers along with the rest of your family, though he’s only half-listening to them. He’s never been one for organized religion, but he echoes the closing statement when everyone else does.

That’s when you stand up, smoothing down your dress at the back of your thighs, and walk towards the front of the room. You’re clutching a piece of paper in your hand, which Eddie notices is slightly trembling. He locks eyes with you, dragging his teeth along his bottom lip and offers the smallest of encouraging smiles. You acknowledge it with a tiny nod in his direction before taking a deep breath and beginning the eulogy.

“Um, h-hi.,” you start, stumbling over your words awkwardly. You clear your throat and try again. “Thank you all for coming to honor and remember Grandma. It’s evident that she meant a lot to so many people.

“When I was writing this eulogy, I kept thinking about who she was as a person.” You don’t let your gaze drift from Eddie’s, and you could swear that he’s the only force keeping you from crumbling to the ground in a heap of grief. “For a lot of us, we wonder what ‘big thing’ will define our lives. The occasion that people will remember us by, you know? But with Grandma, there wasn’t one ‘big thing.’ Her life was a series of little kindnesses that she made sure to sprinkle into her everyday life. Like, when I was a kid, my dad broke his ankle. My mom couldn’t leave me home alone, so Grandma drove him to and from the hospital and stayed with him while he waited. She always took care of us.

“One of my favorite memories is how she would bring me a bouquet of flowers after every dance recital I was in. She’d be waiting for me by the stage door with a big smile on her face, telling me what a great job I did, even if I totally messed up…she was the best. All she wanted was for the people she loved to be happy.

“And that’s what I associate with Grandma—love. How much I loved her, and how much she loved us. Just a few weeks ago, she was sharing Oreos with the kid I tutor, and it reminded me of how she used to be with me.” At that line, Eddie feels his lip quiver, tears dampening his lashes, and he ducks his head to keep you from seeing him break. This time, it’s more for your sake than his, since you’re leaning on him to remain upright. “I encourage all of you to find the little kindnesses in life, and to be the kindness in someone’s day.

“Grandma, you are already so missed. I hope you’re seeing the values you instilled in each of us. Rest easy. We’ll take it from here.” The only sounds in the entire room are the heels of your shoes clacking on the floor and sniffling from nearly everyone else in the congregation. You take your seat quietly, bowing your head as though trying to hide.

The rest of the service is a blur of hymns and prayers; nothing, Eddie notes, nearly as moving as the eulogy you gave. He barely notices when the people around him start moving, keeping a watchful eye on you. You’re trying to blend in amongst your black-clad relatives, but Eddie has no problem finding you. He cranes his neck just in time to see your family make a right through the doors, while you pivot left.

Instinctively, his hands tuck into his pants pocket as he fumbles for his cigarettes and lighter. He has no idea what to say to you, no idea where to even begin. He needs a smoke or three to clear his head before he sees you and stammers out some half-witted acknowledgment of your loss. There’s no time for that; however, because as soon as he steps outside, he sees you sitting on the steps. It’s freezing outside, but your arms are bare, and Eddie can see the prickle of goosebumps lining your skin.

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asks, drawing your attention as he takes a seat next to you. He shrugs off his own jacket, placing it over your shoulders without a second thought.

You offer him a sad smile, tugging the coat so it covers more of you. You didn’t realize how cold you were until you felt the contrast of his body heat. “Trying to avoid my family,” you admit, placing your hand over Eddie’s. “Could you take me home? I got a ride here from my uncle, but I really don’t want to go out to eat with everyone.” They’re probably arguing over where to get lunch right now, acting as though their matriarch isn’t about to be lowered into the ground.

“You sure?” Eddie’s eyebrows pinch together in concern. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want to take you away from them or anything.” He can picture the sneers he’ll receive, a pit forming in his stomach.

You remain unfazed to the conundrum he faces. “Trust me, you’d be doing me a favor. I can’t…” your voice catches, so you restart your sentence. “I can’t sit there while everyone’s smiling and laughing. That’s what happens when an old, sick person dies; people don’t even try to hide their relief. I need…I need to be alone.” You tuck your lips inside your mouth, attempting to bury your feelings.

Eddie nods, reaching over to take his keys out of the jacket you’re now wearing. “Yeah, no, I get it. We can get outta here.” He stands up, takes your hand in his to help you to your feet, and leads you to the car as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing either of you need is to be confronted by one of your relatives.

The two of you sit in the car quietly, without even the radio on. Eddie can’t remember the last time he’s had a silent car ride; he either has music playing, Harris yammering his ear off, or a combination of both. He keeps his hands at ten and two, internally debating whether or not to rest one on your knee. It wouldn’t be a sexual thing, not even close, but he doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea. His grip remains steady, the hum of the engine is the only sound.

You take this time to study him, taking in the crow’s feet that line the edges of his eyes, the tiny patch of stubble that he’d missed while shaving, the slight dimple in his chin. You try and turn before he can catch you, and though your efforts are fruitless, he doesn’t quite call you out on it. “Y’good?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, smoothing a part of your dress that isn’t wrinkled. “Could you come inside for a little while? I thought I wanted to be by myself, but I really want you to stay.”

You really want him to stay. Not just that you need company, but you want him specifically. The notion sets all of Eddie’s nerve endings alight. “‘Course,” he replies, perhaps a bit too casually to cover up his excitement over the realization that he brings you some form of comfort.

When he pulls into the apartment complex’s parking lot and shuts off the ignition, he takes the opportunity to hold your hand again. It’s so much different than when he held it a few days earlier on your date, when there was an atmosphere of joy and hope. Now it’s like he’s pulling you along, like his lead is what has you placing one heel-clad foot in front of the other.

You unlock the door, accidentally leaving the key within its latch, and Eddie quietly removes it and places it on the table. His fingers ghost your biceps to remove your–his–coat from your body, but you just pull it on farther like a safety blanket.

“Y’want coffee? ‘M gonna put on a pot,” you offer quietly, already heading over to the kitchen. You scoop out a serving of coffee grounds for you, inhaling the hazelnut scent before dumping it into the basket, glancing over at him for his response.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he nods, and you put another scoop in before filling the carafe with tap water. With a flick of the power button, the Black + Decker rumbles and kicks on, and the drip drip drip of coffee fills the room.

You grab two mugs from the cupboard and place them on the counter. “How’d you even find out about the funeral?”

Eddie walks over, though he feels as though he can’t get close enough. He just wants to hold you tight and never let go, but you’ve put up some sort of barrier that he can’t quite interpret. “Oh, um, I asked Byers. I hope you don’t mind–I tried calling you, but it said the line was disconnected.”

Your cheeks burn. “That was Grandma.” Eddie looks confused–rightfully so–and you elaborate. “The morning that she…she got annoyed with the phone ringing, so when I wasn’t looking, she took the scissors and cut the wire.”

Eddie’s jaw drops in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. I left the house for a few minutes to get a new phone, and when I came back, she’d fallen asleep and…” you swallow thickly, rummaging through the refrigerator for the tiny carton of half-and-half, “…and she never woke up. First call I made with the new phone was to 9-1-1, but it was too late.” Too late. That’s what the EMTs told you: I’m sorry, but it’s too late.

“Oh, Sweetheart. My sweet girl…” Eddie’s heart lurches, and he instinctively reaches out to you. One hand lays between your shoulder blades while the other rubs up and down your spine. He’s careful not to let it drop too low, never going past the small of your back. Though you’re pressed flush to his chest, there’s still a strange disconnect between you.

Despite every urge you have to cling to him, you pull away and shove a teaspoon into the sugar bowl, sliding it towards him on the counter. “S’okay. I mean, it’s not, but…they said she’d had a heart attack. If I didn’t get the phone, I wouldn’t have been able to call for an ambulance anyway.” The dripping of the coffee maker slows as it finishes brewing. “Only thing I could do is go back in time and stop her from cutting the wires, and Melvald’s was all outta time machines,” you joke, but it falls flat.

Eddie frowns, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the countertop. “You don’t have to do this, y’know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Pretend like you’re alright,” he explains, voice hardly louder than a whisper. He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear.

You feel an anger rising within you, though you’re unable to pinpoint its origin. “I am alright,” you insist through gritted teeth.

Eddie shakes his head, peering at you through his impossibly long eyelashes. “It’s okay to be sad–”

“Don’t you get it, Eddie?” You cut him off with a snap, slamming the coffee pot down so harshly that it almost cracks. “I’m not sad. I’m not relieved. I’m not anything. My grandma just died, and I don’t feel a goddamn thing! It’s like I’m some kind of monster.”

“Hey, hey, c’mere.” He hugs you again, holds you even tighter than before as he kisses the top of your head. “You’re not a monster, ‘kay? I promise you.”

You look up at him, not quite believing his words, but you press your lips to his. He kisses you back gently; timidly even, but you deepen it and graze his tongue with your own. Your left hand weaves its way through his messy curls and your right fumbles with his belt buckle, but you’re unable to unhook the clasp before he steps back.

“What’re you–” His eyes widen and he puts his hands up to avoid touching you, clearly confused by your behavior. If you had the capacity to be honest with yourself, you’d admit that you’re not sure why you’re doing this, either.

“Please, Eddie,” you beg, trying to reconnect your lips with his, but he just pulls away again. “Please, I…I need this. I need you.”

“If we sleep together for the first time right now, while you’re like this, you’ll regret it,” he says.

You don’t deny the accusation; instead, you double down on it. “Okay, so I’ll regret it! I’ll feel regret, but at least I’ll feel something!” Your trembling fingers brush against his shirt, trying to grab onto it and bring his body to you, but he turns with a scoff.

“You’d really be okay with that?” There’s unmistakeable anger in his tone, but it’s laced with something more than that; something that sounds more like hurt. “Regretting our first time together?”

“Didn’t we almost fuck on your couch the night we met? You didn’t even know my last name. You barely knew my first name.” Your words are biting, thick with malice. “When did you become so averse to meaningless sex?”

“Meaningless?” Eddie balks, digging his fingernails into his palms until they leave crescent-shaped marks. His lips contort into a perplexed grimace as he formulates a response. “I, um, I gotta go. I’ll call you–”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that line before, and I’m not falling for it again.” You can’t stop the words before they’re tumbling from your mouth, and you can’t take them back. “Shit, Eddie–”

“Just—don’t say anything else, ‘kay? I’m leaving.” He turns around, digging into his back pocket. “This is for you. From me and Harris.” He tosses a piece of notebook paper, folded into fourths, onto the end table and closes the door with a slam.

You stand there, dumbfounded at what just occurred–mostly at your own actions. When you move towards the paper, you realize that you’re still wearing Eddie’s suit jacket, and you yank it off and throw it to the ground, leaving it in a heap. You open the note and read, vision blurred from the tears threatening to spill over.

The innocent kindness of a little boy is all it takes for you to break down and cry, muffling your sobs in your palms though there isn’t anyone around to hear them. Grandma was gone. You’d chased Eddie away with the same vitriol he’d spewed at you that day at the record store. You’re really, truly alone.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you chant to no one in particular. You’re sorry to Grandma, for leaving her home alone. You could’ve asked Jess to run out and get a new phone, but you’d needed a break from Grandma’s anger that was always directed towards you. That morning, after you’d discovered the cut phone line, there had been another argument over taking her medication, and she yelled “I HATE YOU!” at the top of her lungs. Then she sat at the table and ate a bowl of cereal like nothing had happened. Instead of taking a deep breath and brushing it off, you’d grabbed your keys and headed to RadioShack. You could’ve driven there, it would’ve made the trip much faster, but you’d decided to walk. The fresh air would do you good, you told yourself, pushing away the full truth of the matter: you’d desperately needed to be away from Grandma. When you got back, she was laying on the couch, and you would’ve sworn she was only sleeping…

You’re sorry to Eddie. Sorry that he’d wasted his time with someone who resorted to dredging up the past as soon as she felt an ounce of anger and rejection. Someone who insisted that he could trust her and then promptly shattered that rapport once he’d let his guard down.

And for a split second, you allow yourself to feel sorry for you. Sorry that you couldn’t even grieve properly without feeling like you didn’t deserve it, because if you were home, Grandma might still be alive.

You look down at the card one more time, choking out a laugh through your tears at Harris’s offer to share his grandpa. It dawns on you that you’ll either have to stop tutoring him or continue to see Eddie on a weekly basis. Everyone who comes in contact with me gets entangled in my problems, you note miserably. Eddie’s finally getting his life together and I’m fucking it all up. He deserves better than me.

Maybe it’s a good idea to leave Hawkins and go back home, at least for the holidays. You’re not sure what type of celebrations the family will muster up, but it’s better than being alone with your thoughts. And if you never return, that might be best for everybody.

The bell above the drugstore door chimes as Eddie pushes his way in. He smoked out his remaining cigarettes on the drive over, and he’s desperate for another pack. He makes a beeline for the back wall, plucking his usual Camels from the display. “Perfect,” he mutters, though his lungs would certainly disagree.

As he shuffles towards the cashier, he spots a familiar face in one of the aisles. His lurking cowardice screams at him to run away, but he shoves it deep down and talks anyway. “H-Hey, man. How’s it going?”

Jeff turns around, first bewildered at who’s speaking to him, then tensing up when he sees Eddie standing before him. “Can’t complain. Just getting some of these prenatal vitamin things for Viv,” he replies tersely, shaking the bottle to emphasize his statement.

There’s an awkward silence before Eddie speaks again. “Look, um, I’m really sorry about what happened at our last show.” He rubs the back of his neck and winces at the memory. “What I said, what I didn’t say…you’re gonna be a great dad, dude. Like, the best. I was just jealous, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole.”

“Jealous?” Jeff cocks an eyebrow incredulously, willing Eddie to continue.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, shamefully averting his gaze. “You’re bringing a kid into a stable household, and I couldn’t do that for Harris. I don’t regret having him, of course, but I’ll always feel guilty about the shitshow he was born into.” He taps the pack of cigarettes on his palm, biting his lower lip to shut himself up. “Anyway, I gotta get home—”

“Eddie Munson?” He turns around to see a young woman standing behind him. Her low-cut top shows off the top of her breasts, cleavage pushed up by a bra, and her jeans hug every curve. She purses her pink-glossed lips together in a flirtatious smile.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I’m Lisa.” She says this like Eddie should already know this, and he’s embarrassed to admit to himself that he can’t place the name or face. “We hooked up last summer at the Hideout? In the men’s room?” Lisa lowers her voice seductively to whisper that detail. “I haven’t seen you there in a while.”

“Oh, yeah.” There have been multiple men’s room hook-ups, but he’s not about to play detective to figure out exactly who she is, so he plays along. “The band’s been on a bit of a…hiatus, I guess.” From his peripheral vision, he can see Jeff ducking his head, and his cheeks burn with the truth.

Lisa juts out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout, though Eddie knows it’s all for show. “That’s too bad.” She lets her hand rest on his chest, leaning into him and twirling a strand of his hair around a polished fingernail. “If you’re not busy tonight, I’d love to have you over for drinks and…dessert? Recreate that night at the bar, minus the urinal?”

Eddie moves her arms from his vicinity, putting a necessary space between them. “Um, n-nah. No thanks,” he clarifies. “I’m, uh, kinda involved with someone, so…”

She remains undaunted, a small chuckle escaping her throat. “I can keep a secret. She doesn’t have to know.” She takes another step forward to close the gap, and he’s so goddamn tempted, but he shakes it off. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going to happen between you and him, but he knows he’s not going to sabotage any potential relationship.

“Well, I’ll know,” he retorts, “and I’ll feel like shit about it.”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Your loss.” She pivots on one heel and mumbles something under her breath that Eddie doesn’t even bother to interpret.

Jeff looks at Eddie with an amused grin as he shifts his weight from one side to the other. “So, you’re involved with someone?” He knows from what Jess has told him that Eddie went on a date with you a few days ago, but he couldn’t gauge the seriousness of the situation.

“I think so. At least, I was, until about fifteen minutes ago.” He relents and fills Jeff in about everything that happened, from your conversation over steaming coffee mugs, to the amazing kiss you’d shared as snowflakes collected on your eyelashes, to the unexpected confrontation after Grandma’s funeral today.

Jeff sighs, but it’s one of sympathy, not exasperation. “You did the right thing,” he says finally.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jeff laughs, punching him playfully on the arm. “I’m serious. And you did the right thing just now, too, with that groupie.” He clears his throat. “Viv’s baby shower is in a couple weeks. Ladies only, y’know, but I could use some help loading all the gifts into the car. And we could grab some lunch beforehand, if you want.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, that would be great. Might have to let Harris tag along, if that’s all right.” He doesn’t want to keep asking Wayne to babysit, no matter how much the old man insists that he doesn’t mind.

“Of course. You know that little man is always welcome.” Jeff says, walking towards the register. “I’ll call you with the details.”

Eddie hesitates, letting his friend pass him by a few paces before he calls out. “Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“What do I do about…” Eddie trails off, unwilling to finish his sentence. He feels absolutely ridiculous having this conversation in the middle of the drugstore, but he’s desperate not to fuck this up further.

Jeff scratches at his stubble with his free hand, contemplating the options as only someone who’s been in a long-term relationship and hasn’t had to navigate the nuances of a fresh relationship in ages can. “Give her some time; a few days, at least. She’s going through a lot. She needs her space, y’know, to figure things out.”

It’s not the answer Eddie was hoping for; patience has never been his forte. He wishes that Jeff would have told him to chase after you, to go get the girl and make sure she knows how much she means to him. But he knows that his friend is right, and he acknowledges his response with a small smile. “Thanks, man.”

“See ya around, Ed.”

Eddie unlocks his apartment door, new pack of cigarettes in one hand and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s tucked under the other arm. He doesn’t usually splurge on ice cream, but every romantic comedy cliche has instructed him that it’s the perfect remedy for heartbreak. If that’s even what this is, he thinks, but he knows it’s true. After doing everything in his power to prevent it, he’d allowed you to break his heart. And as he shoves a spoon into the container of Devil’s Food Chocolate, it dawns on him that he’d do it all again.

He’d come to your rescue and pick the lock of Grandma’s bedroom door. He’d sit around the table and eat pizza with you, Harris, and Grandma every Wednesday night. He’d drive to your house with store-brand cookies and watch cheesy Thanksgiving movies with you just to see the smile on your face. He’d take you out for coffee and kiss you in the snow a thousand times over. And he’d go to Grandma’s funeral and drive you home and turn down your offer for sex and break his own fucking heart again and again if it meant protecting you.

He shimmies out of his starchy dress pants and unbuttons his shirt, leaving himself in just a white undershirt and his boxers as he sinks deeper into the sofa. He reaches over for the remote–now that he works when Harris is in school, he rarely has time to watch something that he actually enjoys–and notices the phone’s red flashing light indicating that he has a new voicemail.

He presses play with a clumsy finger on the button, expecting Wayne’s gruff voice or a reminder for an overdue bill. When he hears that it’s you, he sits up straight, nearly dropping his ice cream.

