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ramblers-lets-get-ramblin · 7 months

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When My Time Comes Around- post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Part Two | Part Three

Summary: After spending the last fifteen years isolated and alone, your solitude is disrupted when you find a man dying in the snow. You save his life and the ice surrounding your heart, and his, begins to thaw.

Word Count: 6.3k

Rating E FOR EXPLICIT MDNI 18+

Warnings: THERE WILL BE A HAPPY ENDING eventually, canon typical violence, detailed descriptions of injuries and wound care, blood, weapons like guns and knives, character death, suicidal ideation, child loss, grief, angst, age gap (joel is 57, reader is 35ish, but its only briefly mentioned once and is not part of the plot), implied sex, i think thats it but please let me know if I’ve missed anything and I will gladly add it

Immersability: reader can have/has had a child but it otherwise not described in any way

Author’s Notes: HUGE thank you to @wannab-urs for listening to me scream about this for several weeks and beta reading for me. This fic would not exist without the love of my life. I hope you all enjoy the sadness knowing that there is a happy ending coming!

Joel lays in the snow, drifting in and out of consciousness. The blood loss has his head spinning and his vision going black at the edges. The snow seeps everywhere. His pants, his boots. He thought he would feel cold, but strangely he’s burning up. He doesn’t have the strength to take his jacket off, though. Maybe a nap will help, he thinks. Just as his eyes shut, he hears her. “Joel, don’t go to sleep.” Ellie says, directly into his ear. He turns his head to look for her, but she isn’t there. “Don’t go to sleep.” He hears again. He can’t find her. Why is he always having to look for her? Why does he keep failing her? He hears her, one last time, as consciousness finally eludes him. “JOEL!”

You’re driving down the road on the familiar journey back home from the hardware store when you see something laying in the snow on the side of the road. You slow the truck down just enough to see that it is a man, not an animal. He looks dead, or close to it. You decide to keep driving. It’s too dangerous. He could be infected, or even worse. It could be a trap. You know all too well that there are worse things out there than Cordyceps. If it is a trap, he’s already seen you, you think. Him or his friends could follow you. If he’s infected it’s probably safer to just put him down, versus letting him roam around spreading his disease to others. You stop the truck and throw it in reverse. You grab your shotgun from the passenger seat and slide out onto the snow covered road. You walk around the back of the truck to where the man lay. His skin has a sickly gray pallor but there is no indication that he’s infected. You step a little closer, at this range you’d be able to pull the trigger quickly if he’s trying to lure you into a trap. Unfortunately the noise might attract some infected, but you’d be able to get the truck out of here quickly enough. Just then, you notice that the snow beneath him is red. You step closer and see that there’s a pool of blood running down the slope of the ditch. Too much blood. You don’t see any way that he could have survived a wound like that. And you don’t want to get caught out in the open by whoever made it. You turn to get back in the truck and on the road when you hear something move. It comes from the direction of the man and you turn back. His boot twitches lightly, crunching the snow beneath it. “Shit.” He’s alive, somehow. You drop to your knees and set the shotgun down on the ground beside you. You take your leather glove off and push two fingers to his throat, under his sharp jaw, looking for a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there. “Fuck. Now what?” You ask aloud, even though he’s unconscious. You can’t leave him here. What if whoever did this comes back? Could you live with yourself knowing you could have helped him, knowing that leaving him like this is sure death?

Why didn’t you just keep driving? You ask yourself as you try to carry the man to the truck. It isn’t easy, he’s a big man. Heavy and broad, all you can do is slip your hands under his armpits and drag him, hoping you aren’t doing more damage than help. You wouldn’t normally stop, you still can’t figure out why you did. Something about this man just called to you. Pulled you towards him like a magnet. He’s laying on the seat, his feet at the passenger door. There’s nowhere else for his head to go but your lap. You press your hand to his face and neck, desperately trying to share your body heat with him. You’ll do your hardest to save him, but you fear it will be in vain. You don’t want to get your hopes up, you aren’t sure you can handle the disappointment. You aren’t sure you can bear to dig another grave. It takes another thirty minutes to reach your house. You turn at a barely perceptible break in the trees. The dirt path has a sharp left curve and then it deposits you onto a gravel driveway that takes you an additional mile into the forest. Your father didn’t want anyone to find this place unless he specifically showed them. You and your sister used to make fun of him for his paranoia, but when the word went to shit, you were both grateful for it. He’d built the house, the barn and workshop with his own two hands, twenty years before the apocalypse. He was convinced the government was going to turn on its citizens one day. So he built a place for him and his wife to raise their growing family. By the time you came around it was already a self-sustaining, solar powered homestead. You learned how to field dress a deer before you even finished learning how to read. Even though the homestead runs like a well-oiled machine, it’s been difficult to keep up with on your own. The last big storm damaged the roof, which you’ve yet to fix. Hence the little shopping trip that brought you here, dragging a grown man into your house, trying to make sure he doesn’t die on you.