“Hi, Eddie. It’s me. I’m so sorry for what happened earlier. I’m sure you’re probably mad, but I just want you to know…it wouldn’t have been meaningless. It wasn’t meaningless the night we met when it was supposed to be meaningless.” You take a deep breath. “I’m going back home for the holidays. Um, I’m not sure when…if…I’m coming back, but before I leave, I had to apologize for what I said. You’re a great guy, Eddie. I hope you know that. Have, um, have a nice holiday. Okay, bye.”

Eddie remains still, a loud silence enveloping the room once the machine relays that he’s reached the end of new messages. He’s dissecting every word you’d uttered, replaying them over and over.

It wasn’t meaningless the night we met when it was supposed to be meaningless.

So you’d felt it, too; that spark much stronger than the usual lust that overcomes him during hookups. And while he’d tried to convince himself that he’d only asked you to cuddle, had you stay over out of post-sex, post-show delirium, he can’t deny the truth any longer.

He’d asked because he felt comfortable around you, like he could hold you forever and whisper secrets that scare him to even admit to himself. Maybe it was because you’d seen Harris’s car seat that night and hadn’t run for the hills, or maybe it was the way you’d kissed him like he was worth savoring. And the morning after, when he’d all but chased you out of the apartment…Christ, you didn’t deserve that.

I’m not sure when…if…I’m coming back.

The ‘when’ he could handle, but that ‘if’ was a weight on his chest. He questions his actions for a moment–should he have slept with you? Showed you how wanted and cherished and safe you were with him? Given your mind a chance to wander from the grief choking it? But Jeff said he had done the right thing, and considering the man was engaged with a baby on the way, Eddie figured he had to know something about women.

You’re a great guy, Eddie. I hope you know that.

Is he? He’s certainly a better man than when you’d first met him, but is he actually a great guy? He’d bought you coffee and didn’t fuck you when you were too vulnerable to truly consent–is that what constitutes greatness, or is he just a step above a piece of shit?

And, of course, part of him is angry. Not only because you were so easily willing to use him–although that realization definitely stings–but mostly because you’d thought he’d want to. After everything you two had been through, did you truly believe that he’d be unbothered? That he’d throw away all of that progress just to get his dick wet? Is that how little you think of him? Eddie doesn’t want the answer.

The ice cream is melting, so he forgoes the spoon and just takes a swig from the pint. He licks the chocolatey residue from his lips before standing up to put the carton in the freezer. Tacked onto the refrigerator is Harris’s picture from Halloween where Eddie and Ms. Sweetheart are holding hands.

He plucks it from under the magnet, staring at it intently. The memory of his son and his uncle asking him about you, that pretty like a princess remark, the unfurling realization that he felt things for you that he’d thought he was incapable of feeling. He never should have taken their ribbings, inadvertently getting his hopes up that there was something there worth pursuing.

Without thinking, Eddie crumples the paper in his fist, crushing the family portrait into a ball. “Shit,” he mutters, placing it on the table and smoothing it out as best as he can. His hands glide over the drawing, rubbing over every crease until it looks good as new and Harris will be none the wiser.

But Eddie knows what’s been destroyed. What he doesn’t know is whether or not it can be smoothed out.

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punk4ndisorderly · 10 months

Text

babyfather

Y/N wants to have more babies. Her husband's infertility will not get in the way of that.

Y/N wants something only Quinn will give her.

warning: this series will feature smut. i'm not very good at it but i think i needed to add some spice to the plot. it starts in part 2, so read at your own risk, i guess?

the social media prelude

I - you really blew this, babe II

He couldn’t believe his eyes. It couldn’t be. Y/N Y/L/N, eyes bloodshot and puffy face, sniffling, ushering their daughter inside. She wasn’t one to cry very often. Tears were only shed when she felt like her heart was being torn up from her chest. Or when she was incredibly mad. Normally at him.

Quinn considered his options, his right foot taking a step before he stopped himself from actually crossing the threshold of his ex’s new suburban home. They had talked about this. They had discussed boundaries. He was not to invite himself into the house she shared with her new husband. Not even if he was nowhere to be seen. He would’ve told that asshole Eric when he demanded such thing to fuck off, before staring into the eyes of the love of his life and see her begging him to indulge the child she was now married to.

Perhaps waiting for her to come back was the right thing. He wouldn’t want to cause her unnecessary grief, even if his heart constricted in his chest at the sight of her and he wanted nothing more but to clutch her to his chest and assure her that, whatever it was, they could get through it together. Even if they couldn’t anymore.

It wasn’t long before she was back, tugging at the sleeves of her large, well-worn wool sweater. Quinn was aware that she was avoiding looking him in the eye.

“Right. I know you have her next weekend, but I was think about going home to visit my parents and I know they really wants to see her, so I wanted to ask you if we could switch.” Y/N muttered, her gaze fixated on the small garden behind him.

“Yes, don’t worry about it. I didn’t have anything planned yet.”

That was a compassionate lie: he was going to take Willow to an animal shelter so she could pick a pet for him. Too many lonely, silent nights in his apartment downtown. His mom had been on his case about finding himself some company. Of course he probably meant human company, but beggars can’t be choosers. His last meaningful relationship had been with the mother of his child, and the other women that had entertained him along the way usually didn’t take long before realizing they wouldn’t around for long.

“Thank you, Quinn.” she smiled weakly, finally meeting his eyes.

“Is something going on?” the Canucks player intruded, staring intensely at the golden fleck in her irises.

“What?”

“You look upset.”

“This?” Y/N chuckled, pointing at her face. “Spring allergies.”

“Y/N.”

His stern tone told her more than any words could. He knew she was lying. He always did. She used to deny it broke her heart to be so much time apart because of work back when they were together. Assured him they would be fine and it was for the best when she decided their relationship couldn’t endure the strain and the stress of distance. Lies he pretended to believe because he desperately wanted to.

“Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

Y/N tried swallowing the lump on her throat away. It wouldn’t budge. She stepped aside, leaving room for him to walk past her and inside.

“Come in.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N.” Quinn said lowly, scanning her face for any indication of retraction. “Your husband made it clear I wasn’t welcome inside.”

“Don’t worry about him, Quinny.” the mother of his child nearly whispered, defeat clear in her voice.

He nodded solemnly, entering her house for the first time since she moved in. She hadn’t used that nickname in a long time.

Spacious, homey, filled with light. It had Y/N written all over it. Their daughter’s drawings framed and scattered around the walls made him smile, as the woman who used to love him led him to a crème couch, gesturing for him to sit down.

“Do you want tea?”

“You don’t drink tea, honey. That’s a trick question.” he retorted, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I always have it at home, though. Old habits die hard.”

It took everything in him not to beg her to choose him, right then and there. She used to stock up on all his favorite tea, even if he was never around to drink it. Made him a cup every day, before they went to bed. Mocked him for the scandalous amount of sugar he insisted on pouring in it. After all this time, she still kept tea around for him. Even if he couldn’t come inside to drink it.

“Then it’s a yes from me, thank you.”

Left alone in the living room, he could hear Willow sing loudly upstairs, her little feet stomping around on the wooden floor. The best gift Y/N had ever given him, up there with her love. Not being there when she woke up and when she went to bed every day ate away at his heart. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“I nearly emptied out my sugar stash on this, so it better be good.” the mother of his child teased, handing him the steaming hot mug with a look of mock disgust.

“Perfect.” he praised, taking a sip of the sweet tea. “Are you going to tell me what happened now?”

“You’re not letting it go, are you?”

“No, but I appreciate the effort at deflecting.”

She sighed deeply, sitting on the other end of the couch.

“Eric.”

Quinn tensed at the mention of her new husband’s name. They had been married for two years now, apparently happily so, but he couldn’t help but resent the man that inevitably had stepped into his shoes and shut him out of the new family home. The dark-haired man only had himself to blame for letting her go, but Eric was willingly carving a place for himself in her heart, replacing the memories of him, erasing his touch off her skin, bit by bit.

“I see. Do I need to call up on old favors?"

“If you had come by an hour ago, I probably would have told you to go for it, but I think you would only be wasting it on him.” Y/N chuckled humorlessly.

“Come on, don’t stall.”

Y/N looked him in the eye, hers brimming with tears. He wanted to reach for her, cradle her face in his hands, hold it to his own and whisper kind words into her lips, but he held back. Willow needed at least one of her parents not to be on the brink of crushing heartbreak. It was his turn to be the strong one.

“If you don’t want to talk about it it’s okay. I’m sorry I insisted. I was just worried about - ”

“I kicked him out.” she blurted, tapping at the corner of her eyes to get rid of stray droplets. “He has been lying to me for the better part of our marriage.”

Anger rose in his chest. How dare he?

“You know how I’ve always wanted to give Will a sibling.”

Yes. That had been all they talked about ever since they first found out about her pregnancy. She had to have at least one sibling. Y/N knew what it was like to be an only child and he knew what is was like to grow up with siblings so they agreed on it. But life got in the way and along came Eric, Quinn's dreams of fathering more children with Y/N crashing down in flames.

He nodded, prompting her to go on.

“Eric knew that as well, and he seemed to want a baby as well when we first talked about it, even before we got married. I told him a year ago I wanted to start trying. I’m getting older, Willow's getting bigger and now would be the perfect time to do it… He says yes. I go off the pill. We try. Over and over again. Everywhere. All the time. Even -”

“Okay, sweetheart, I get the picture.” Quinn interrupted, the details of her sex life with another man an excruciating form of torture.

“And we’ve been trying for a year. I’m not getting pregnant. With Will it took us a month. Something must be wrong with me, right?”

"No. Nothing’s ever wrong with you, Y/N.”

“Wrong. I got a doctor’s appointment. I am fine. Great cervix. Ovarian reserve? Excellent. All tests indicate I’m a very fertile woman. So I decided to book Eric an appointment at the urologist. The doctor’s assistant asked me if he had any problems after his procedure, last year. What procedure, you ask? A vasectomy, Q. A fucking vasectomy. After telling me he wanted children just as much as I did. After I married him. Before we started to fuck like rabbits so I could get pregnant.”

Quinn was speechless. How could someone willingly deceive her like that? Trick her into a legally binding relationship, only to deny her her simplest wish? How could he have let her fall in the hands of a man so careless with her heart?

“Say something. Please. I need to know if I’m crazy for hurting.”

“Hey.” the dark-haired man said, not bothering to keep himself in check and reaching out to touch her cheek. “You’re not crazy. I was just caught off guard.”

“Good. I mean, it’s not completely insane of me to kick him out for this?”

“Without wanting to sound biased, I would’ve done the same thing, Y/N.”

The mother of his child nodded severely, as if convincing herself. He let her think in silence, removing his hand from her face and drinking his tea. After a few minutes, her gaze landed on him, a hint of sadness and resignation on her face.

“How did we end up here?”

“I was a stupid son of a bitch and let you walk away. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it weren’t for that. We’d probably have three kids by now. We’d have to lock the door anytime we wanted some time alone. They’d gang up on us to get what they wanted, Willow would obviously be leading the troops. I’d probably be trying to get another baby into you at this very second.”

“Quinn…” she spoke, breathlessly.

“Don’t mind me.” he waved her off, immediately regretting voicing his wants. “Wishful thinking.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes prompt #quinn hughes blurb #future smut #hockey #hockey boys #team usa #jack hughes #alex turcotte #cole caufield #trevor zegras #luke hughes #hockey fanfiction #quinn hughes fanfiction

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dancingtotuyo · 2 months

Text

7. when she lets me call her mine

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: a year passes through Jackson

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: angst, blood, grief (loss of a sibling, loss of a child), trauma, anxiety

Notes: Once again, thank you to @janaispunk and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading this! I appreciate all your comments and feedback, and I love you both so much!

Words: 8311

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Joel coaxes you awake the next morning. Your room is bright with sunshine. He’s dressed in his clothes from last night, smelling like your soap. Your body protests, wanting nothing more than to fall back asleep until the end of time. You groan burrowing into your pillow, making him chuckle. Then, the events of last night come flooding back. Adrenaline shoots through your body as you shoot up. Your head spins a little. “Maria?”

“She’s awake. Doc Pooley stopped by this morning, said she looks good so far.” Joel wraps an arm around you, tugging you closer. “Just wanted you to know.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, Sweetheart.”

You pick at the buttons on his shirt as you remember it all. “For last night. Everything.”

Your temple rests against his forehead. His steady breathing calms you until the two of you are in unison. Joel kisses your head. His fingertips brush across your thigh.

“I want to go over there.”

“Tommy said we’re welcome anytime. I think he feels better having you there.”

“Do I look as atrocious as I feel?” You turn to him.

Joel chuckles, shaking his head. “Got some big bags under your eyes, and some gnarly morning breath.”

“Gnarly? Really?”

“Only the best of words for you.” Joel winks. “I’ll get you some breakfast while you get ready.”

“Thank you.”

Maria is sitting up when you get there. Her eyes are bloodshot, her shoulders sag with exhaustion, but she’s alive, and she looks a hell of a lot better than she did the night before. The baby lays contently on her chest. She smiles at you over his head. “If it isn’t my guardian angel.”

Your chest quivers with relief as you ease beside her, perching on the edge of the mattress. Out of the corner of your eye, Joel gives Tommy a delayed but obligatory congratulatory handshake.

“I’m just happy to see you awake.”

“You look like shit.” Maria teases.

“Oh, I look like shit?” You raise an eyebrow. “Look in a mirror.”

Maria laughs softly, successfully hiding the cringe of pain behind it. “I’m never leaving this bed.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy crosses his arms. “She was tryin’ to get out of bed this mornin.”

You smile, eyes roaming over Maria, searching for any signs of something wrong. You can’t find any, but it hardly eases your anxiety.

Maria squeezes your hand. “If something felt wrong, I would tell you.”

“Promise?”

She nods, a smile spreading across her face as her eyes flicker to her sleeping newborn. “I have someone dependent on me now.”

“He’s not the only one dependent on you,” You say with a sigh. When you look down at Jackson’s newest addition, you can’t help but smile either. “Though he may be the cutest.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Maria runs a hand over his tuft of dark curls. “You wanna hold him?”

You nod, carefully taking the infant into your arms. Other than the brief moment when you’re delivering a baby, you haven’t held one this small since Carter was born. “Does he have a name yet?”

“Yes,” Maria smiles at Tommy. He places a hand on her shoulder. Your heart swells every time you see them like this. As much as Maria championed your relationship with Gabe, you did for her with Tommy. “Meet Elias Joel Miller.”

“What?” It seems to tumble out of Joel’s mouth automatically. “Now why would you do a thing like that?”

“Maria wouldn’t be here without you,” Tommy says. You swear you see the sparkle of tears in his eyes.

Joel clears his throat, eyes moving between his nephew and brother. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I think they’re capable of deciding what to name their child, Joel.” You grin, pressing a kiss to Elias’s head. “Now come hold your nephew.”

Maria’s recovery isn’t easy. It takes a lot of time, more than either of you anticipate. You spend days at her house and nights on the couch, caring for her when Tommy is on patrol. Eventually, slowly, she returns to full strength. She cares for her son and husband and all of Jackson with the same grace, strength, and capabilities as before. When she does, she kicks you out of her home with a grin.

It’s gradual at first, the way you pull away. Joel chalks it up to Maria’s close call, the amount of time you spend caring for her and Elias.

As the air begins to cool, you ask to walk alone. Joel picks it up the moment he meets you on the porch that night. He sees the distance in your eyes. Kissing your forehead, he crosses the street to his home without so much as a word. You’re relieved despite the dull ache in your chest.

You toss and turn that night. Your thoughts race with anxiety. The fall air seems especially chilly without Joel there to keep you warm.

Joel joins you the next night, but you’re quiet, too quiet. He tries, bless his heart, to keep it light and cheerful doing his best to pull you from the sea of thoughts. Despite his best efforts, you only give him brief sounds and one-word answers. When he wraps his arms around you that night, you don’t lean in.

None of it surprises him. He expects it. He would’ve done the same thing this time last year. What he doesn’t expect is the gaping ache in his chest as he watches it happen a little more each day like the autumn leaves falling from trees. The tighter he holds on, the more you slip through his fingers. So he takes the opposite approach. He keeps his distance. He stops meeting you in the middle of the road. He only comes over when you ask.

You expect the space to grant you relief, but it only gets harder to breathe. You toss and turn at night. The bed is empty. You’ve grown accustomed to having Joel next to you. There’s no clarity to your thoughts, no sense to your actions. The push and pull is tiring: missing Joel but not letting him too close.

You step onto your porch on a Friday in mid-October. You’ve walked alone, slept alone for almost a week. The only time you’ve seen Joel are the afternoons Carter asks to spend with him.

Joel sits on his porch, leaning back in a rocking chair. His guitar is propped on his knee. It stops you in your tracks, stealing your breath. He’s had the unstrung guitar in his home since June, but now, even from across the street, you clearly see several silver strings running across the frets. A couple of bright notes bridge the gap between you.

Instead of stepping into the street and setting along your beaten trail, your bottom hits the wooden step. You stare across the street, transported to 20 years ago when you and Joel lived across from one another the first time. Even at the end of the world, some things never change. You remember him sitting on his porch in the Austin suburb, the same angle to his recline, fingers playing over the strings. You used to open your bedroom window at night, straining to hear the faint rifts he played. Sometimes, his voice drifted through your curtain as you pined for a man who very rightfully, never looked your way. Those were your favorite nights.

Tonight, you don’t watch in secret. You don’t have to strain to hear the melody coming off the strings. You spent too much time wanting Joel, and he’s yours to have if you can only shake the fear away. It seems silly that the world ended and you somehow ended up with the only thing you wanted before it did. Now, you’re in self-destruct mode. You don’t know how to stop it. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you continue to watch Joel and his guitar without embarrassment.

Joel clocks you the moment you step out. He watches you from his periphery at first, surprised when you take a seat on the steps instead of going for your walk. He plucks at the strings refamiliarizing himself with the instruments after decades of separation. He’s only been able to find 4 good strings, but it is enough for now. The taught strings feel like therapy beneath his fingers connecting him with something unseen.

Joel continues to pick out the melody, becoming more confident with each play-through. He misses a few notes due to his missing strings, but something about it tugs at the strings of familiarity.

Finally, you stand, crossing the street. Joel doesn’t look up when you make it to his porch. Resting against the railing, he plucks away as the melody finally hits you. You’re embarrassed at how long it takes you to recognize it. Landslide. Memories flood your mind. You ran that cassette until it busted. When the Dixie Chicks put out their cover in ‘02, you and Sarah played it on repeat.

You focus on Joel’s fingers, the words forming in your head as he closes out the song. He leaves the guitar on his lap. Your arms fold over your chest, and his warm brown eyes reach yours.

The breeze catches your hair. You bite your lip, yet Joe doesn’t say a word. “I love that song.”

“I know.”

You raise an eyebrow. He chuckles. “You played that song on repeat for a week, Sweetheart. Sarah forced me to learn it.”

“Like you didn’t already know it, old timer.”

Joel pushes back a laugh, propping the guitar against the house. You catch the tension in his shoulders. Guilt shoots through you. You want to crack open his thoughts and curl into his brain. Is he upset? Hurt? Does he think you’ve come to call this thing off? This thing you’ve never labeled. Does he want to call it off after your actions?

“I’m sorry.”

Joel quirks a brow.

“For pulling away.” You add.

Joel lets out a deep sigh as he stands. Worry floods your body. You have succeeded. You pushed him away, and this is where things end. He steps forward. His body heat cuts through the fall chill. His fingers brush across your cheek and over your ear. Your head tilts into his palm.

“Joel-” You whisper.

“I’ve missed you.”

His words cut all the anxiety from you with a surgeon's precision. “I missed you too.”

He kisses you, tentative and understanding. It doesn’t silence your fears but gives you the budding courage to face them. Joel’s fingers curl around your face. His flannel is soft in your clenched fists. As you tug him closer, a grin spreads across your face.

Joel trails his hands down your back and over your ass. He wants to tell you so much more. He wants to tell you that he’s more than missed you. His arms have ached without you. He wants to tell you you feel like coming home, that if he never spends another night without you, it won’t be enough. He wants to scream from the rooftops that he’s yours and he wants you to be his, but he knows that all of that will send you running. He still sees the fear in your eyes.

Instead, he presses you against him, opening your mouth with his tongue. For the sake of not giving the whole town a show, he pulls you inside, dragging you to his bedroom.

The cold winds blow in and snowflakes drift about the sky as you follow Carter from house to house on Halloween night. He’s happily escorted by Ellie and Dina, relishing in their attention. The bright orange of Reese’s wrappers and red of Kitkats might be gone, but the town of Jackson knows how to improvise. Homemade sweets fill baskets and pillowcases. Joel walks alongside you, hand in yours. He wears an easy smile, one that keeps you warm as the sun sets behind the mountains.

“Remember the year Sarah convinced you to come trick or treating with us?” A faint grin spreads across Joel’s face.

“I remember all my Mr. Goodbars missing when I got home.”

Joel laughs. “Sarah always liked those.”

“Pretty sure it wasn’t Sarah I left unattended with my pillowcase.” You roll your eyes. “And she was more of a Reese’s girl.”

“Pretty sure 18-year-olds weren’t supposed to go trick or treating.”

“Touché,” You smile.

Joel presses a kiss to the back of your hand before furrowing his brow. “Your hands are freezing, Sweetheart.”

“It’s snowing outside, of course, they are.”

“Wanna go back to my house? I can start a fire.” Joel grins. Since the weather had turned, you spent more time at his house due to the beautiful fireplace in his living room and your home’s lack of. Evenings spent in front of his fireplace are some of your favorites.

“We’ve only made it through half the houses.”

“I think Ellie and Dina are fine with Carter. He doesn’t even know we’re here.” Joel points. It’s true. He adores the ground those two walk on.

You bite your lip, torn between seeing the rest of the evening out and the promise of Joel’s fireplace. Carter’s nose is tinged with red from the chill, but his grin is unbeatable. Joel’s breath is warm on your ear. “Made up your mind.”

“Promise it doesn’t make me a bad mom?”

“I promise.” Joel laughs.

You double-check with the girls, making sure they know they can bring him back to the house at any time. They assure you it’s fine and then Joel drags you off.

He has the fire burning in no time, casting an orange glow across the room. He sits down next to you, an overly full glass of whisky to share. Your legs rest over his thighs as he runs his fingers over your shoulder. “Warmer?”

You sip on the glass, handing it to him. “In more ways than one.”

Pressing the glass to his lips, he chuckles. “Gone are the days of subtlety I suppose.”

“I don’t need subtlety anymore.” Your head rests on his shoulder, tracing the seams of his jeans.

He kisses your head. “Wanna raid Carter’s candy when he gets back?”

You grin. “Isn’t that the point of being a parent?”

Snow begins to pile up. The holiday season is upon Jackson. As you exit the clinic one day, it hits you, literally, in the back of the head. Cold and icy, some of it drips down your skin. You spin around, met with Ellie’s apologetic grin.

“Oops.”

You furrow your brow, a teasing glimmer in your eye. “Gotta work on your aim there, Ellie.” Your bag drops to the ground, hands meeting the cold snow.

“I didn’t throw it.” Her grin grows as she slowly backs away.

“Oh?” You take care to form the snowball, calling on your years of travel softball. “You need to get better at lying.”

“Duck!” someone yells. You manage to and the snowball hits Ellie square in the face. A laugh grows in your chest as Jesse appears around the corner, a handful of snow ready to stuff down the back of Ellie’s shirt.

“Ellie, move!” instead of sending it her way, you barely graze Jesse’s head.

Before you know it, you’re pulled into their war. Your hands go numb. Snow finds itself in places it should never be, melting from your body heat. Most importantly, you’re having fun in ways you haven’t for a long long time.

Two strong arms wrap around you. They’re Joel’s. You would know them anywhere. His laugh echoes in your ear. Then, he’s pulling you down into a snow drift. Your coat rides up, cold snow pressing into your back. You squeal, trying to wiggle free, but he keeps you pinned.

“You jackass!” You thrash under him.

He laughs. “You should learn to pick on people your own age.”

“They started it!”

Snow smashes on the back of Joel’s neck. He yells, spinning around. You’re forgotten as Ellie laughs, running away. “You little twirp!” Joel yells and then a snowball collides with his face.

“See what I mean?” You stumble onto your feet, the ghost of the cold still pressed against your skin. “They’re asking for it.”

“You flank the left. I’ll take the right.” Joel nods.

The two of you are hopelessly outmanned by the 3 teenagers as snow pelts your face in such quick succession that you can hardly think straight. Within seconds, Joel calls out “Retreat!”

His calloused hand grabs yours, dragging you toward his house like you’re teenagers running from the cops. Laughter spills from both of you the entire way there. Your hands shoot to your knees as you struggle to catch your breath. Joel assumes a similar position.

“Gettin too damn old for that shit,” Joel says, laughter still in his tone.

“But it sure was fun.” You wink.

Joel eases up, his knees and back letting off a string of cracks and pops. You glance over at him, laughter playing in your eyes. He shoots you a look that tells you not to say a word, making you bite your lip. “I’m gonna get a fire going.”

You nod, kissing his cheek. “I’m gonna hop through the shower.”

Joel catches your waist before you dash up the steps, pulling you snug against him. “Give me a real kiss, Woman.”

You crinkle your eyebrows at the name, but Joel lays a breath-stealing kiss on you before you have time to make a comment. Warmth spreads through your body. He pulls away with a grin. Your eyes flutter open, connecting with his eyes and then glancing down to his lips again. ”Sure you won’t join me?”

He groans. “If I do that, we’re not getting out of bed tonight.”

”I don’t see any issues with that.”

He squeezes your ass, giving you another kiss. “Go get showered. I’ll be waiting for you,” he says, practically pushing you towards the steps. You laugh. “And don’t go stealing all my hot water!”

You answer with a laugh.

Carter is in the living room when you come down. Your body hums with warmth from your shower. He sits on Joel’s lap, animatedly recounting something. Even from behind, you can see Joel’s face moving with exaggerated motions. Carter’s vocabulary is getting better with each day to the point where you can put together most of his stories now.

You fall onto the couch, thighs pressed against Joel’s. “Mommy!” Carter launches himself toward you. You barely manage to avoid getting your two front teeth knocked in, kissing his chunky cheeks.

“Carter!” You reply, squeezing him against you.

Before long, Ellie comes stomping in, cheeks rosy from the cold. The four of you eat leftovers in front of the fire, spending time together until Ellie is pulled away by her friends and Carter passes out on the couch. You and Joel stay on the floor, his arm around your shoulders.

“I think I have a problem, Sweetheart.”

The words are like ice water in your veins causing your heart rate to spike and your anxiety with it. You’ve heard those exact words before. ”What’s wrong?”

“I’m getting too used to having you around.”

Your jaw sets, fist colliding with his shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?”

”Scaring the bejesus out of me.”

He kisses your head, hand roaming down your neck and shoulders. “Sorry. Guess I should work on my delivery.”

”Ya think?” You sigh, resting your head back on his shoulder.

It falls silent. Blood rushes behind your ears. The adrenaline courses through your dysregulating body. It’s just words. Joel was just being silly, but your body won’t listen. It won’t settle. You’ve heard those words before. It turns your vision a red you can’t wipe away. Before you know it, your body is shaking. “Fuck.” You barely get it out before you lose control over your body.

Joel’s brow furrows as he cups your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

Your head shakes as your fingers claw at his jeans, twisting in his shirt, desperate to find stability somewhere. Tears slip from your eyes, flowing over his hands. Fear rushes through Joel. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You choke it out, barely over a whisper. “Carter.”

”He’s right there.” Joel brings you into his lap, turning you to look at your son’s sleeping frame. “He’s okay.”

You shake your head, sniffing. It hurts to talk like there’s a lump in your throat, your diaphragm constricting in painful ways. “No- my- my brother.”

Joel searches your wet eyes. You’re not here. You’re along the outskirts of Jackson in a place you’ve only alluded to. He knows Carter died. He knows that death left you on your own. He doesn’t have words. He’s not sure you would hear them anyway, so he crushes you against his chest, rocking you back and forth like a mother does to her hurt child until your body stops shaking.

As the tension releases from your body, you weave your fingers through Joel’s. Eventually, you slide down, back against the hard floor, and head on Joel’s thighs. His thumb brushes over your wet cheek as you look at each other. The tears still pour from your eyes, but they don’t try to rip you apart anymore.

The fire has died down, but it’s still warm against your side. The flames dance off Joel’s irises. When you can finally draw a breath without your rib cage rattling, you attempt to speak. “I’m sorry-“

”Don’t.” Joel is soft. “Don’t apologize for it.”

You nod. He keeps brushing his fingers across your face. “I'm ready to talk about it.”

He freezes for a second and then nods.

“Carter was hurt when a group of raiders came through, but they didn’t kill him.”

Joel inhales sharply. You squeeze his hand. “He was hurt and there was nothing I could do.”

The image flashes before your eyes, your baby brother bleeding out slowly on the floor of a place with so many cherished memories. “He bled out so slowly.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“That’s not true.”

“Baby-”

“I could’ve-” You bite down on your lip, on the verge of breaking the delicate skin. “I should’ve helped him.”

“You just said you couldn’t do anything.”

“No- I mean…” Your chest shakes again. “He didn’t have to die like that. Slow and painful. He- Shit.” Your chest aches, tension tight across it.

Joel’s palm lands over your heart. It stays still for a minute and then moves in slow, pressurized motions. It doesn’t make it hurt less, but it eases the band constricting around your rib cage. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

You take one last deep breath and utter the words you’ve only said out loud once before. “He begged me to make it stop, the pain. I knew- I know how to make it quick. He spent hours in pain and I couldn’t bring myself to make it better.”

Hot tears roll down your cheeks again. Joel collects them on his thumbs. “Sweetheart.”

You ease into a sitting position, taking his hand and tracing the lines in his palm “What you said- about thinking you had a problem.”

Joel traces along your hairline, following it behind your ear. “Yeah?”

“He said that to me, right before I saw the blood.”

Joel leans forward, kissing your forehead. Another pocket of tension fizzles away. “I’m sorry.” Another kiss. “But thank you for tellin me.”

You nod, forehead pressed to his, fingers scraping softly at the back of his skull. He kisses your jaw. “Let’s go to bed.”

Joel stands, offering out his hand. You feel a little off-kilter on your feet, but he makes sure you’re steady before gently picking Carter off the couch, careful not to disturb him. Joel takes your hand, leading you upstairs. You tuck Carter into the bed of the spare bedroom. He’s familiar with it by now.

Once you’re in Joel’s room, you shed your clothing, crawling under the cool sheets in just your underwear. Joel slides in behind you, strong arms keep you flush against him, his warm skin pressed against yours.

“Joel…”

“Yeah?”

“When the weather gets nice, I want to go to my grandparent’s place. I want to visit him.”

Joel nods, lips warm against your shoulder. “Whatever you want, Sweetheart. I’ll take you.

The snow drifts melt away. The weather warms. Spring showers bring fresh green and pink buds, the grass growing more vibrant with each day. Birds chirp and the days grow longer. With it, your evening walks return, Joel ever-present beside you except when he’s on patrol.

He spends free days outside of the wall. Your anxiety heightens when he goes out, but something else stirs too. You haven’t been out in years. You had been quickly nixed from the patrol lineup when your medical training had been dubbed too important. Since the walls were completed, you haven’t set foot outside of them. There’s a call, a tug, deep within you. For the first time, you want to leave the safety promised by the tall gates.

You walk the parapet sometimes. During the cold months, the breeze up there stings more, chapping your face. In the summer, it soothes you.

Joel comes back one day with a small bouquet of barely blooming wildflowers. They’re tiny. They look even smaller in Joel’s large hands. He looks almost timid handing them to you. “Ain’t much. They’ll be a lot prettier ones come summertime.”

”These are beautiful.” You smile, taking the delicate buds in your hands.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Joel says, eyes following as you find the best vessel to hold the tender gift.

“That’s what they say.”

Joel crosses his arms, hip resting against the counter. “I was thinkin’.”

”Uh-oh.” You shoot a teasing grin over your shoulder.

He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “How original of you.”

“I try.” You shrug, setting the flowers on the counter. You mimic his stance. “Now what were you thinkin?”

“That tomorrow would be a good day to go to your grandparents’ place.”

Everything in your body, your heart, your breathing, your brain, stops for a split second. You feel outside of your body as it happens. Joel steps forward, hand gripping your bicep. It snaps you back, eyes locking on his.

“We don’t have to.”

”No.” Blood rushes behind your ears. “I want to. I’m ready.”

“You went white as a ghost, sweetheart.”

You take a deep breath. “I want to, Joel.”

He searches your face, looking for any signs that you’re not. “You sure? I can’t have you floating away like that when we’re out there.”

”I’m sure. I told you I wanted to.”

”Wanting to and ready to are very different things.”

“I’m ready.”

Joel waits a second, weighing the options and your words. He takes a breath. “Okay, we’ll leave at first light tomorrow.”

”Thank you.”

He kisses your forehead, arms wrapping around your shoulders. “I’ll turn us around if you do that, okay?”

Your fingers tangle in the fabric of his worn shirt. “Can’t tell Maria.”

”Gonna have to smuggle you out, huh?”

”Something like that.” You grin.

Joel laughs, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Luckily, I have some experience with that.”

Joel has two horses saddled and waiting at the gate when you approach the next morning. Electricity buzzes in your bloodstream at the thought of stepping out beyond the gate for the first time in years. The air is crisp but promises spring warmth later in the day as birds start to chirp.

“You sure?” Joel asks, reigns in hand.

“Yes,” you grin, taking them as you mount the horse. A rifle sits in the saddle holster. You shift in the saddle, taking a deep breath.

Joel looks up at you, concern evident in his deep brown eyes. He’s worried, maybe even scared. A knife materializes. “Keep this on you. Somewhere accessible.”

You take it, hands warm against his. “I know.”

“This too.” He pulls out a pistol.

You stare at the metal, flickering in the growing sunlight. You know your way around a gun. You’ve been comfortable handling them long before cordyceps. Growing up in Texas made sure of that, but you haven’t had to touch one in too long.

“Darlin.”

You take it from him. “I’m good, Joel.”

“You can get us there?”

“Yup.”

He nods, ensuring you’re secured before mounting his horse. He looks at the gate attendant and they crack the door open just enough for the two of you to slip through.

Wind and sunshine greet you and a huge smile crawls up your face. You kick the horse forward, Joel and his mount keeping pace next to you. The further from Jackson you get, the more you feel the weight start to lift from your shoulders despite the heaviness awaiting you.

Joel sees it. The bits and pieces of your younger self come out in your smile and laughter. Your body seems looser, freer in the open. He makes a note to sneak you out more often.

You take your time, an internal compass guiding you toward the place that kept you safe for so long. The sun warms your back until you slip into the woods. The soft babble of water pulls you deeper. Once you find the brook, you and Joel let the horses lap at the water. ”It’s not far up the mountain from here,” You say. “Probably 30, 40 minutes.”

Joel nods, handing you a canteen. “No rush. We have all day, Sweetheart.”

You tilt your head to the side, accepting it. You hand him two apples. Once for himself. Another for the horse. You can’t help the smile that’s been on your lips all morning. You weren’t expecting to feel this way, but something in your body thrums with life regardless of the fact that you’re close to the place that holds so much of your grief.

”Thank you for doing this.”

Joel hooks a finger through your belt loops, tugging you nearer to him. “Any time. Especially if I get to see you like this.”

”Like what?”

Wracking his brain, he can’t seem to find the right words. His eyes search yours, sunlight filters through the trees, casting yellowish spots across your face. It feels warm and magical. He wants to stay here forever with you, basking in your smile. He wants to make the entire world a place that brings you such peace, blocking out all the bad things, the dark things. The thought of you feeling anything other than what you do right now makes him want to tear each infected limb from limb until the world rights itself. He can’t erase the marks it’s made, but he wants to help them fade because he-

His heart jumps, interrupting the thought before it materializes. His palms go sweaty. Could he think it? Could he say it for something that’s never been defined? Should he say it?

You catch it in his eyes. You don’t know how to explain it, but it’s there for you to read like a book. Anxiety balls up in your stomach. It doesn’t overpower the other feelings coursing through your bloodstream, but it gives you an answer. If he says it, you’ll bolt. You know it.

You step backward, his finger dropping from your belt. “We should keep going.” You turn to the horse, checking that everything is still in place and secure.

Joel nods. He’s not sure what to say. “Sweetheart.”

You swallow, back turned to him. “I can’t give you anything else right now.”

”I know.”

You stay quiet for the rest of your trek following the brook toward the house. The familiar gate fades into view. It kept you protected from more than one group of infected and raiding parties for over 10 years. As you approach the gate, it hits you that you’ve spent just as much time away.

Joel is on alert, keeping watch for any unwelcome parties while trying to stay in tune with you. You dismount before entering through the gate on foot. Joel follows suit. You hitch them to a post, pouring out grain for them to eat.

“This is the Baldwin place?”

You nod. “My mom’s maiden name.”

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while,” Joel says, easing a door open.

“Patrols use it from time to time. I’m sure stragglers do too.” You follow him in. Joel is focused on making sure it’s clear. You’re not sure you can focus on anything.

The wallpaper has faded in 10 years, a couple of windows are broken here and there, but otherwise, it looks just like you remember it. It’s a mix of comfort and dread.

You let Joel clear the house room by room, leaving the great room for last. You don’t even have to tell him. It’s like he senses it, the way you look at that the door.

Once the rest of the house is clear, you stand at the door. It’s just a room, one that used to bring you joy. It’s one, decade old blood stain. That’s all.

“We don’t have to do this,” Joel says.

You meet his eyes and see nothing but understanding. You wonder if he would ever want to go back to where Sarah was killed, nature washing away her stain long ago. You wish that was the case for Carter, like Gabe’s blood stain in the snow, gone with the spring thaw.

You swallow. “I want to.”

He nods and finally, you twist the door knob. Things are different from what you remember. Furniture has been moved from patrols stopping in. Your grandmother’s rocking chair is missing a leg, likely used for kindling in the big fireplace. It darkens the carpet, right before the hearth, brown and thick. Your attempts at washing it away had been useless.