“I’m so sorry.” You say once you finally get him into the house and situated on the couch. He still hasn’t woken up, so he probably doesn’t hear your apology. He probably doesn’t feel your hand cup his still freezing cheek. He isn’t as cold as he was before, but his skin is still sickly pale. You run to the bathroom and pull out your med kit. The big one. You’ll have to pull out all the stops if he’s gonna make it. You pull his boots and socks off first. Wet feet are a death sentence. You pull the throw blanket, the one your mom made, off the back of the couch and bundle his lower half up in it. You take the scissors to his shirt, starting at the middle of the neckline, you cut all the way down to the hem. You peel it away from his torso and begin to assess his injuries. He has several stab wounds, pretty deep ones. One that looks dangerously close to his liver. If the organ was sliced, there isn’t anything you can do to help him. You go to the kitchen and wash your hands. You put some latex gloves on and grab the brown bottle of long-expired iodine. You set him up with an IV and a bag of saline. You draw up some pain medication and inject it into the second line. It drips into the small plastic chamber, and then the primary line. You want him to wake up, but not until you’ve finished. You’ve never been more thankful to have had a nurse for a mother. You don’t know his weight so you err on the side of caution and underdose him. If none of his vital organs are injured, an infection is the next biggest concern. You don’t know what made these wounds, how clean it was. An infection will kill him even more slowly, and painfully, than hypothermia or blood loss. You open a fresh pair of hemostatic forceps and a new package of thread. You set to work stitching his wounds, one by one, starting with the biggest ones. By the time you finish bandaging the last one, darkness has started to set in and he still hasn’t so much as twitched. You go to the master bedroom, your parents room, and rifle through the drawers of your father’s dresser. You return to the living room with the clothes stacked in your hands. You begin undressing the man with a detached sort of care. You don’t want to jostle him too much, but you don’t want to let your hands or eyes rest anywhere for too long. You replace each article of clothing as you remove the wet and soiled ones until the bloody rags are all piled at your feet. You grab a heavier blanket from the hall closet and wrap him up in that one as well.

You start a fire in the fireplace and then walk down the hall to your bedroomm the one that used to be your sister’s. You gather everything you’ll need for the night and place it on your bed before taking the fastest shower you’ve ever taken. You don’t want to leave him alone too long if you can help it. You don’t want him to wake up in a strange place, in pain, with nobody to answer the questions he’s sure to have. You slip back into your room and grab your blanket and pillow and a book that you’ve read about a thousand times in the last twenty years. You set yourself up in the recliner after you move it as close to the couch as it’ll get. Huddled in your blanket, you try to read. Every few sentences you look over at him, looking to see his chest rise, listening for the sound of his breath. The dry clothes and the fire seem to have warmed him up. His skin has more of a golden brown color than it did before. His breathing has evened out, too. After the fifth or sixth time you peer over at him, you give up pretending and just look. His salt and pepper curls have air dried from the snow and are fluffy and messy, going in all directions. His nose is prominent, striking, really. His plush lips are topped with a mustache that’s almost fully gray. His jawline is sharp, and pebbled with a patchy beard to match the mustache. His neck sits atop shoulders that are broad. You couldn’t help but notice the taut muscles under his skin as you undressed and redressed him. He’s quite a bit older than you, probably closer to your father’s age than yours. Well, how old your father would be by now. You suddenly feel your cheeks get way too warm. You’ve been alone out here way too long. You let your eyes wander the length of his body one more time and return to your book. You read the same paragraph four times before you give up and toss the book to the floor. You recline the chair and close your eyes. The sounds of the fire crackling and the man’s breathing lull you to sleep.

You wake early the next morning, before the sun has risen. You check the man’s pulse, steady but not quite as strong as you’d like it to be. His wounds have bled through the bandages, but not too badly. He seems to be on the mend. You breathe a sigh of relief and exchange his saline bag for a fresh one. You add a small amount of pain medication to this one as well. Some of those wounds were pretty deep, and when he wakes up, he’ll be in a significant amount of pain. If he wakes up, you remind yourself. Your mother taught you everything she knew, but you hadn’t had much practical use for the knowledge, being so isolated way out here in the Wyoming wilderness. The fact that he hasn’t already died assures you that you are doing something right. You pull the blanket up under his chin and go to the kitchen to begin making breakfast. Pork sausage and eggs, harvested from the animals right on the farm. You make some red salsa with tomatoes, peppers and onions from the garden that the kitchen window overlooks. The best part of breakfast, and the item you thank your crazy dad for hoarding the most, is coffee. The man couldn’t begin his day until he had two cups, a habit he passed on to you. He picked up a case of Folger’s every time he went into town before the world ended. Your mother had joked that the real apocalypse would start once he ran out. You make enough of everything in case the man wakes up. If he doesn’t you’ll have it for lunch. The roof repair will have to wait a few more days, until you feel comfortable leaving him alone. Until you’re sure that he won't die on you.

He stirs on the couch, a few moans fall from his mouth. He kicks the blanket to the floor. He must be having a nightmare. His voice suddenly booms through the quiet house. “Ellie! Ellie, wake up!” He shouts. “No!” Then he stills and seems to fall back into the deep sleep he had been in before. You rush to his side and kneel on the floor beside him. The man doesn't stir when you shake his shoulders. His pulse is rapid and his chest rises and falls so quickly you think he might be hyperventilating.

You place both hands gently on his face and speak softly to him. “It’s okay. Everything is okay. You're safe here.” You try to assure him. You hope your words make it through the fog of pain and narcotics that is preventing him from waking, but not having nightmares. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” Anything else , you think. “You just rest. I’ll take care of you.” You promise him. Finally his breathing evens out once more and his pulse slows. You move your hands from his face and go to stand, but his right hand catches your wrist.

“Please don’t go, Ellie.” He quietly pleads. His eyes are still closed, still out of it you assume. You don’t know who Ellie is, but you don’t want him to feel like she’s leaving him. So you settle onto the floor, your back up against the couch, near his chest. You pick his arm up and drape it over your shoulder across your chest. He tightens it briefly before his muscles all finally relax. You curl your hand around the back of his large one and give it a small squeeze. You can’t remember the last time you touched another person this way. Not since the last member of your family died. The warmth from his body goes right through to your bones. His palm feels rough against your fingers, and you wonder how they might feel against your cheek, against your ribs, your hips. You quickly shake the thought from your head and remind yourself that he’s probably still gonna die. And even if he doesn’t, it sounds like he has someone he needs to look for. Ellie. Whoever she is, she’s probably waiting for him, looking for him. He isn’t yours to keep. You sleep there all night, with his arm wrapped around you, clutching his hand in yours.

After five days, he finally wakes up. Darkness is about to fall. You are coming back in from the cellar, a crate stuffed full of supplies in your hands. You open the front door and almost drop the crate to the floor. The man is sitting up on the couch, the blankets have been tossed to the floor. “Oh! You’re awake.” You exclaim loudly, while trying to balance the heavy supplies in your arms. He whips his head around to face you and tries to stand. He grimaces in pain and grabs his abdomen. “Don’t do that!” You shout. "You'll rip your stitches!" You place the crate on the floor and quickly cross the room. You sit on the couch next to him and try to lift his shirt. He flinches away from your touch. You hold your hands up, hoping to convey you don’t mean him any harm. “I need to check your stitches.” You tell him, somehow sounding calm and measured when your heart is thudding in your chest. He gives you a slight nod and leans back into the couch. You lift the long sleeve shirt and assess the bandages he sports across his torso. One had bright red blood showing through. “Shit, you pulled some stitches. I need to fix this.” You tell him. He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow at you. He jaw tics but he doesn’t say anything when you get up and grab the medical bag from where you left it on the side of the couch. “You need to lay down.” You order. His eyes rake your body up and down before he pulls his shirt off and complies, wordlessly. You snap on a pair of fresh gloves before you remove the bandage. The stitches have come loose on the biggest wound, the one you are the most worried about. “Fuck.” You swear quietly, and you swear you can see the hint of a smirk appear on his lips.

“Where am I?” He asks when he finally speaks. You assume the willingness to talk is his way of distracting himself from the pain of you restitching his wound.

“Wyoming.” You reply.

“Where in Wyoming?” He winces when you pull the needle through his skin.

“Cody.” You say, trying to concentrate. “Well, just outside.” You tell him.

He takes a deep breath and holds it as you finish tying off the last stitch. You apply some antibiotic ointment and a fresh bandage. You stand to get rid of the bloody bandages and he grabs your wrist, just like he did before. “How did I get here?” His eyelashes are so long they brush his cheeks when he blinks.