Your feet take you to it of their own volition. Knees hit the carpet. Your hand spreads over the large stain as tears gather in your arms. It comes out barely a whisper the first time, and then louder the next. “I’m sorry.”

Then your chest begins to shake. It comes out over and over, sorrow and anger all spilling out after suppressing them for years.

Joel’s hand rests against your back and you fall into him, letting it wash over you as years of built-up guilt finally release from your body until finally, you still. There’s no big moment of clarity or understanding, just the gentle ease of acceptance.

An hour later, puffy-eyed and tired, you pull a comforter out of the closet, the oversized one with faded pink rosebuds. To your amazement, it’s relatively untouched by moths. Dust flies free when you shake it out on the deck, sunlight sparkles off the little flecks floating around you almost like fireflies. Memories of stargazing and fireside nights flicker through your brain. Joel’s coughing ruins the slightly magical moment making you laugh.

You settle on it, Joel unpacking lunch. The two of you stay quiet, basking in the sunlight as you eat. You save the strawberries for last, the latest crop just starting to produce in the greenhouse. They’re sweet on your tongue, pushing away the last of the salty tears.

Joel shifts, his thigh pressing against yours. The deck looks over a valley, granting a serene look at the blooming trees and flowers, painting in broad strokes across nature. It's a welcome reprieve after winter, but it makes you realize how bearable this winter felt. It wasn’t a mild winter by any means but, you have him.

Your eyes drift to the man beside you. He’s at ease, leaning back, arms supporting himself. In the bright sunlight, his hair looks a little lighter and his eyes more like honey. You lean over, hand running over the scruff of his cheek, and capture his lips in a soft, languid kiss. A hand slides over your side, easing you closer. A bee buzzes a couple yards away. Birds chirp in the distance. Just through the thicket, a doe wanders through the forest. The kind of noise that feels silent, like time stands still for the two of you.

You feel it, the spark that’s been there for months. Up here, away from the rest of your small world, you can’t feel the trap tightening around you. You’re not sure it is a trap anymore. The flicker of it floats through your brain. The beginnings of those 3 little words. The anxiety flares. Somehow, you force it away with the words. The fuzzy feeling stays. You have Joel. That’s enough for now.

You pull back, his breath fanning across your face. Joel drags his fingertips up and down your forearm. Once again, he feels the words wandering closer to his lips. Not yet. He can’t say them yet.

“What do you want to do?” He asks, eyes fluttering over you. There’s no heat behind them, just the need to be assured that you’re okay, that you’re actually here.

“One more stop before we go home.”

He nods, kissing your forehead. “Whatever you need, Sweetheart.”

You stop under the willow tree. The one your mom planted when she was a kid. The one you buried Carter under. Joel keeps his distance, holding the reigns of both horses.

The dirt is hard, littered with tiny bits of rock and sticks that press into the knees of your jeans. You stare at the small boulder you shoved into place a decade ago. There’s no name, the paint washed away long ago. So many thoughts flood your brain. There’s so much to tell him, so much you wish he could see and know about you.

You tell him about his nephew. He never would have let you live it down knowing you named your son after him. You mention Jackson and the people, Maria mostly, a little about Tommy, and Gabe and Joel. You don’t tell Carter about your feelings with Joel, just that you’re happy and taken care of. Then, you sit in silence as if you expect a response. The silly thing is you do. You expect a sign or a nudge deep in your soul, but there’s nothing. You’re okay with that.

“I’m okay. Surprisingly.” You smile weakly. Taking a deep breath, you rise to your feet.

You stare at the boulder. Then up at the tree. Your parent’s initials are still barely legible in the bark. Your gaze flickers to the house behind you, your home for so long. It’s haunted now.

You feel it in your chest, solid and true. You’ve found all the closure you need. “ This is the last I’ll be here. I’m not coming back.”

Joel’s ears perk up. His head cocks to the side as you approach. He doesn’t ask and you don’t elaborate. Instead, you take the reins, mounting your horse. “Let’s go home.”

Summer brings all of its usual joys and festivities. The outdoor crops grow with the sun. The days are long and filled with hard work, tired bones, and sun-soaked lunch breaks. The flowers start to appear each time Joel leaves Jackson for patrol or pleasure. You watch the bouquets grow in size and variation. Your own measurement of the foliage growth beyond the wall.

June bleeds into July. Maria brings out a cake to celebrate Elias’s first birthday. It seems incomprehensible that you’re a year removed from that night. After everything, it was hardly the worst night of your life, but the fear you felt that night was the culmination of all of it. It still haunts you from time to time.

Joel squeezes your thigh, offering you a smile. Your heart clenches with joy, maybe even peace. It dawns on you that you’ve spent more than a year at his side, walking, talking, not sleeping. He kisses your temple. Across the table, Ellie scrunches her face at the two of you. Carter ogles the cake. Elias babbles happily on Tommy’s knee. Your best friend’s face says it all. She’s the happiest you’ve ever seen her. Looking around the table, you’ve never been more thankful to fall into the trap.

The bed is empty when you wake up one Sunday morning later in the month. The house is already hot, a warm breeze pours through the open window. You’re not used to the empty bed, especially having fallen asleep next to Joel.

You roll over, hand spreading over the sheets. Your eyes follow the trail of sunlight to the window. Joel’s bare back stretches before you as he stares out the glass. The curtain billows softly in the breeze. It gives the air of a peaceful moment, but you know it’s anything but. His muscles are taught across his back.

It takes seconds to settle across you. Last year, he spent the night before at his house. You didn’t even realize what day it was until after lunch. Sarah’s Birthday.

You slip out of the bed, bare feet meet the hardwood. Your hand settles on his shoulder trailing across the expanse of his back down around his waist. He hums softly in acknowledgment.

“Joel…”

He wraps an arm around you, tugging you against him. You oblige, head nuzzling into him. He kisses right above your ear. “Just stay near.”

You stay there until Carter knocks on the door, one of the skills you’ve been diligently working on. You move, but Joel beats you to it, opening the door, scooping the 3-year-old into his arms. Carter giggles. “You want pancakes for breakfast, Bud?”

“Yes!”

Your heart clenches. Joel never liked pancakes, but Sarah loved them.

“Maybe momma will make her special peaches?” Joel turns to face you, his head level with Carter’s.

“Please,” Carter begs.

He and Joel give you puppy dog eyes. Almost impossible to resist. You see the sorrow Joel is pushing back, but something nudges at you. This is what he wants. He wants pancakes with your mom’s peach pie filling, just like Sarah always requested on her birthday.

“I think we can make that happen.”

Ellie bustles in ready for Sunday breakfast soon after. You wonder if she knows what today is. Tommy, Maria, and Elias wander in unannounced but welcomed nonetheless. Elias walks around on unsteady feet, still getting his sea legs under him.

Joel pulls you out of the house after you eat, hand in hand. He doesn’t say anything to Tommy and Maria, leaving you with the impression that this was all planned in advance. Two horses are already saddled. “What do you have up your sleeve?”

“I’m taking you somewhere.” Joel smiles, handing you the reins.

You go in the opposite direction of your last expedition. This ride is quieter, the breeze rustling through the tall grass and the horses’ snorts your only company. You travel over one of the smaller ridges, greeted with a smattering of blues, yellows, and oranges. You pull the horse to a stop in awe of the beauty. Joel smiles back at you.

“Is this where you’ve been gettin all the flowers?”

“They’re at their peak this week. Wanted you to see them.”

He grins. “C’mon.”

You hitch the horses to a tree near a stream. Joel grabs your hand, pulling you deeper into the field of wildflowers. Bees buzz. Butterflies flap around. Joel stops once you’re in the middle. He’s still, a butterfly, painted orange and black, lands on his shoulder. Your breath catches. He stares at it. You swear you see his lips move. His crow's feet crinkle, and the butterfly takes flight, flapping around both of you.

He pulls you to the ground, pulling you to sit between his legs. He buries his head between your shoulders. “I feel closest to her here.”

You smile, hands running across his jeans. “I can see why.”

He hums in acknowledgment, leaving the two of you to sit in peace. Eventually, Joel guides you to the ground, hidden by the growth. It spills out of him like water from a fountain. What he remembers most about her, and what he struggles to recall. What he thinks she would be like now.

He tells you the story of her 5th birthday. Sarah took a pair of safety scissors to her hair, leaving her curls lopsided and sticking up everywhere. She cried while Tommy couldn’t stop laughing at her.

You laugh, back arching off the solid ground slightly. Joel’s chuckle echoes deeply in your ears. Tears gather in your eyes as he continues to describe the disastrous birthday.

The sun hangs golden in the sky and the tall flowers make you feel a million miles away from everything, like it’s just the two of you in the whole wide world. Your body thrums like you’ve just woken up from a Sunday afternoon nap on the couch. The gentle breeze is cool against your neck as it rustles through the field

“Thank you,” Joel says. “I needed to talk about this.”

You nod, looking over at him. “Of course.”

His deep brown eyes are on you, swimming with warmth and affection that makes your chest feel like it could burst. You know that look so well. You wonder if he sees it in you too. You know it’s there. It’s been there for a while now growing with each tender touch and silent moment. You’ve accepted it, but you won’t give it a name. You won’t say it out loud- let the world hear it so it knows what to take from you next.

Joel cups your cheeks. His callouses skim across your skin so lightly it sends chills all the way down to your bare toes. You turn on your side, hair spilling to the side. You lean in, touching your nose to his, drawing closer to his lips before you pull back, teasing him.

He sighs eliciting another giggle from your throat. His fingers slide over you and land at the base of your neck, guiding your lips to his. He hums against you and you happily fall into him. These days of peace and laziness are so few and far between. Your days outside of the Jackson walls are even fewer, but you’ll sneak out with him any day if it means this.

When you separate, it’s there in his eyes again burning brighter. His heart speeds up beneath your palm. You can feel the words developing inside him, threatening to pop out and tear it all apart. Joel’s lips barely move, no sound ever leaves them before you cover them with your hand. He looks confused, but he catches it. It’s the same panic he saw that night he found you crying under the pines, and when you turned away from him the first day he snuck you out.

You don’t need to say a word, but he hears your pleas, and he nods, covering your hand with his as you slowly pull it back.

He kisses your palm, long slow kisses, making his way up your forearm, the crook of your elbow, bicep, shoulder, and collarbone. You’re returned to your back. Joel hovers over you. Your fingers dance over his brow, and his eyes flutter close for a few seconds.

He’s so relaxed here. The wrinkles set in his forehead and around his eyes are less pronounced making him look 10 years younger. Your heart swells again and for a minute you contemplate throwing caution to the wind, maybe the universe won’t hear you here, taking cover in the wildflowers, muted by the gentle breeze.

His lips are warm against yours. He moves slow and sweet like honey, like time is his to waste.

When he pulls away, his eyes are a shade darker. Your breath catches as you notice the desire that’s beginning to pool in them. There’s another unfamiliar layer. It sends a rush through you because you know it’s love.

Your hands fly to his mouth. You won’t let him say it. He can’t say it. Your head shakes softly, scared to ruin this perfect sacred moment. “Please,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, floating away on the breeze. “Don’t say it, Joel. I- I can’t.” Tears threatened to cloud your vision. You worry he’ll reject you, get fed up waiting for you to let him say it.

He inhales softly, lips deliberately pressing against your palm. “I know, Sweetheart.” Another kiss. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

He leans in, leaving soft kisses over your face. Your heart clenches. You should be able to give him this, on today of all days, but you can’t.

His lips dip to your ear. His breath is hot against your neck. “Mine.”

Your hands thread through his hair. It’s longer than he usually keeps it. His lips touch your cheek and then your lips. It looks chaste, but there’s a promising heat behind it. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Be mine.”

You catch the hint of fear in him that maybe those words will send you into a tailspin, but they don’t. It’s a complete statement: be mine. There’s nothing to add to it. You are simply his. It feels like a safe zone. A definition of what the two of you are. It soothes all your anxieties. You can live in the in-between with him. He’s not even asking to be yours but you know he is.

Joel’s forehead rests against yours. Your thumb brushes over his cheek. He’s looking into your eyes with such devotion. At the same moment, he repeats the words a third time, you tell him. “Yes.”

His eyes shine with wonderment like he can’t believe it like this is a dream.

“I’m yours.”

A smile tips his lips toward the sky and then they’re on yours. All the words and thoughts he holds back for you translate into the physical.

Author’s Note: THIS MARKS THE END OF PART I of Woman!

If you’ve taken a look at the masterlist, you’ll see I’ve divided this fic into 3 parts! Please take a look at the short series Before between Parts I and II. It would mean so much! And you get to learn more about Reader’s back story! 💕 thank you all for your continued support!

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro stories #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction #woman (joel’s version)#woman (joel miller)

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rickssugarplum · 5 months

Text

The Rick is Over

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 7x05! Watch it first before reading this! Thanks and enjoy! ❤

(Rick Sanchez x Reader) Spoilers for 7x05, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

You help Rick process it all.

With the pull of the lever, all the lights in the sub-basement go out, finalizing the end of the decades-long show that's been ongoing most of his life.

It's all finally over.

Rick Prime is dead.

Still coated head to toe in blood, Rick stands in the darkness in the now useless lair, where he'd spent countless days and nights searching, tracking, and looking for any signs of his lifelong enemy. The one who caused him all his pain, destroyed all of his dreams he had when he was young. All he ever wanted, was to live as a husband and father to the two most precious girls in his life.

That life had been ripped away from him so many years ago.

Now, he has killed the man who was responsible. His ultimate goal had been achieved.

So, why does he still feel so empty?

He didn't say a word while flying back home. The voice of his grandson right beside him felt like miles away. It was as if his entire world had gone mute. He could not just go to sleep in his room. Not tonight.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

You were in your living room, reading a book in complete silence, until it was broken by the familiar whirling sound of the portal. You were clearly expecting Rick to emerge from it, but you nearly screamed when you saw him soaked in crimson blood.

"Oh my God! Rick?!!" you shrieked as you stepped towards him. He stood there, emotionless.

"Rick! What the fuck happened!? You look like you came through a slaughter!"

The old man just looked at you; still silent. It caused even more panic in your veins.

"Rick, please. You're scaring me! What is going on!? Say something!" you begged. He was never one to be quiet, even more alarming when he's drenched in blood. Did an adventure go awry or...

"W-where's Morty!? Is he okay?" You asked in fear that something might have happened to him. Your heart rate slightly lowered when he nodded, assuring his grandson was alright.

Looking more closely at him, you saw more damage inflicted on his face. "Jesus Christ, Rick. Your nose is broken!"

Rick finally spoke in a hoarse but defiant voice. "I got him."

His bloodshot eyes stared directly into yours. You saw the anger he's shown in them only when he's described his past, his stolen life; his darkest demons.

Immediately, you knew who he was talking about.

"You-you got...him?" You couldn't speak the name, despite sharing it with the man in front of you. Rick simply nodded again. Not knowing what exactly happened, the blood covering him made one thing clear.

Rick had finally killed his enemy.

Slowly, you took his hands, searching in his eyes for any ounce of how he was feeling, knowing he had avenged his wife and daughter.

"Are-are you okay?"

Morty had asked him that exact same question after it was all said and done. He said that he was. But now seeing the concern in your face and repeating his grandson's words just mere hours before caused the final crack in the dam.

Suddenly you felt two long arms around you, grasping your frame tightly, and Rick let out the loudest, broken wail you'd ever hear. His anguish was bigger than his body, causing him to collapse, dragging you both to your floor. You simply held him as he cried into you, letting out decades of repressed grief and trauma that'd haunted him.

"Shhhh... It's okay, Rick..." you murmured, placing his head on your chest and stroking his slightly damp hair. "It's over..." you whispered. "I'm here... I've got you..."

The man was trembling like a newborn fawn. He looked so fragile. You couldn't possibly know exactly what was going through his tormented mind as he screamed into your chest. His cries sounded so animalistic, it almost scared you. But your heart was breaking hearing him suffer inside. He had cried for the life he lost, his wife he had promised forever to, and his little girl, whom he swore to protect. All Rick wanted was to have his beloved Diane by his side and to see his baby Beth grow up. He wanted them to grow old together. All of his plans. His dreams. Their future, will never come.

Tears welled up in your own eyes, but you stayed and gently rocked him, whispering words of comfort.

"It's alright, baby," you said softly.

Baby. Diane used to call him that. He let out another sob at that memory. Leaning down, you press soft kisses on his forehead.

"I'm so proud of you, Rick..." you confessed. It was the truth. You wanted him to know that. How lucky you were to have the most passionate Rick throughout infinity. He squeezed you a bit tighter at your affirmation.

Time didn't matter to either of you. You could hold him forever if he needed it. That would be how long it would take to heal this broken heart.

After awhile, his sobs started to fade into soft weeping.

"Rick? Can you look at me?" You asked softly. There was no command in your voice. It was mainly to make sure he knew his surroundings. Slowly, he lifts his head up to look at you. The blood of his enemy was slightly rinsed underneath his eyes from tears. You cupped his face in your hands so tenderly, giving him a faint smile.

"You did it."

Rick's expression had become nearly blank. After all the crying, he almost felt numb. "What do you need right now?" you asked him, stroking his cheek.

He wrapped his arms around you again. This time, not in desperation, but in comfort and gratitude. In his hold, he simply whispered,

"Just you..."

It relieved you to hear his answer. You both stayed in your embrace, with no plans on letting each other go. Rick could feel a slight relief as you assured him you were not going anywhere. He closed his eyes and let everything sink in. Through all the changes he's made, he's achieved the biggest change of all. The hunt for his nemesis was over.

So.

What now?

He's going to find out.

❤

#rick and morty spoilers #season 7 spoilers #unmortricken #rick sanchez #rick sanchez x reader #rickssugarplum

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itsabouttimex2 · 6 months

Note

Hello there! could we see a prequel of when platonic yandere Erasermic first saw Cloud quirk reader! I feel like the reader wouldn't exactily look like oboro, but then seeing that quirk and having that energetic personality would send the memories of oboro back into there mind

These two mourn Oboro to this day. It’s a major part of both of their characters, woven into their beings. They won’t move on. They can’t forget. So when they see you, something kind of cracks inside them.

Aizawa pauses, and just… stares. His chest tightens painfully, as a deluge of long-buried memories gnaw at his mind. It’s easy to that he’d be the strong one, the stoic one. But he isn’t. He’s a broken man long burdened by grief. It’s clear he hasn’t managed to move on from losing Oboro in the slightest.

However, Hizashi was able to healthily move on to some degree and become a teacher, a DJ, a radio host, a hero. Sure, it’s possible that he uses his exuberance to cope with grief or to draw Aizawa out of his worst moments, but he stills manages to be sunny and bright. All the same, he possesses a well-hidden ruthlessness and an extremely powerful Quirk that he’s not afraid to use. The moment he stops smiling, it’s probably time to run and hide, because something is terribly wrong.

And when he sees you, he stops smiling. There’s a moment where his larger than life personality and cheery disposition both slip, leaving him in a rare state of shocked silence. Hizashi just stands and watches, eyes going wide behind his concealing sunglasses. His gangly arms drop to his sides, his every bit of attention focused on staring you down.