“I found you on the side of the road, almost dead. I put you into my truck and drove you here and practically dragged you inside. That was five days ago.” You tell him. He closes his eyes but doesn’t drop his grip on your wrist.

“Thank you.” He says.

You nod at him. “You’re welcome.” His hold on your wrists loosens and you walk into the kitchen, as quickly as you can do without being obvious. You need to get away from him right this second. Your skin is hot all over. You can feel the imprint of his fingers on the thin skin of your wrist. As if he reached inside you and curled them around your bones. It’s been fifteen years since you thought of a man this way. And he certainly isn’t the one you want to start with. You dispose of the soiled bandages and splash some water on your face. You pull a glass from the cabinet and turn on the tap to fill it with water. You hand it to him, along with some ibuprofen for the pain.

“Thanks.” He says as he gulps the pills and water down. He finishes it all in one go and sets the empty glass down on the side table. “My name is Joel.” He offers you his hand to shake. You accept it and tell him your name.

“What is this place?"

You cock your head in confusion. “A house?” You respond. Has he never seen a house before? You think sarcastically.

He shakes his head. “How do you have electricity? Running water?”

You stifle a laugh. “My dad was kind of paranoid.” You explain. “This whole place is self-sufficient. Solar powered. We have a well.” He nods and takes a look around.

“Where’s your dad?” He asks.

“He died.” You say quietly. Your gaze shifts to the floor. You’ve never had anyone to talk about this stuff with. You don’t think you can, even after all these years. It still hurts too much. Every time you go to the field where they are all buried, you sit and weep at the graves of your loved ones for hours. You wonder what any of you could have done to deserve this.

“Is there…anyone else here?” He asks. You shake your head softly.

“Not anymore.” You say, even quieter than before. Joel reaches over and pats your shoulder awkwardly, obviously trying to comfort you. You can’t help but laugh. You look up at him with tears in your eyes and laugh. You haven’t laughed like this in years. His forehead wrinkles and he shakes his head but he begins to laugh too. And you recognize in him what you see in yourself, someone who hasn’t had much to laugh about in a long time. He laughs until he can’t anymore. He holds his hand to his stomach and winces in pain. You stop laughing and place your hand softly on his bicep. He doesn’t flinch away from you this time. Instead he wraps his other hand around yours. “Are you okay?” You ask.

He nods and squeezes your hand. “Yeah, darlin’. I’m just a little sore.” The pet name sends a zap through your body, starting with where his fingers graze your palm, licking down your spine, and settling between your thighs. You pull back from him abruptly and stand from the couch.

“I’m sure you’re tired of sleeping on the couch.” You say and gesture for him to stand. “There’s plenty of bedrooms here.” You offer. Joel stands.

“You really don’t have to do that. I should be on my way, I suppose. I’ve taken up enough of your time, your supplies.” He says and begins to move towards the front door.

“No!” You shout, a little too loudly, a little too quickly. He raises his eyebrows. “I mean, you can’t travel in your condition. You need to rest, Joel. You need to heal. And as for my supplies, I’ve got enough to last me three lifetimes, so you don’t have to worry about that.” You tell him. “Please, Joel.” You plead, and attempt to make your eyes look as sad as possible. “If you go out there now, you’ll die.” Joel picks up his backpack and rifle from the floor next to the door. Tears prick the corners of your eyes.

“One of those rooms got a real bed?” He asks. You nod and blink away the tears before they could fully form.

Joel isn’t sure why he agreed to stay. Maybe you’re right, his injuries are pretty severe. Maybe he just couldn’t stand to see the look on your face, the tears in your eyes. He allows you to lead him down the hallway to a bedroom. You open the door but don't step inside. There is a queen size bed, a dresser, and a baby’s crib. He looks from the crib to your face and immediately knows better than to ask. You’ll tell him when you’re ready, if you ever are. “There’s a bathroom down there if you want to shower. With hot water .” You emphasize. “Feel free to take anything from the dresser. The clothes in there should fit you.” Joel notices the sadness in your voice when you make the offer. He wonders who they belonged to. “I’m gonna go make dinner. You need to eat, regain your strength.” You say, somewhat awkwardly, unsure how to exist around another person anymore. “Help yourself to anything. Hope you like chicken.” You turn and head to the kitchen without giving him a chance to respond. While you chop vegetables for dinner, you hear the shower turn on and hear Joel moan audibly. The sound sends a shiver through your whole body. It's probably been a while since he’s had a hot shower. Probably even longer since he had a home cooked meal like this. When he joins you in the kitchen, he’s wearing one of Danny’s band t-shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants. His feet are covered with only socks. His curly brown hair is slicked back and still dripping onto his neck. The sweatpants seem like they may be just a size too small for him, and his biceps bulge the sleeves of the Green Day t-shirt. You are trying not to stare so you busy yourself bringing the plates of food to the table.