Maybe it’s some kind of cruel joke. Maybe he’s been hit by a Quirk, creating a tailored distraction to keep him from noticing an approaching foe. Maybe he’s just seeing things. But no, he isn’t. You’re real, with his personality and Quirk.

———————————————————————

“Oboro…,” Aizawa mumbles to himself, caught in a similar state to his loudmouth friend. His bloodshot eyes catch on your smile, watching as you chat with a friend. The two of you walk side by side, trails of vapor and fog drifting from your fingertips as you show off your Quirk. Your friend laughs in amazement, watching in awe as the clouds shift into different shapes and figures, bending perfectly to your will.

Once, Oboro had done the same for him. Whenever Aizawa seemed down, he’d whip up a cloud and shape it into the cutest kitten he could manage, often ending up with a horrifically disfigured mess that had his friend stifling a smile.

Words catch in his throat. He can barely think straight. It feels like he can’t even stand.

He stumbles through the halls, making the short trip to his classroom, still empty. He snatches his phone from his pocket, fumbling with it until he has his loud-mouthed on the other end.

“You saw them. I know you did. Why didn’t you… why didn’t you warn me?”

A loud sigh from the other end. “Sorry, Sho. The kid’s in class 1-B, so I figured I’d get the chance to tell you in person. Didn’t think you’d run into them so soon.”

He desperately racks his brain for something to say, some way to respond. Hizashi beats him to it.

“Actually, Nemuri learned before me, and didn’t say a word either. I think she’s a little broken up too, honestly. Least we’re not alone, right?”

At least they’re not alone. Aizawa would agree, but can’t manage to swallow the lump in his throat. He just holds the phone to his ear, wondering if it was a blessing or curse that you didn’t get put in his class.

“They seem like a good kid, Sho. I’m gonna keep an eye out for them.”

“So they don’t end up like Oboro” is the unspoken second half of that last sentence. Voicing it out loud makes it a legitimate fear. Leaving it vague means the image stays vague, the fear stays vague. Just an uncanny feeling of potential danger, rather than outright fear for a child’s mortality.

“You know what, Mic? I think I’ll keep an eye out for the kid too.”

Because he can’t bring himself to relive that scene ever again a child shouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt at UA.

So they’ll look out for you. Nothing strange about it. Nothing serious, no cause for alarm.

Not yet.

#Platonic Yandere #yandere mha #yandere erasermic #yandere shota aizawa #shota aizawa #yandere hizashi yamada #hizashi yamada

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blackopals-world · 7 months

Text

Lost my Head

FemNoble!Yuu x Malleus

FemCelestial!Yuu x Lilia

She had reincarnated once more. Once upon a time, they were very similar. But her rage. That primordial rage. It hasn't disappeared.

(Feeling really spooky today. Feminine rage sounds amazing. Let's get bloody)

Warnings: Murder, cannibalism (does this even count), blood(duh)

The egg was due any day now. She could feel it. After so long it was nearly time.

Yuu gazed lovingly at the jet black egg. The most perfect egg in the world. So shiny and smooth.

It was more oval than round which meant it would be a boy. A beautiful little boy.

A few years ago she found the poor thing after his parents died. She would make it right. She would make sure let their legacy die.

She would do her part to make sure that dragons remain. Humans would not fulfill their mission to slay them all. She may have outlived her parents and she may be young but she would remain.

Now she had an egg.

"I wonder if you'll see me as a sister more than as a mom. It's okay either way. You will be closer to my age than anyone is comfortable with. That's okay too." Yuu held the egg above her in her makeshift next.

She wished she had a better nest but humans found the last one. So many treasures were robbed from her not to mention the pelts she used to keep the nest warm.

How long had it been since she'd seen another faerie? Since he isolated herself here. Since she's left the cave. Since she'd eaten.

It can wait. She'd return when the egg hatched.

But it wasn't safe right now. Not with the war.

But she had hope. It won't be long now. Her Majesty would stop them.

Yuu usually dreamed of nothing. Too tired from attending to the egg and surviving to do so. But that night as she wondered what the queen was like and how nice the palace was compared to a dusty cave she dreamed. She dreamed of a life of fancy dresses, extravagant galas, warm beds, glimmering jewels, and never-ending feasts. The child she hatched by her side was treated like a prince and all was well.

It was a childish dream. One that only a child like herself could make. Even dragons dream of being a princess.

When morning came she stretched her wings and peered out of her cave.

Noise.

Human noise.

She could smell them on the wind.

She couldn't let them find the nest.

Quickly she intercepted them fully intent on driving them away. She flapped her wings to create gusts to blow them away and blew what flames she could create at their feet.

It was foolish of her in the end. To try to stop knights trained to kill dragons much older than her. She was nothing but a fledgling to them.

She escaped with a torn wing and sword in her stomach.

She had to get back. She needed to get o the egg before-

In her cave, a separate knight from the group stood. Shreds of eggshell crushed between his fingers and the scent of blood.

"The she-dragon has returned I see." He said wiping his hands clean.

"My egg..."

"There is no egg."

"My...baby. You killed my baby!" She screamed.

"Don't worry, you'll join them."

The knight raised their sword to the already injured dragon. The faerie was already hysterical as she searched for the remains of her child, her only remaining family.

...

Yuu was very hungry.

Did you know that in the wild some animals will starve themselves while hatching eggs? Snakes being one of them. However if their young die they will immediately go back to eating.

...

In her rage, she didn't remember much of what happened next. She was just so angry. Her claws tore him open. Then the scent of his blood was just so good. And she was so hungry and so tired.

But his eyes. His vacant bloodshot eyes kept staring so she...ate them too. And she couldn't stop so she ate his head.

Blood covered her face like a lion's after digging into a fresh kill. It ran down her face and chest as she licked her lips.

"I ate it. I ate his head. Its all gone. Hahaha! Its all gone! All in one bite! So tasty!" Her mind was gone as well. Never to return.

Hungar and grief melded together and that night a scourge was created. A rampaging she-dragon devoured every human in sight. She fashioned a crude crown for herself out of bone and danced in the moonlight with headless bodies in a mock waltz. She sang and she wept. She called out for her baby and laughed. She had truly lost her mind.

And when morning came. She was leaned against a tree. Her hair matted with dried blood. Her skin dyed red. Her gapping wound open for all to see. And dead as can be.

The general of Her Majesty's army arrived at daybreak to examine the carnage. He didn't see the monster that the humans saw.

He saw a poor little girl, caught in a war and battle not her own. She never wanted any of this.

War mandatory monsters of everyone. At least she went out fighting like a true soldier.

Perhaps now he would look back and say he had done something wrong but he used her. He made her into a martyr an example to his soldiers of what they were fighting for and what they should strive for. Her story became immortalized as " The Red Princess and the Knight Feast"

It was later that day a small pip was found after being stolen after their hatching. It didn't take long for everyone to connect the dots.

The child was adopted by one of the commanding officers shortly after. The kid eventually was named The Red Prince after a haunting event. Maybe it ran in the family.

The goddess knew on sight that the girl was dangerous. Her soul was full of rage, greed, and hunger.

She had chosen not to rest and a soul left unfulfilled was doomed to return.

She was drawn to Malleus. Her son had no idea what was getting into. And of course Malleus fell for her.

She couldn't bear to separate them. She pitied the poor girl. She had no idea who she was but the goddess feared the day would come when she did.

Still, a forthright girl like that who was the very picture of nobility suited her son well.

She told her husband of her fears but Lilia only nodded and smiled. He was ecstatic by the development. He believed she was perfect.

Maybe she was being too harsh. She understood the girl, a mother's love is dangerous after all.

"Sebek, put this annoying man in the trebuchet." The princess said crossing her arms.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT! YOU DONT GIVE ME OR-" Sebek clammed up when he was glared at over the lady's fan.

"Do it." She said emphasizing the T in a voice like venom.

Yeah, the goddess knew why Lilia liked her so much.

#noble!yuu #celestial!yuu #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #malyuu #twisted wonderland malleus #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia #lilia twisted wonderland #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland lilia

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from-izzy · 24 days

Text

yesterday's petal | nct na jaemin

“I see.” A petal of yesterday falls. “I’ll take care of them now.”

pairing » nct na jaemin x gn!reader (lmk if i missed anything!)

trope/au » non-idol au!, established relationship au!

genre » angst! just full angst!, grief and longing, reader remembering all the good times spent with jaemin, hurt and hope to move on, boyfriend na jaemin who took care of you so well, and you who loved him as much as he loves you

word count, estimated reading time » 1628, ~6 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » major character death, grief and loss, sorry not proofread 😭

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

didn't think that my first nct story on this app would be this but...i needed this badly...

i am also getting back into nct! i might be able to go to dream's concert this year and i'm so excited! feel free to send me some nct content and help me catch up hehe

but other than that...

in a world where everyone seems to fit in so well and so easily...i hope that someday things will be better for me 🫂

With the amount of times you hit the door frame against the overhanging bell of the shop, it’s no surprise that the older woman recognises you.

Usually, she greets her customers brightly, especially those who look nervous and overwhelmed by her overflowing love and care towards the flowers that she prides herself on. At first, it was like that for you too, but the brightness of it all only lasted a few milliseconds at most.

She’s not new to her job; no, she’s not. She’s been doing this for years, having been brought up to it by her mother who has heavily influenced her to decorate all kinds of events with the delicate being, bringing in colours from one corner of the room to the other. But she knew the second you walked in her door without having to take your hat, scarf or sunglasses off, that you’re different from any of the other customers.

She can sense it from far away: a heart that has stopped beating. Amidst the chaotic, busy world, where most of the time a pin cannot be heard even in the library, she can feel the dejected feeling that your heart clenches painfully and that it never begs to differ. She wonders if you’ve always been like this or if you change under a different circumstance. Did her shop remind you of something unpleasant? Was it making you remember a painful memory that you never want to revisit ever again?

But you always kept coming back. If not every day, every second day. And this, without fail.

She wishes she had the courage to ask why the corners of your lips have never raised, why your hands are always limped by your side, swaying tirelessly beside your even tired heart. She wishes she could ask why your eyes are always so puffy and sometimes bloodshot when you bow to her as a greeting whenever you exit. And, she would always wonder the reason behind why you would pick up the same flowers every time. Again, with the number of times you visit, she wonders if you’re giving them away or if you just like to fill your room, and perhaps at this point house, just like her.

She never asks because of the way you held the stem of her flowers between your hands. It’s an interesting way to handle her art: you rest the bottom of the stem on your palm with your fingers curving up to make a little bowl while the fingers of your other hand are curled towards the centre of your palm, the little circle however always big enough that when you step over to the counter, the green stalk bounces around the circumference of the circle as you take your step towards her.

Just like every other day, you tapped your card on the machine and left after mouthing a ‘thank you’ when the affirmatory tick was displayed on the screen, a pair of curious eyes behind your slumped shoulders.

Your feet take you to the place that you go to every day, the navigation of getting there already deeply ingrained in you to even try and suppress. With each step, comes the setting of the city that you used to walk with your beloved boyfriend. So many memories are spent in every turn of the city, with every store being visited once whether it be a cafe or a baby clothing store. There was usually no purpose to your visits but the hand that held yours tightly made you remember that sometimes roaming around with no purpose brings the best moments in life.

The scent of the ramen shop across the street makes you hold your breath for a second, not wanting to trigger the accompanying cilantro scent that your nose remembers. The whirring of the coffee machine that you just passed only makes the inside of your mouth dry, remembering the unhealthy shots of caffeine that your boyfriend would drink without a thought in mind. The uneven paths of the ground play with your balance but this time, Na Jaemin isn’t here to hold on to you or even playfully joke around with you to say that he will ‘never let you fall the same way you already fell for him now’.

God, you just want to experience them again.

The way your friends found their significant others while you mull over the fact that Jaemin has left and will never come back. Not in this life, at least. So many times you would pray that you’ll find someone else but even when another person has shown interest in you and you accepted their offer to take you out on a date, you find yourself only thinking of Jaemin endlessly.

At first, you thought he cursed you. Just like how he would say he would if you ever woke him up from his after-school nap even though it was supposed to be a movie date at the cinemas.

But now you know that you’re just not ready for the change that took away the only person who loves you and that you love back an infinite times more. You’re not ready to have another person holding you, kissing you and whispering sweet nothings to you no matter your mood.

You just want Na Jaemin back.

“Hey…” You arrive at your destination, the glossy stone reflecting the sullen look on your face, hair messy both from the win and simply not caring about readjusting it back; that was supposed to be Jaemin’s thing after all. “How are you doing today?”

Your choice of clothing today is questionable: white shorts when you know that you will be sitting down on the ungrassed Earth. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop you because all you wanted after a tiring day of high school and trailing behind your friends who had their arms joined with the love of their life, is to just talk to Jaemin in a more eye-levelled state.

The conversations are endless and you make sure not to leave the slightest bit of detail from the day. You try your hardest to be positive, knowing well that Jaemin will always like you that way but one of the reasons why you love him is because if you did cry, he would still love and care for you without judgement or doubt. And the realisation that you’ll never see those eyes that you have fallen in love and would get lost in sinks in again.

You sob. Cry. Weep. Bawl.

You could scream. Yell. Shout.

And it’s killing you inside all the same.

“I’m so tired of being so lonely when there’s so many people around me, Nana.” Your chin rests on your folded knees to your chest, arms around your legs but hands still holding the flower the same as before. “I’m so tired of being jealous of my friends that they’re still making happy memories with their other person.” The tears stream down your face even more, gulping down your sorrows and pain.

You relish how the coldness of the wind numbed your cheek; at least you’re feeling something.

“I do believe that the time when everything will be better will come and I do believe that the more I understand my feelings, it will get better eventually,” you sniff and gasp out of air, “but I still wish that I didn’t have to rely on time. I wish that I didn’t have to delve in deep and go through all of this.”

His name engraved on the stone only made it harder for you to see anything, your tears blurring your surroundings and the wind only making you cry harder. You take in a shaky breath and though it was not satisfactory, you’re still thankful that it gave you a little more energy to get lost in the feeling of grief.

“I love you.” You repeat a few more times. “And I hope that someday, whenever I hear your name, only the good memories and things you taught me will replay in my head.”

Your fingers reach over to the curves and lines of his name and you smile remembering how his mother included you in the font and general typography, knowing how much the relationship that you both shared has always been a healthy one for both ends. You continue to run over the engraving more, moving your hand back and forth. You continue to blurt out your last few moments of the day along with your plans for the next twenty-four hours before you would rant to him again.

But like you said, time will eventually come and make it all better and currently, the heaviness in your chest is more bearable now. You jump up to your more stable feet, eyes on the flowers that cover the front side of the base. Slowly, you laid the new one between the ones from before. You stare at how it finds its place so easily despite being only introduced a few seconds ago, and you nod at how it may not be you anytime soon.

As you spare a final glance at the fresh flower on top of the one that you just gifted him yesterday, you note the peace that it’s finally been given, still and no longer twirling and swirling in the circle that you have made for it.

When you walk away, the flower looks at how you drag your feet across the soil, and the yesterday flower whispers, “They're still the same as yesterday.” A message that has continued and passed on from the very first one that you laid in hopes of Jaemin knowing that he’s never forgotten.

“I see.” A petal of yesterday falls. “I’ll take care of them now.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 'especially to you...'

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here or removed!): @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿 @sanaxo-o

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megumimania · 7 months

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Hey!! I love ur jjk writing and I was wondering if I could ask for Geto! Some fluff with his s/o and instead of nobody noticing his struggle, his s/o does and helps him though his hard time and then we never get a KFC heartbreak 😀 anyways thanks sm for all ur works they are great!

tysm anon and i love this idea sm!! hope i did it justice!! 🩷

warnings: angst to fluff, geto is my roman empire, geto deserves the world sorry!

there’s something off with your boyfriend and it’s bothering you.

over the past few weeks, your usually loving and caring boyfriend has become more distant and subdued. he’s still affectionate but you can tell it lacks the same loving sentiment that it once had. it’s like hes doing it out of obligation, not love. you’ve asked shoko and gojo but it seems like they haven’t noticed anything either, which makes you feel like you’re overthinking this, but there’s something that keeps telling you that whatever geto is going through is much more worse than being in a bad funk.

he barely talks to you anymore, often replying in grunts or little notes he sticks around the place, he barely eats and the signs of it are evident, his uniform being less flattering and his face becoming more gaunt. when you try to raise your concerns, he dismisses them instantly, often saying something along the lines of ‘im fine’ and ‘I’m not even that hungry anyways’ whilst kissing your cheeks as if that is supposed to calm down your anxieties about him. you’re currently losing the man you love right now, watching him waste away in front of you, while the world looks on.

you currently feel like you live in two separate worlds from each other, despite you both being in each other’s spaces all the time. it’s driving you insane how estranged you’ve become these past weeks, it’s like you’re living with a stranger. until one night you finally decide to bite the bullet.

“suguru, we need to talk.” you pat the space next to you, inviting him to join you on the couch. he does so reluctantly, taking a deep breath as he does so. “yes my love?” he says, playing with a loose string of clothing on your shirt.

“are you okay?” you finally ask. he stills for a moment and you’re hoping that he doesn’t take it the wrong way and shut you out of his life. geto’s shoulders finally relax as a strangled sob escapes his lips, “i watched her die right in front of me, y/n.” he puts his head in his hands as he tries to collect himself. “every time i close my eyes i see that moment—it was my job to protect her and i failed, y/n!”

“it’s never was and it will never be your fault, you’re just a kid.” you pull him into a hug, gently stroking his hair. geto crumbles under your touch and for the first time in weeks, all the dark thoughts racing through his head come to a standstill. it seems that the grief and anguish that came with losing riko renders him speechless, as he cries in your arms for what seems like hours. “you did what you could and that is enough.” you gently reassure him.

eventually he pulls away, eyes puffy and bloodshot from crying. “‘m sorry.” he murmurs, wiping his tears away. “i didn’t mean to mess up your shirt.” you take his hands into yours, looking into his eyes. “thats the least of my worries right now, i worry about you suguru, you don’t sleep or eat and it terrifies me that one day i’ll wake up and you’ll be—” ,you blink rapidly trying to stop your tears from falling, “gone.”

suguru’s heart lurches at the thought of that, of him being gone and you being left to pick up the pieces all on your own. so he wills himself to try—for his sake and your own, and so he does because he stupidly realises that is what love is about, the constant support and love that you’ll always have for one another which never wavers, no matter how many times be tried to keep you at arms length in order to protect you.

so he lets you wash his hair, his hair tangled and matted from weeks of not washing it, he lets you feed him, despite his protests. the intimacy of it all makes him realise how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life, that makes the unbearable days much more bearable.

and for first time in weeks, suguru geto goes to bed as a somewhat happy man.

#anon i hope i did this justice #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x yn #geto suguru #geto fluff #all he needed was love yall!#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #vina writes #vina writes: jjk #getou suguru #geto is my roman empire #songs for vi!

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myosotisa · 1 year

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Old Heart - Part 1 - Barely

‖ chapter summary: Faced with tragedy, you are forced to travel across the country with a series of people you barely know in order to reunite with your only remaining family. The second leg of your journey, and your traveling companion for it, promises to be way more than you bargained for.

‖ tags: enemies to lovers, age gap (41 and 25), forced proximity, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, HEA, "zombie" apocalypse, reader uses she/her pronouns, no y/n, no physical description given, minors dni

‖ chapter warnings: death of a parent, gun violence, grief, existential dread

‖ word count: 8.3k

‖ ao3 ‖ masterlist ‖ tag list request ‖ next ‖

Tuesday, August 9th, 2016 – Quantico, Virginia - 13 years Post-Outbreak

Out of everything you’ve learned in life, you know without a doubt that it really only takes one moment to change everything.

One moment, you’re walking through a safe zone you’ve lived in for the last 10 years with your dad. It’s a normal Tuesday morning and the two of you are on your way to the mess hall for breakfast. It’s the only time you have to see him because he normally works late on the base. So, despite your hate for mornings, you got up, met your dad in the hallway of your tiny apartment, he’d hold out his arm and you’d loop yours through it before going on your way together. It’s a routine, same time everyday. Has been for years. And today is no different. It’s raining lightly but the sun still shines. You wonder if you might catch a rainbow after you’ve had your eggs.

The next, you’re on your knees in the mud. There’s blood on your hands. There are people scattering, ducking for cover, running and crying out in fear. Your whole body trembles as you reach out toward the prone form in front of you. The familiar tan of his sunkissed skin. The smattering of freckles across his collarbone and up his neck. Your eyes, the ones everyone said matched perfectly, staring straight up into the sky. Unseeing. A bullet hole completes a 3 point triangle with them as they dull.

The one after, there are hands dragging you away from him, through the mud, through the crowd. You’re kicking and you’re screaming but you can’t even hear it past the shot still ringing in your ears. Armed guards descend, reaching to check for a pulse. As if someone could survive a shot like that. They circle like vultures to a carcass.

You lose sight of the gathering crowd as you’re dragged around a corner and pushed up against a wall. Every instinct in your body screams run, fight, lunge, survive but there’s a forearm to your throat and a single finger on your lips. When you blink away the tears, Helen is there. She works with your dad, you’ve had dinner with her more than a few times. Her eyes are bloodshot, her breathing heavy as she presses you to the wall with her entire body. The pressure and the brick digging into your back ground you for the moment.

“We need to get out of here, now.” Her voice is a soft hiss, her eyes darting toward corners and through alleyways. She’s anxious for sure, maybe even afraid. “You’re not safe here.”

There are a million questions you want to ask. What happened, how did someone get past the defenses, what are they going to do with him, how is she here, how did she know, what is she so afraid of. They all get lodged in your throat in a chokehold worse than the one she’s applying, the only sound that comes through is a broken sob.

Her posture folds then, taking an inch back and moving both hands to cradle your jaw. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I know. But we need to go. There’s no time.” Her thumbs wipe across the tears on your cheeks as she holds you just a bit tighter. Like that’s the only way to keep you together. “Do you understand?”

You don’t understand. Not at all. There is not a single thing that you currently understand. But you nod and let her hold your hand anyway. You follow her through side streets away from the mess hall. Away from your life as you know it.

Here one moment – gone the next.

Saturday, August 13th, 2016 – Louisville, Kentucky

“I really think you’ll like him, he’s still the coolest guy I know. Always has been.”

This is your 3rd time meeting Dustin Henderson. You’d been deposited into his care (mostly against your will) 3 days ago. The only thing he had going for him as a traveling companion is his bright smile and infectious enthusiasm. He’d accepted your silence with the ease of someone who was used to running their own conversations, even seemed excited just to have a new audience, no matter how little you participated. If you were being honest, you were grateful for the noise.

“I think this is the 7th time today you’ve said that I’ll like him.” You hear what you think is him huffing, but you’re too focused on tossing a stress ball into the air above you to bother looking over. You’re laying on a brick wall outside of St. John’s United Church of Christ, a few miles from where you and Dustin had slept for the night. “Why a church, anyway? There must be a million other potential drop off points in this place.”

“Dunno, Eddie always wants to meet at churches. Maybe because they’re normally pretty big and recognizable.”

The ball drops into your hand and you lower your elbows to rest, turning your head toward him with a small frown. “He a man of God or something?”

Dustin lets out a snort of amusement, his curls wobbling from where they stick out underneath his hat. “Definitely not.” He offers you another bright smile before he returns to scanning your surroundings. You would assume from his demeanor that he’s goofy – well intentioned, undisciplined. But you’ve seen how he wields the shotgun slung across his torso, how he seems to be able to hear things you’d think impossible, how he navigates through the ruined cityscapes of his domain with ease. He’s sharp as a whip and not afraid to get his hands dirty. A clever disguise of prey to lure in predators. He’s a part of this team for a reason after all.

Struggling to sit up with a groan, you lean forward to drape your forearms over your knees. “So, how much does he know?”

“About?” Dustin pauses, then shifts toward you when you don’t reply. All you offer is a loaded look, waiting for him to catch on to what you’re really asking. His eyebrows draw together in confusion before it appears to hit him. “Oh. Well. He knows you’re Robin’s sister.”

“Half-sister,” you correct easily.

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. “He knows you’re Robin’s half-sister and he’s tasked with getting you from point A to point B.”

“So nothing, is what he knows. Absolutely nothing.”

Dustin’s arms, brushed with dirt and a subtle sheen of sweat, cross over his chest as he leans further back against the wall you’re sitting on. “Yeah, I guess.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes as you pull your pack into your lap, digging through for your water bottle. “Listen,” you make a noise to let him know you’re paying attention, “you know it’s not my call who knows. Nancy decides when to bring people in.”

Immediately, you dig your palms into your eyes in frustration, rubbing in tight circles and unable to keep the tension from leaking out into your tone. “Why does everyone just do whatever Nancy says? Who the fuck even put Nancy Wheeler in charge?”

“Your dad did,” he replies, as if it isn’t an absolute punch to the gut. As if it doesn’t make fire burn up your throat and beg to burst from between your lips in a scream. He seems to recognize it soon after he says it, and decides the best way to move on is to sit in an awkward and tense silence for the next 30 minutes. Which is fine. Whatever. Works for me.

In fact, the next time he makes any sound or movement at all, he’s shifting forward, primary hand gripping his shotgun. “Dustin?” He holds out a hand for you to stop as his head tilts a bit down, his eyes closing to focus. You search the area visually and listen hard to see if you can get even an inkling of what he’s hearing. Coming up short, you simply watch as he trots down the small set of stairs between you and the street, directing his weapon west. You flounder, trying to decide if you should hide or pull your own pistol.

Just as you’re about to roll off the wall to duck behind it, a long whistle rings out. 4 distinct tones that echo past the debris of nearby fallen buildings and through the gothic architecture of the church behind you. Dustin’s posture immediately softens, his gun lowering slowly as he repeats the whistle back, adding an extra note at the end. He turns back, taking the steps two at a time as he returns to where you're sitting. “Your new babysitter is here.”

“Dustin, I swear to God, that’s not funny, and I will break your fingers.”

He barks a small laugh until he catches sight of your glare, then quickly raises his hands in surrender with a muttered apology. You’re about ready to continue to tear into him when you see a figure in black appear in the corner of your eye.

You’ve heard a lot of stories about Eddie Munson over the years, most you doubt are true, but have never actually met the guy. You know he's a little bit older than Steve, putting him in his early 40s. He’s been running the smuggling train through Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, and Arkansas for close to 10 years. He’d been part of Hopper’s original team, loosely connected via radio and scattered across North America. While you’d heard more about him in the last 2 days from Dustin than you had the entire rest of your life, you know he worked with Robin, Steve, Nancy, and your dad already. While you couldn’t say you’d ever stopped to wonder what he looked like, it definitely was not this.

But walking out from behind a solitary pillar, it couldn’t have been anyone else. A pair of dusty blue jeans and black boots, a red flannel tied around his hips, a white t-shirt that almost shines from how bright the sun beats down, a black biker jacket layered over it. His near-black hair is pulled back behind his head and, despite having a pair of aviators on, he still raises a hand to block the sun from his eyes as he surveys the area. When he catches sight of the two of you, his arm swings down to his side and he begins his approach. You watch carefully – studying his gait, the length of his legs, the broadness of his shoulders, the narrow waist tucked beneath leather. He’s tall, lean, strong. Intimidating, even without any weapons visible on his person. While Dustin is a predator disguised as prey, Eddie is a wolf, plain and simple.

Your sweaty palms press to the dusty, sun bleached concrete on either side of your knees as you face him. Dustin meets him halfway, arms wrapping around torsos to clap on backs as they exchange a happy greeting. While you had become very aware of Dustin’s fondness for Eddie over the last few days, you’re still surprised to see the affection returned in almost equal measure. By all appearances, the older is gruff, unapproachable, untouchable. But he still hits the underside of Dustin’s cap to knock it off, and, when the younger dips to reach for it, loops an arm around his neck to ruffle his unruly hair. They start elbowing each other and pushing lightly, messing around like brothers and acting half their age. Acting like there isn’t an apocalypse, isn’t a war, isn’t death all around them.

It’s hard to believe something like that is still possible. Relationships like that still exist.

Dustin is pulling Eddie back toward you before you’re ready for it.

“And this is your package to deliver,” Dustin offers with a grin, ignoring the hard glare you send him once again. Eddie raises the sunglasses from his eyes and it takes everything in you to stay firm as he studies you just as you had studied him. This close, you can see a bit more – the bits of gray woven into the dark waves of his hair, the sun-creased laugh lines that remain despite his neutral expression, a scar that arches down the corner of his lower lip and chin, disappearing into the subtle fuzz of a salt and pepper shadow across his jaw. But you mostly get caught on his eyes. They’re youthful in appearance: wide, bright, and a rich, beautiful shade of warm umber. Despite the crow’s feet that arch out beside them, if you’d looked at his eyes alone, you’d assume he was your age and no older.

“Hey,” he seems to finish his study of you first, offering nothing more than a slight head tilt of acknowledgement before his aviators hit the bridge of his nose again and he redirects back to Dustin. “So I get her from here to Three Corners, right? When are they expecting us?”

Doesn’t even ask your name or anything. Like you weren’t even there. Like you weren’t even a person, just a package to be delivered. Dustin doesn’t seem to notice as he whips out his map and they discuss the route the two of you will be taking so the younger can report it back to Colorado when he gets home. The frustration boils in the base of your gut again, a bubbling pool of lava that is desperate to erupt.

“We’re gonna have to stop in Memphis for a day or two,” Eddie explains, rubbing the back of his sweaty neck with his palm as they look over the map.

“And why’s that?” You cut in, some of the heat invading. Both men look toward you, as if just realizing you’re still there, before Dustin finally acknowledges your question.

“Memphis is Eddie’s base of operations. The two of you can get some actual sleep, bathe, and stock up for the rest of the trip there.” Eddie grunts an affirmative, back to facing away from you and leaning over the map Dustin has spread over a concrete pillar.

Your tongue presses against your cheek in annoyance, staring hard at the sun-faded leather that drapes over his back. “So how long until the next hand off?”

This seems to humor him, a small laugh huffing out of his nose as he shifts back toward you and lowers his sunglasses. “Desperate to get rid of me already?” There’s a bit of a tease in his tone that makes the boil bubble faster, the tension in your jaw getting tighter. Without waiting for an answer, he grabs the map and slaps it down next to you. “4 days to Memphis,” his finger tip touches the paper map, dirt under his nails, and drags from Louisville to the southwest corner of Tennessee. “2 or 3 days in Memphis to stock up. Then another 4 or 5 days to Three Corners.” Before you can really see where Three Corners is, he’s folding the map back up into its usual rectangles and holding it toward Dustin. “So I’ll be outta your hair and you’ll be outta mine in 14 days max.”

Your former partner gapes at him, taking the map and slowly drawing it back towards his chest with a dropped jaw. “Eddie, come on-”

“Jeez Henderson,” you interrupt with full disdain, hopping off your perch and wiping the dust off your clammy hands, “this is the guy you were so excited for me to meet? Whatta riot.”

This, finally, gets a reaction out of Eddie. Strong eyebrows raise as his head tilts, gaze hard on you as you turn away toward your backpack. “Listen, I don’t know what you think this is supposed to be, but it’s not a fucking field trip. I don’t care who you are or who you’re related to. We’re not going to be friends. I’m going to get your privileged ass from here to where it needs to go, alive mind you, and you’re going to shut up and do what I say.”

Steam billows out of your nose as you whirl back toward him, hands clenching into fists at your sides. “Privileged? Field trip? Look man, I get you’re old, but this complex that’s radiating off of you is really a bit delusional. We get it, you’re so seasoned and experienced and that makes you so much better than everyone else. I feel like I’m about five seconds away from getting ‘y’know back in my day’d.”

His own jaw sets tight as his neutral expression falls into a sharp glare. “You fucking brat, I should just-”

“HEY.”

Dustin’s voice isn’t loud – not when anything or anyone could be nearby and hear, but the volatile nature makes it feel as though it should be a scream. Both your and Eddie’s mouths snap shut as you face him, his cheeks flushed with something that looks like embarrassment. “Is this going to be a problem? I thought you were both adults.”

A scoff. “I dunno, is she actually legal?”

A glare. “Does a senior citizen count as an adult?”

“Guys.” Dustin looks furious. You aren’t sure if you’ve ever actually seen him mad. “I don’t need a guarantee that you two are going to be friends. I don’t care, actually. You can both be stubborn idiots if you want to be. But I do need a guarantee that you won’t get each other killed.”

A harsh silence falls over you all like a blanket of fresh snow. You’re fully capable of putting your sudden negative feelings toward your new escort aside to get through the next 2 weeks. Making a fast enemy out of anyone you meet isn’t the best way to go about life in this world, but making friends isn’t exactly a great idea either. If he can keep his ego in check, you can easily make it through 2 weeks of silence and then forget about each other at the end of it.

The two of you make eye contact again, the shape of his eyes barely showing through the tint of the lenses. A silent appraisal. Can I trust you? And the answer looks to be a resounding: When pigs fly.

“We’ll be fine.” Eddie answers first, breaking away from your gaze to look over at Dustin again. “Haven’t died yet, have we?”

The younger looks at you, like he also wants your word on if this will work out. As if you have a choice in the matter.

“All good, boss,” you offer with a half-assed salute and smile before shouldering your pack with a huff. “On the road we go.”

Eddie gives a stiff nod then claps Dustin on the back once more as he passes. “I mean it, you guys,” Dustin continues as he holds out a hand to you. “If she ends up dead, Steve and Robin will kill you. And if you get him killed, Max will hunt you down.”

“Not going down without a fight, Henderson,” Eddie’s cocky grin is back, the tension that built quickly between the two of you immediately pushed to the side. “Don’t worry about us.”

He begins to walk back the way he came, motioning over his shoulder for you to follow, while you give Dustin one last pleading look. “And get home safe to Sally, okay?”

Dustin nods, hitting the brim of his hat with a finger. “Will do. Check in when you get to Memphis.”

All you do is wave back at him as you scamper to catch up with Eddie before he disappears back into the debris he emerged from. You keep your eyes on the wiry bun of hair at the base of his skull as you follow in his footsteps, leading you in the direction the sun will inevitably set at day’s end.

Very little is exchanged between you and Eddie over the next 3 days. As soon as you’re out of Louisville city limits, he leads you to where he stashed an old pickup truck. It won’t have gas to last even a few hours, but with some luck, there will be enough to scavenge along the way. You offer to trade off driving, explaining you’d learned on the base, but he says it won’t be needed.

Luckily, there’s a CD player in the car. You don’t recognize any of the songs, but the music helps fill the silence. It doesn’t help with your boredom however. After spending way too much time trying not to notice Eddie’s mannerisms – like how he bounces the leg that isn’t on the gas pedal almost all the time, how he taps one finger to the beat of whatever song is playing, how he mostly drives with his right hand and his left elbow propped up on the door – you start digging through the glove compartment.

“What are you doing?” His voice makes you jump, having not heard it in hours.

“Snooping,” you answer plainly, not even bothering to look at him as you dig through the mess of papers and trash in the small space. He lets out a long suffering exhale but makes no move to stop you. Eventually you find a paper map, slightly stained and a bit tattered, but it will do the job for a little while.

You unfold it over your lap and find Louisville. It becomes a challenge to see if you can figure out which way Eddie took you out of the city, but you find your sense of direction in a moving vehicle a bit lacking. South and west, that’s for sure, but you’d made more than a couple turns before getting onto this long, clear stretch of road and you’re not even sure where you started beyond the city. There had been a few hazards along the way, mostly broken down cars, but they were easy to maneuver around and Eddie had seemed entirely prepared for them. It made you wonder how often he made this same trip back and forth.

The next 15 minutes are spent looking out the window waiting for a road sign to fly by. With that info, you should be able to get a better idea of what highway you’re on and maybe even where on the highway based on the exit. Your patience rewards you with a faded green sign in the distance – a shield symbol with the number 62 in the center and says the upcoming exit is for ‘Central City’. Really? Couldn't it be something more unique?

Regardless, you bend back over the map and use your finger to trace across the weave of roads and cities, trying to find where you might be. You’re able to find US Highway 62 stretching west across the northside of Kentucky, but nothing that says Central City. The tension builds between your eyebrows as you pull the map a bit closer to your face, thinking maybe you’re just missing it.

“Look at Nashville,” you whip toward Eddie, who is looking between the paper in your hands and the road. He sounds wholly bored, but tilts his chin to direct your attention back to the map. “From Nashville, trace your finger straight north until it hits 62. We’re a little bit west of that.”

There’s still no ‘Central City’, but you figure it’s probably just too small to show up on a map this size. “Why didn’t we drive down through Nashville?” You find yourself asking, eyes scanning the wrinkled paper. “It seems more direct than this.”

“Roads into and out of Nashville might as well be graveyards.” He goes back to leaning his cheek on his left fist. “Nashville itself is totally wiped out. Well, not wiped out, but you get what I mean. All that's left is clickers and corpses.”

“Oh, okay.”

Having completed your goal, you carefully fold the map back up and set it on the dashboard. The gravity of his statement hits you hard despite the casual nature he shares it with. You remember reading in a book a couple years ago the population of Nashville had been over half a million people. Half a million. There’s no guarantee they’re all mindless Infected now, some probably got out, but statistically speaking…

Better not to think about it.

The rest of the days are spent listening to the same 14 songs on repeat, stopping along the way to siphon gas and hit supply caches he has set up across the state, breaking to eat or go to the bathroom, and sleeping. You take turns keeping watch while the other sleeps in the bed of the pickup. He explained he didn’t want to drive at night and risk trying to siphon gas in a dangerous area while it’s dark, so when the sun starts to set, he pulls the truck off the highway and into the closest tree line to hide away.

During the first night, you find another reason to resent Eddie. When he lays down on top of his sleeping bag, it only takes moments for him to lose consciousness. The second his eyes close, his breathing slowly gets deeper and the tension in his face falls slack. He wakes just as easily, but the rate at which he’s able to fall asleep is more than enough to keep the heat in your veins from fading. When he does wake up and gruffly order you to get some sleep, you lay down and stare at the stars overhead. Sometimes you actually manage to drift off.

Sleeping in the car is easier. Especially because it keeps you from more awkward silences with Eddie.

The third night is colder than before. You’re at a higher elevation than home and edging closer to winter every day. In the woods at night, the wind kicks up and sends shivers down your spine no matter how tightly you pull your jacket around you. While Eddie softly snores in the truck bed, you sit on the running board below the passenger seat, your sleeping bag wrapped around your shoulders to combat the cold, in silence.

You’ve come to learn that silence is your worst enemy. Infected have patterns, ways to outsmart them. People have weaknesses, morals, and desires. Hunger, thirst, FEDRA – they all have motivations for why they exist and ways to beat them or get around them. Silence, on the other hand, is overbearing, all encompassing. The quiet settles into your bones, leaks into the marrow, infects the white blood cells that are born there, uses them as weapons to subdue the boiling in your blood. Silence lays across you like a heavy, fiberglass blanket suffocating all of the air out of a fire.

It's a fertile breeding ground for thoughts better left alone.

One thing about living most of your life on the base at Quantico is you never saw too much of what the rest of the country looked like. The tall walls of concrete kept your community mostly secluded from the rest of the world and people like you had very little reason to venture outside those walls. You knew how to use a gun, how to drive, how to fight. For emergencies, your dad had insisted. Because you never wanted to catch yourself wishing you could when you really needed to know. Now, after days of driving past dilapidated towns, broken down cars, cracked streets, and the odd infected, it’s a harsh dose of reality. One you had thought you were prepared for, but evidently not. So you sit in your sleeping bag and remember the quilt from your bed, the one your mom had given you, with its faded pastels and fraying edges. The random poster of some boy band on the wall after you’d found it in an attic and put it up just to have something to look at. You miss the Christmas lights you’d hung along the ceiling after convincing your dad they used less electricity than a normal lamp. The walk to the mess hall in the morning when the world was just waking up and most people around didn’t have reason to be in a bad mood yet. The Carolina Wrens that rested along power lines and sang their high pitched songs. The guarantee of scrambled eggs and oatmeal for breakfast, and maybe some jam and toast if you were lucky.

You miss your dad.

Mistakenly acknowledging the grief you’ve been avoiding – just forcing yourself to keep moving, to keep fighting, to keep going – feels like releasing something long kept captive. It claws its way up your throat, starts to buzz in your ears, presses hard against the backs of your eyes. You try to scare it back down into the pit it came from, but you realize too late the path you’ve gone down and don’t have enough fire left to keep it at bay. It roars and howls, tears and bites, grows and climbs until it overtakes you completely.

You press your face into the polyester around your shoulders to muffle the first sob as it rips out of you. Let it soak up the tears that pour out as your back bends, drawing you in towards your knees, instinctually trying to make yourself feel smaller. Like maybe if you curl in tight enough, you can compress the waves that start to batter you so forcefully that they won't have room to move. Make it so the churning in your gut can’t erode at the concrete you’ve poured down your spine to keep yourself upright. This can just be a small release to take the pressure off the top. This won’t be the breakdown. The breakdown will never come.

If you’d been lucky, Eddie wouldn’t have heard your muffled cries. Would’ve slept right through your unwilling moment of weakness. But he wakes just as easily as he goes down to rest and has ears like a bat even in REM sleep. He sits up in the truck bed and leans over the side toward where you’re sitting in what you assume is panic, but you don’t dare to look. Instead, you just beg your body to stop sobbing, to stop trembling, to hold it together in front of him.

It doesn’t listen.

Dead leaves muffle the steps of his boots as he hops down to the ground and approaches slowly, like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. Your choked cries and gasps are still muffled by the fabric pressed to your face – but it’s not exactly hard to guess what’s going on.

Eddie kneels a respectful distance away, his voice soft as the night itself. “Are you hurt?”

The gentle tone, the concern he shows in something so small almost destroys you. Almost tears you right in two. Almost makes the breakdown happen right here and now. But remembering how he’s acted since the two of you met – how this is the first time he’s asked you anything at all – has enough heat roaring to life to stifle your sobs and stop the tears. It takes a few moments of harsh swallowing and rubbing at your damp skin before you straighten up, blinking the last tears away to face him head on. “I’m fine.”

He huffs through his nose, his head tilting a bit to the side like a curious dog. “Yeah, you look real fine.” And if he hadn’t said it so sarcastically, with such disdain…

Better not to think about it.

Pushing off his own knee, he rises to his feet with a groan, arms stretching skyward. “You should try to get some sleep. I’ll watch for a while.”

Running the backs of your hands under your eyes, you shake your head harshly and focus your gaze back out into the woods. “My shift isn’t over yet.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but you’re not exactly keeping a good watch like this.”

Your eyes roll and you pull the sleeping bag tighter when another shiver rolls down your spine. “Oh yeah, none taken. Asshole.”

Leather ladened arms cross over his chest as he cocks one hip back and looks you over. “You’re cold, you’re tired, and you’re crying. Use my sleeping bag to warm up and get some rest. I’ll wake you up a few hours before sunrise so I can get another nap in before we hit the road.”

You want to fight him. You want to tell him to fuck off and go back to sleep, let you keep doing your job. But the small amount of kindness he’s shown, added to the way you’ve lost all the heat and steam that kept your engine running, makes it near impossible to argue. So instead you stand and shuffle toward the back of the truck, brushing past him without a word. You’re about to lift your shoe up onto the back bumper when a soft call of your name has your attention drifting toward him.

Eddie is barely illuminated in the moonlight. A shadow of himself in the dark. You can’t read his expression, can barely see the vague outline that implies he’s looking in your direction. “I’m sorry, y’know. About your dad.”

“Yeah,” you lift yourself up onto the truck bed with the very last bit of energy you have left. “Yeah, me too.”

Neither of you say another word as you shuffle down into his sleeping bag and layer yours on top. It’s still heated from his time spent in it and it smells of pine, whiskey, and something human. With the warmth surrounding you and the stars above, you find just enough comfort to allow you to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Tuesday, August 16th, 2016 – 10 miles outside Memphis, Tennessee

The pickup rumbles to a stop, waking you from your nap. Your head tilts up from leaning hard against the window in shock. After wiping some drying drool from your chin and stretching your shoulders in the limited space, you look to the shadows out the windshield in confusion. Eddie flips the engine off and pulls the emergency break from beside his seat. “How long was I out? Do we need more gas already?”

“No, Sleeping Beauty, you were only out for an hour.” It really is comical how easy it is for him to take you from half asleep to wanting to snap his head off. “I know you need your beauty rest, but we gotta walk the rest of the way.” His door swings open with a creak, echoing in the concrete room you’ve parked in. Choosing to keep your mouth shut and just follow his lead instead, you open your door and slide out of the seat, your legs already protesting from how they were contorted while you slept.

“Is this a garage?”

“Yup.” Walking around the front toward him, he already grabbed his backpack and has it laid out on a table littered with gear. Pistols, rifles, ammo, machetes, metal pipes, baseball bats, knives, canned food, batteries – a spread perfect for any survivalist. It must’ve taken ages to collect it all, and even more work to keep it stocked this well.

Your curiosity gets the better of you. “Is this all your stuff? Or do you work with other people?” Eddie throws an annoyed look over his shoulder, like you should know better than to ask him anything. Embers fire to life as you walk up right next to him, looking directly into the side of his face while he keeps his eyes on cleaning his pistol on the tabletop. “Is it so horrible just to make conversation? Would it really kill you to be a normal person and talk to someone?”

“Maybe it would. Why the fuck do you even care?” The retort is cold but provides you with a bit of clarity. The chill isn’t directed toward you, but at the idea in general. The issue isn’t just you. The issue is someone caring. You just happen to be the one doing it.

“I don’t care,” you assure him as you swing your own pack onto the table next to his, opening it a little too aggressively and pulling out your own pistol. “Just bored.” The magazine clicks out of the grip at your request, falling into your opposite hand. You silently count through the remaining bullets and reach for the box of 9mms on the table. Your skin tingles with the heat of his glare but he doesn’t make any move to interrupt. You take enough to fill the empty space and let the rest clatter back into the box.

“I share the garage with someone else.”

The admittance falls as he rocks the slide back up the frame and clicks the parts back into place. He doesn’t look away from his work so you don’t either, trying not to react too much to him answering a question. The last thing you want to do is say something wrong and make him clam up again. Would probably be safer to talk about the plan than potentially ask anything else about him as a person. At least, if you wanted to avoid the silence. “How far out of Memphis are we?”

“Couple hours walk,” he’s much quicker to answer as he slots his pistol into a holster near his waistband and goes digging through a box full of what looks like rocks. “Too many patrols and blocked roads to bring the truck further without getting caught.”

“Why are we worried about getting caught? By FEDRA?”

He glances over at you, eyebrows drawn together tight like he’s confused. “Civ’s aren’t supposed to leave the QZ. If I got caught and they recognized me, we’d be fucked.”

Nodding once in understanding, you started putting your things back together with a bit more care than you’d ripped them open. “So we’re sneaking in.”

“We have a few routes in and out of the zone that we rotate through for safety. The closest one had some Infected lurking around last time I was there, but they might have cleared out by now, so we’ll try there first.”

You shoulder your pack again and spend the rest of your time waiting by snooping more. The garage is small and pretty dark, the only light coming from the open door to the outside. Just big enough to fit the truck, the work table, and room to stand between them. There’s nothing personal that could be traced back to anyone and most of the weapons are in locked containers. Nothing a pair of bolt cutters couldn’t get through with a little bit of elbow grease but still better than nothing.

Eddie claps his hands together in what seems like an attempt just to startle you – and it succeeds in making you jump as it echoes against the walls. When you turn on him, steam rushing up from below, his shit eating grin is the happiest you’ve seen him since you left Louisville. “Ready?”

Choosing (again) to exhale the heat instead, continue to avoid the animosity for as long as you can, you tuck your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “When you are.”

The sun is absolutely blazing when you both step out of the shadowed garage and into the bright heat of the morning. You’re surrounded by light gray concrete on all sides, the sun’s rays ricocheting off of every surface until the light is hitting you from all directions. Even squinting hard with your hand over your brow does little to assist your eyes in adjusting to the new normal. When Eddie steps back up, garage door lowered and locked behind you, he has his aviators back on and looks perfectly content.

Prick.

“Must be shit around here in the summer.” You’ve only just made it outside and you’re already tempted to take off your jacket despite the subtle breeze.

“It’s shit everywhere in the summer,” Eddie’s grumbled reply is almost quiet enough for you not to hear, but offers another piece of information. He hates the heat. “Come on, ‘s this way.”

Outer Memphis is utterly deserted. Both by humans and infected. Hell, even seeing an animal at this point would be shocking. But that doesn’t mean it’s missing life, not at all. Greenery stretches all around you as you walk through the suburbs and toward the city center. Vines climbing up walls and poles, grass and weeds pushing out from between sidewalk cracks, bushes weaving their way into chain link fences. Trees left to go wild grow towards each other, making canopies of shade here and there as you walk down the empty streets. The leaves have just started to turn into yellows and oranges, some falling and scattering in muddy piles across the pavement. If you hadn’t known any better, it would’ve looked like humanity just disappeared one day and left the Earth to reclaim what was hers. But you do know better. And the signs of what actually happened are everywhere if you know how to look.

Shattered shop windows of every pharmacy, liquor store, gun shop, and grocery. A rusted and warped metal sign calling the area a FEDRA quarantine zone, matched with another that tells you to look out for signs of cordyceps infection. An apartment building with a yellow ‘X’ spray painted across the door and dried fungus peeking out through the cracks in the frame. Lines of cars in off street parking with the wheels stripped, hoods open to scavenge for parts, gas caps hanging from tanks siphoned. Deep brown streaks of long-dried blood arching across the pavement towards alleys and behind buildings.

While it can be easy to look at the plant life thriving and feel serene, really focusing on the details produces a sulfuric taste in your mouth. One that can only be washed away with liquor or enough time to forget.

You’ve been walking for close to two hours when a wide palm suddenly lands on your chest, halting you in place. It mostly freezes you in shock and disbelief at the touch, but when you look up and see Eddie staring at you with a single finger pressed to his lips, it’s enough to make your heart rate kick up in your chest and a cold sweat break out across the back of your neck. Neither of you move for a few moments. You try to focus your ears in to listen, wanting to try to understand these stimuli Dustin and Eddie seem to instinctually respond to. At first, all you can hear is the brush of leaves across concrete. Attempting to push past that, squeezing your eyes shut as if that will help you extend your senses further, you pick up on the edge of something deep. It’s a rumble in the distance, pitched low and long as it rolls through the air. Almost like a groan.

Brown eyes pitched black by tinted lenses meet your own as soon as you look for them. Wordlessly, Eddie directs you towards the sidewalk where a car sits with its wheel wells flat to the ground. He follows close behind as you cross over and duck behind it, shuffling towards the back bumper to try and peek around the other side. You’re looking out over a 4 way intersection and you spot the source of the noise towards the northern end.

Three infected stand in the street, deep moans pouring from their throats as their heads twitch erratically. One’s arm is broken, bent unnaturally backward, and all three have torn clothes and are covered in dirt. There’s visible fungal growth along their skin, indicating they have been this way for some time, but their eyes remain uncovered. Runners.

Shifting back to being fully behind the car, you hold up 3 fingers to Eddie. His expression is stone as he circles his finger in the air before him. Confused for a moment, you realize he’s probably asking you to check the perimeter and make sure there aren’t more. A careful glance around yields nothing. You return to him with a shake of your head. His middle finger and thumb pinch together 3 times in quick succession, his eyebrows raising in a question. It takes you another pause to consider what the motion means, what exactly he’s trying to ask you. It’s not like the two of you had considered beforehand how to communicate in case danger arose. But some part of your brain nags at you: He’s asking if they’re Clickers.

Going with your gut, you give another small shake of your head and mimic a person running with your own pointer and middle finger. He exhales through his nose in what seems like both relief and amusement before motioning for you to get behind him and reaching for something in a side pocket of his bag. By the time you’ve inched your way around so he can look out beyond the car, he’s produced an intense looking slingshot and a small tan pellet. Unable to ask what the hell he’s doing, you can only watch as he places the pellet into the sling and begins to pull it back hard, his bicep straining against leather with the movement. The tip of his tongue peeks out the corner of his mouth as he takes aim.

It goes sailing – your eyes can barely track it as it arcs high and sails directly over the heads of the infected. You think maybe he missed trying to hit one of them, but his true intention becomes clear when it makes contact with the ground. There’s a small flash of white accompanied by a sharp crack that echoes between the buildings on either side of the intersection. All 3 heads immediately turn on the noise, one so forcefully it almost knocks itself off its feet, before they take off running. Eddie counts to 3 under his breath and then grabs your bicep, pulling you along with him as he jogs across the intersection and a couple blocks further. You rip your arm from his hold but continue to follow close behind as he ducks around a corner and into an overgrown city park.

Once you deem you’re a safe distance away, you chance talking again. “That was a pretty neat trick. What are those things?”

His long legs don’t stop moving so you try to keep the pace as he continues to hurry away from the scene. “Little mix of gunpowder and a couple other things. Some brainiac made the recipe as an alternative to fireworks or sparklers for the kids, which then turned into kids throwing them everywhere and pissing off the guards, which got them banned and confiscated. And, well…” The corner of his mouth pulls toward his ear, dry lips spreading in a sly smile. “FEDRA contraband is fair game if you know where they keep it.”

For the first time in what feels like weeks, you laugh. It bubbles up unexpectedly, the feeling foreign by now, and bursts from between your lips in a bark, one you’re quick to stifle with your hand as it trails off. “Y’know, I thought people were supposed to grow out of their rebellious phase by your age.”

His smile disappears just as fast as it occurred, a flat look directed your way. “Very funny,” is his grumbled reply, huffing as he adjusts his pack. “Come on, we’re not too far.”

You perk up at the idea of this hike finally being done, especially with the promise of a bath on the other side. Jogging up to his side from where he’s walked away, you ask for confirmation with a little bit too much enthusiasm. “Really?”

“QZ was set up in the Medical District, just east of the Mississippi,” he explains without looking your way, his head swiveling on an axis. Ever vigilant, circling his surroundings like a hawk. The two of you approach a small, wrought iron arch, bracketed on either side by hedges that have to be 9 feet tall. You assume it leads out of the park but Eddie stops you before you can cross through. “Wait here a second.”

Eddie leans his head through, looking both ways like he’s about to cross the street before disappearing to the right. Unease prickles up your spine as you hear the shift of greenery ahead, your lower lip drawing in between your teeth in a nervous habit. The silence builds, starting as a pressure at the base of your skull and growing into a ringing in your ears. It spreads down through your nerves like radio static as you shift uneasily, anxiety setting in quickly the moment you’re left alone. Adrenaline drumming up, you’re close to either yelling for him or bolting when he finally calls out:

“Okay, we’re clear, come on out.”

You pass through the archway and into a tunnel of vines. The sun filters through as the leaves shift, projecting dancing shadows on the packed dirt floor. You turn right and push ahead, using your arms to part a curtain of hanging vines. There’s a concrete staircase on the other side leading up. Halfway to the top, you look ahead and see Eddie.

His back is to you as he stands tall and proud. His silhouette is surrounded by bright blue sky on all sides. The red flannel around his hips and loose bits of his hair sway in the breeze as the sun beats down on the cracked leather of his jacket. His hair is frizzy, his jeans dusted and worn, his boots spread wide as he raises a hand to his brow to look out. A few steps further and you see he’s standing on a sort of balcony over a decorative town square, a murky fountain in the middle and dilapidated statues lining the walkways. It’s situated on a hill, well above the city center that stretches beyond. You can see straight over the buildings of downtown, to the barbed wire-lined walls of the Quarantine Zone, and beyond to the Mississippi River as it rolls.

Eddie turns to you, slowly walking backward toward the stairway down into the square, hands in his pockets with the thumbs sticking out. “You coming or what?”

thanks for reading!! if you liked it, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment, they make my day ��

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #older!eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #the last of us au #eddie munson series #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myos ideas #Old Heart

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lullaebies · 2 months

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If you are still taking requests, my darling, how about a blurb of Daeron coming to KL in the days before Jaehaerys' funeral and reuniting with his siblings or momma? xoxo johannawesterling. 😘

“Daeron,” his mother's voice was the first one that welcomed him in that lonely hall. The warm brown of her eyes sad, as always sad— he hated seeing it as a child, and hated seeing it now. Alicent rushed over to him to envelop him in an embrace. “My sweet boy.”

Grandsire was the one who wrote Daeron of the news. He said his Alicent’s temperament was fickle with grief, caring for Helaena’s babes. Daeron always knew his mother would hug him upon his return, but he felt a babe himself cradled in her arms.

“Mother, I missed you,” he held her back, feeling his own throat dry. Her hunched frame, her head on on his shoulder in defeat; his brother’s coronation should’ve given her the opportunity to find joy in a respectable posture, not a reason to wither. He hears some shout from within the hall in front of him, followed by another by a different voice, both filled with fire. “Are those…?”

“Aegon and Aemond,” Alicent answers, lifting her head. “It’s been a difficult time, and yelling is all they could do.”

Daeron doubted it. He saw the hanged people by the Tower of the Hand. No, his brothers are all flames searching to consume all, as they always were. “And Helaena?” he asked. His sister has always been calm in the midst of fury, but as things are…

“They are by her door. She has not come out of her room since…” Alicent said painfully.

Since sweet Jaehaerys had died. The funeral was due in a few days. He came for it; he has not been here for the birth of his nephew, he missed his years in this world, but he would not miss the boy’s departure from it too. But if his mother couldn’t bear to come… No. Helaena would never forgive herself if she did not come. He knew his sister, and he knew it to be true. If his brothers’ shouts were anything to go by, they were in a similar place.

Seven hells, he was too. After all this time, returning when it was all too late to help… How could he forgive himself?

Daeron always wanted to come back home in triumph.

It was a dream of his, ever since his mother sent him to squire with Lord Ormund. To come back a knight of the order, robust and reliable for his sister and mother to be proud of and his brothers to trust in. He wanted his nephews and niece to imagine him in their heads as an uncle they could count on, to become a figure his family whole could believe in.

He was lost, away from his family for too long, but Daeron knew he can’t leave his siblings alone now. He kissed his mother’s cheek, and went ahead towards his brothers.

“After all these years, you think you can preach to me about restraint?” Aemond’s eye flashed like a dagger. He grew much taller, taller than their older brother. Aegon, on the other hand, had not grown much since their teens, and he had been hunched as it is. With a pale face, bloodshot eyes and clenched fists he had not seemed any less fiery.

“When it is all your fault, you cunt? Yes I can.” Aegon replies venomously.

When they were young, Daeron was always lost when they fought. He could rise up together with them against Rhaenyra’s boys, but when they trifled with one another, he always found himself a bystander, staying by Helaena until the storm calmed. Alas, Helaena was in the room in front of them, and from within he heard soft sobs. His mother steps forward to intervene between them, but Daeron stops her, and walks to them instead.

Aemond noticed him first, halting at his sight. Aegon stepped toward Aemond, as if to yell at him some more, but Daeron brought a hand to hold his shoulder. Aegon nearly snapped his shoulder towards him to hit him, but Daeron stopped his hand too.

“Brothers,” he called them, his hold on Aegon’s wrist growing looser. “Stop it.”

Something in him snapped when he saw their faces closely. Aemond looked as if he had not slept a week, Aegon looked as if his blood had been running cold for a moon turn, hair a mess even if he wore a crown. They both try to pick themselves up, upon his arrival, Aemond fixing his gloves, and Aegon clearing his throat.

“You’ve grown tall, you twerp,” Aegon said, looking up to him. “It is good to see you. But don’t get involved.”

Daeron frowned. “Don’t tell me that. I’m your brother. I can talk to my brothers,” Daeron then looked at the door. “And my sister.”

Aemond shook his head. Some shame came upon his face. “She doesn’t want to see us, Daeron.”

What she didn’t want to see never mattered, though. Helaena often told him she saw strange things in her mind. When they were children, when she sent letters, it was often all the same. Sometimes, those were things she did not want to see at all. She managed through it all; she was the bravest, even when she cried waking up from a dream. She needed to see them, instead of further falling into loneliness.

“So we leave her to the darkness of her room instead of showing her she is not alone?”

“I don’t know how to convince her out, Daeron. I tried,” Aegon said. “Aemond tried. Mother tried. Grandsire tried. Jaehaera and Maelor..” he trailed off.

Daeron looked at the door again. His sister was never stupid, she knew they were outside. He knew she was listening, too. If she heard them, she only heard strife and more frustration, things she had likely enough of within her. Whenever Daeron played with Lord Ormund’s children, it was always similar with his one daughter, Bethany; if her brothers quarrelled and brawled while she was upset, she would lock herself in her rooms until she felt safe to get out. She wouldn’t go out to thundering knocks and threatening yells, but to safety.

Daeron didn’t know if Helaena would ever feel safe again. Not after all that happened. But if anyone was to give her hope it was them. He remained steadfast in his stare against his brothers.

“When ships are lost at night, we light the Hightower’s beacon until they find their way back.”

Turning around, Daeron knocked on the door, in an odd rhythm. A rhythm Helaena taught him when he was around eight, and plagued with nightmares of plucked eyes and stormy seas. When mother could only take care of Aemond, Helaena told him she would never turn him away should he come by her door.

“It is like the summer songs of cicadas, stuck to their trees. They sing when they know when they feel safe.”

The sobs from within the room suddenly quietened. No rustling came from within, but it was a change. He knocked on the door again. Sniffles came in response. His brothers stared at him, and for once, he met them in an equal gaze.

Biting his lip, Aegon brought his clenched first forward to the door too. He looked at Daeron, and they knocked together. More sniffles came, but they sounded closer. Aemond seemed to be most skeptical, but with both results and a glare from Aegon, they knocked again together, all three.

It felt like forever, until they heard something being moved from behind the door. The heavy door opens only slightly, but the sniffles are suddenly all clear. The light finally shone on her; Helaena’s face was red, her eyes were glassy, her hair unkempt and her dress crumpled upon her figure, but she was there.

She saw them all, and tears fell down her cheek again. “I…”

It was not clear, amongst the three of them, who came to hug her first. All Daeron knew is that they ended in sibling embrace. She fell into sobs again in their arms, this time holding them dearly for life.

We will not let go.

#i tried to return to past tense for this sorry for mistakes im so used to present tense lately lol #it only took me two million years to finish this but YAY I DID IT #while crying ofc lmao #daeron the daring #daeron targaryen #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower #my fics #reqs #answered #hotd #house of the dragon #team green #hotd imagine #hotd fic #sahtinekryze

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bucketsofmonsters · 1 month

Text

The Shapeshifting Detective - Part 8

cw: parental death, grief, referenced murder, police brutality, slow burn, more tags will be added as the story continues

male shapeshifter x fem character

word count: 3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Kate had no idea how long she’d been in here or if the others had been taken into custody. She’d been waiting for hours, locked away in a room with no windows, no clock, no way of telling the time at all.

Her wrists were sore. Her brain kept circling back to it over and over again. They were unbearably sore, both of them shackled to the table to prevent her from running off. They were irritating at first but after a while, she came to appreciate them, their unyielding weight helping to keep her present.

She didn’t know what was happening or how long it had been or what would come of her but she knew her wrists were sore.

Eventually, even they were not enough. She’d been able to stomach a lot in the last days, but sitting still and alone was not one of them.

She had nothing to throw herself at, no justice to find. She was just here. Alone, in a room, waiting for the dust to settle. Waiting to see how she would come out of this. If she would come out of this.

The creak of the door pulled her back to herself and her head jerked up to find whoever had come to break the infernal silence.

When he entered the room she felt like she could breathe again. Her detective walked up to the table she was chained to and suddenly everything was going to be alright.

“Harvey,” she said, a swell of relief filling her chest.

When their eyes met she realized her mistake. “A bit familiar, don’t you think miss? Wonder where you picked up that habit?”

It wasn’t her detective at all.

His dishevelment told a different story than the one she was used to. Gone was the man who just didn’t quite fit his clothes despite having shaped himself to belong in them, always sitting slightly askew with his wild hair and off-center tie.

No, this man looked like he’d walked through hell, eyes bloodshot and his stubble growing unruly.

She had no idea how much he knew about the situation, how much he’d been told about his mysterious doppelganger. The vitriol present on his face said he probably knew more than was good for her.

He leaned over the table, looming over her, and Kate did her best to pull away with her hands chained, tethering her down.

“I don’t know you,” she spat out, incapable of feigning demure answers despite knowing it was undeniably in her best interest.

“Really? That’s odd, some people at the station say we’ve gotten quite close. Congratulated me on latching onto the killer so fast. Wasn’t that clever of me? How did I find you out so quickly, I wonder?”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Then why did you confess to it.”

Of course he believed her mother. She certainly hadn’t done much to earn any trust with him. It stung anyway. “I didn’t. She’s lying.”

“Now now. Your mother is an upstanding woman, I don’t think she would lie to me. And you…” He grabbed her chin and tilted her head to the side, as if to inspect her. She reeled back, pulling herself from his grip, a movement he seemed to find amusing. “Well, I suppose what I think about you depends on how well we know each other. What do you say, Katherine, do we know each other or not?”

He spat her name at her like it was poison. It might as well have been.

“You’ve questioned me a few times, that’s all.”

“Oh, just a few. I only remember us speaking once but perhaps I’m misremembering. Maybe I wrote it down somewhere. I did find some very interesting notes about you in my office. They were very complimentary, seemed like we’d spoken quite a lot. Can you remind me if that’s true?”

“It was a couple times. That’s all.”

“Consistent. Smart, you shouldn’t be changing your story.”

“You can’t do this,” she insisted. She knew he could, though. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He could do whatever he liked. Who would stop him?

“I promise you I can. You know what I find odd? The way you looked at me when I walked in here. You didn’t look at me like the prime suspect in a murder case who’d only spoken to me a few times. Who were those big, hopeful eyes for? Because I know one thing for damn sure, they weren’t meant for me.”

“You’re insane,” she hissed at him.

His hand snapped up faster than she could track and then her head was being slammed forward into the table in front of her, the world spinning as she pulled back.

“I’m going to get the truth out of you one way or another,” he snarled.

“I didn’t do anything,” she sobbed out.

“Maybe you didn’t. At this point, I don’t really give a shit. What was that thing? Are you one of them?”

“I don’t know anything,” she said through gritted teeth. There was no getting out of this, she could see that now.

“Yes, you do. You’re on its side, the only thing I don’t know is if you’re a piece of shit turncoat human or one of those monsters.”

The door opened and a man you didn’t recognize walked in. Harvey snapped to look at him, snarling out an impatient, “What do you want?”

The newcomer was some other police officer, his hat not quite facing forwards properly and his jacket buttoned up just one button off.

“Someone wants to see you,” the newcomer said.

“I’m a little fucking busy, actually.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said, and faster than either of them could react, he slammed Harvey forward, throwing everything he had into banging his head into the table.

It knocked him out cold, his body sliding unceremoniously to the floor as Vincent rushed over to her side, a frantic look in his eyes.

“Evelyn is in the other room,” he said, speaking as fast as he could get the words out. “They started poking around and we couldn’t make them leave. They were gonna find them either way.” He gestured down at the unconscious man below him. “I just untied them and told them no one would believe them, seemed like the best option at the time.”

She tried to move forward, into his space, the shackles stopping her unbecoming display of desperate affection before it could even really begin.

He seemed unaffected by Kate coming to her senses about the action, wrapping an arm around her and holding her tight to his side. “Let’s get you out of here,” he muttered, and she could feel his chest moving as he spoke. “I don’t want to- Oh my god, are you bleeding?”

He reached for her instantly, his hand cradling her cheek as the other rose to wipe at a drop of blood she hadn’t even noticed, the viscous liquid spreading across her skin.

He immediately reached for his pockets, muttering angrily under his breath.

Upon finding nothing he began rooting around in Harvey’s pockets, pulling out both a handkerchief and a key ring victoriously.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he promised, pressing the handkerchief gently to her wound, cleaning it as best he could before beginning to try the first of many keys. “Just hold on a minute.”

“What are we going to tell them?” she asked as he tried key after key, looking warily out towards the rest of the station.

“You’ll see. I just have to wait for…”

Before he could finish his sentence, all hell broke loose, the sounds of yelling and rushing about filtering through the door.

“What is that?”

“Our cue.” He said, trying keys as quickly as he could, a slight shake to his hands as he did. Finally, one clicked into place and the cuffs snapped open.

Kate stood, rubbing her wrists and Vincent gave her a nervous look. “You may want to turn around.”

The words echoed in her ears and before she could really register them, he was changing. The horrible snapping of his bones accompanied itself with the creation of new angles where they shouldn’t be.

The cracking and shifting noises were drowned out by the noises of chaos that were slowly filling the building, but it did nothing to stop them from reaching her ears.

She wondered why he had to shift like this. Surely there were more efficient ways to travel from one body to another. Human bodies weren’t that different, seemingly creating a new set of bones and tissues for every one seemed horribly inefficient.

She thought, perhaps belatedly, that she should be scared. Or at the very least, horrified. And yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to be.

It hadn’t even really occurred to her, to be honest. Perhaps some of it was due to her current, exhausted, sluggish state. She just hadn’t thought of it, hadn’t considered being afraid.

Why would she be, asked a little voice in the back of her head. It was just Vincent.

Instead, bubbling up, slower than they should have, were other feelings. Relief, gratitude, but nothing resembling the revulsion she was sure should be present.

As he transformed, she was lost in thought completely, busier mulling over the situation than actually watching the seemingly possible transformation.

He winced at her as soon as he had enough of a face to wince with. “Sorry, you shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Vincent looked more scared than she did, staring at her as if at any moment she might scream and run, never to be seen again.

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. It didn’t feel like one, like anything close to being either reassuring or a smile, but he seemed to understand the meaning, giving her a quiet, sweet smile back.

And then he held out his hand, as if to escort her out of the room. She took it and he led her into the chaos.

Evelyn seemed to be at the epicenter of it all, shouting and throwing things around the station. No one really seemed to know what to do with themselves, trying to calm her while simultaneously acting like if they got too close they might spontaneously combust.

As she watched the chaos unfold, the comfortable weight at her side disappeared and suddenly she felt very exposed.

She glanced around nervously and saw Daniel sitting in the corner, a distant look in his eyes. He seemed like he’d be less of a problem than Harvey had been.

Evelyn drifted over to her and pulled Kate towards her. She went with little protest, leaning into the woman as she was guided to her side. She was the only other person left who didn’t want her locked up, now that Vincent had made himself scarce. There were worse people’s arms to be clinging to.

As Evelyn argued and Kate stood, unlistening, at her side, she saw Vincent dart back into the interrogation room and she did her best to avoid looking at the door again, keeping as much attention away from there as much as possible.

She heard the door creak once more but kept her eyes adamantly forward, tensing up even more at the noise. She imagined no one could tell, it was hard to look more tense than she’d already been.

She heard Evelyn slam her hand down on the table beside her, hard, and guessed someone’s attention had drifted a little too far.

Kate should be paying more attention, should be helping more with this plan she wasn’t privy to. She just couldn’t draw herself back into the present. It had been too much, she was too tired.

And then, storming through the doors of the police station with a bang, was her mother.

Now she was aware of everything, pulling away from her and further back toward Evelyn.

An arm snaked around her waist and she was grateful for it, grateful for the reminder that at least someone here was on her side, even if it was more for Vincent’s sake than for hers.

“Why is she free?” her mother asked, looking around frantically, looking more confused than angry, despite the way she’d entered.

The policemen around her seemed just as confused as to why Kate was standing amongst them, looking around for someone with an explanation and finding no one. You hoped Vincent would be back soon. You had a feeling you’d be thrown right back into the interrogation room if he wasn’t.

“She killed him,” Kate insisted quietly, sounding unconvincing even to herself.

Her mother took a step forward and she couldn’t help but flinch. At that, her mother paused, shifting back once more and keeping her distance.

“You can’t fool them. They know the truth, they believe me.” Her voice sounded strained and distant and Kate couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was just her mind going. Nothing seemed to quite make sense anymore.

“They do,” she said, slumping further into Evelyn’s side. The woman took her weight without protest, giving her side a little squeeze that she couldn't make sense of.

“Of course they do! I am a well-respected woman. And who are you? Unmarried, unsociable, why would they believe you?” The words were careful, intentional, but not how they normally were. There was no tact behind them, not really.

As she yelled at Kate, restrained and unnoticing of the people watching, it occurred to her that this was not, in fact, her mother. Her mother would never make a scene like this and if she did, if she really snapped like she was supposedly doing right now, she would not keep her distance and try her best to avoid frightening Kate.

Because that’s what she was doing, stepping away, keeping from shouting too loud, keeping the blame from Kate's shoulders as best she could. It was a show, one calculated to harm her as little as possible while revealing the truth to some closed-minded police officers.

But Vincent was struggling, struggling to make it natural and believable, so she threw him a bone.

“You can’t fool me,” Kate said loudly, having no problem making it believable. Maybe she should give Vincent some lessons when this was all over. “They’ll see it soon too. I know you killed him.”

“And I would’ve killed you too if I knew how much trouble you’d cause me,” she said with a scoff.

And then her eyes widened, looking around at where she was, her breath catching in her chest before she turned tail and ran.

Everyone was too shocked to stop her, quick orders to chase her down being shouted amidst the chaos.

Most of the officers left, starting the search efforts. Those who remained didn’t seem to know what else to do with Kate, milling around her awkwardly.

“What are you doing?” Evelyn snapped. “You heard the woman, she’s innocent, don’t you have better things to be doing than terrorizing this poor girl any further.”

They didn’t seem fully convinced but they seemed more frightened of Evelyn than they were wary of Kate.

She wondered what it would take for them to fully be done with her, be entirely convinced of her innocence. She imagined there was very little at this point. She’d already messed up too badly, broken too many rules. That crime she was guilty of and so they were convinced that something must be wrong.

She couldn’t bring herself to care any longer. There was no anger left in her.

Evelyn began to pull her towards the door and she followed like a well-drilled pup.

Harvey passed them as they attempted to flee and she knew instantly that it was her detective. She was so much better at seeing it now, at recognizing it, even as distant as she felt.

He smiled at her and then turned towards the rest of the precinct.

“And that concludes this case. My apologies for keeping this from you, but I felt the ruse was necessary to find the truth. The lovely Miss Katherine here was willing to help, once she heard my plan. Her intention, of course, was to clear her mother of any suspicion. When we cornered her, she told a different tale. I just needed time to settle the case. Fortunately, she seemed set on doing it for me,” he finished with a put-on laugh.

She heard Evelyn sigh beside her and mutter under her breath, just barely loud enough for Kate to hear, “He really is too much.”

Confused murmurs filled the precinct but Vincent did not seem like he wanted to stick around to clear anything up.

That felt like it was best. She had no idea where the real Harvey had ended up in the chaos or how long they had until he returned.

She let Vincent lead her off, Evelyn shifting Kate over to him, shouldering most of her weight as they walked.

She stayed tucked carefully into his side. It felt safe there, secure in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Why didn’t you do that before freeing me?” she asked, much later than she should have, but at least she still had the sense to ask at all.

He looked away, a sheepish air taking over him. “I didn’t want to keep you locked in there any longer than I had to. The plan was just to incapacitate Harvey but… it wasn’t right.”

“You’re an idiot.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I got the job done though.”

“Hmm.” And then, perfectly patient, holding out just long enough to not inconvenience them too badly, she collapsed.

#terato #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster x human #shapeshifter #the shapeshifting detective #thank you so much for your patience #the next chapter is the last one and I promise it won't take so long #Vincent putting on his worst performance yet #hes trying his best #Evelyn gave him a script and he forgot it Instantly

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