“Do you need any help?” He offers. You clear your throat and shake your head.

“Please, you’re my guest.” You say, gesturing with a plate for him to sit. He sits at the head of the table, where your father used to sit. You take the seat directly to his right, where you’ve always sat. Even during all the years since everyone has been gone, you keep to the same routine. It’s the only thing you know to do. Keep going. Trudging on.

“Wow. I haven’t seen food like this in years.” He smiles and digs in. He moans with the first bite. “Mmm. This is so goddamn good, darlin’.” He says and you offer him a tight smile in return. Your body is having the same reaction as it did to his moan in the shower.

At this point, you feel like you’re about to burn up from the inside. At the very least, there’s bound to be a damp spot on the chair when you stand. And then his knee brushes yours under the table. “Glad you like it, Joel.”

The two of you make conversation while you eat. You talk about easy things, your ages, where you’re originally from, music and movies from before. You both stay clear of topics like your families and outbreak day. After dinner, Joel insists on helping you clean up. You refuse, wanting him to rest as much as you want to give yourself a little space from him. “My mama sure would be disappointed in me if I didn’t at least wash the dishes after someone cooked me a nice meal.” That southern drawl in his voice and the dimple on his cheek when he gives you a smile, has you agreeing against your better judgment. He washes dishes while you clean up the rest of the kitchen, placing the leftovers into the fridge and wiping the counters and stove. Once you’ve finished he walks down the hall with you. “Guess this is me.” He says, huffing out a chuckle, when you arrive at his door.

“Goodnight, Joel. I’ll see you in the morning.” You tell him. You turn to head to your bedroom but his warm palm on your shoulder stops you in your tracks. You turn back around to face him, but he doesn’t drop his hand, just places it gingerly on your opposite shoulder. He seems a little gun-shy, as are you.

“Thank you, for today. For everything, really. Thank you for saving my life. And for giving me the most normal and peaceful day that I’ve had in twenty years.” His eyes glimmer with unshed tears, similar to the ones you feel filling your eyes.

“You’re welcome, Joel. It was nice having some company.” He gives your shoulder a soft squeeze and you finally make your way to your own room. Emotional exhaustion takes over your body and you are asleep the second your head hits the pillow. For the first night in many years, you don’t have nightmares.

For two weeks, Joel rests and recuperates. He does so by following you around as you do your chores, helping here and there with small stuff. You don’t allow him to do any bending or stretching. No lifting either. Basically, he holds doors open for you and keeps you company. After the first week he finally gets brave enough to ask what you meant before. What ‘not anymore’ means. You tell him the truth but spare him the details. Nobody really needs those anymore. We all have an ugly story with a sad ending to tell. Everyone has lost someone. None of it is pretty. You don’t ask him who he has lost. He’s asking because he wants to know you better, not because he wants to tell his own sad tale. You eat dinner alone in your room that night. When you take your still mostly full plate to the kitchen, you see that Joel has cleaned up and retired to his own room for the night. Your heart swells at his consideration, knowing when to leave well enough alone. After the second week, he works up the nerve to ask you about the crib.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He offered quietly. You knew that. Knew that he would leave it alone and never bring it up again if you didn’t want him to. That’s part of why you wanted to tell him. The other part is that same thing that made you stop for him to begin with. That pull. That force. So you tell him. All about your boyfriend whose parents died on outbreak day. How your parents invited him to live with your family. Y’all had plenty to share, after all. Especially with someone your parents considered family. They would never leave a sixteen year old boy to fend for himself in times such as these. Three years into the end of the world, you became pregnant. Your sister and Danny were thrilled. You and your parents were nervous. What kind of world was this to bring a child into? But your sister pointed out that your farm was as close to the “before” as anything was ever going to be again. You had to admit that she was right.

After a while, you let the excitement of impending parenthood overshadow your concern. Ever thankful that your mother was a nurse, your labor and delivery went as smoothly as possible. Just a few months after your nineteenth birthday you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. The six of you spent a year and half in the closest thing to blissful happiness anyone would ever feel again. One day, Danny had to make a run to the hardware store. He insisted on going alone because your dad wasn’t feeling well and neither was the baby. You took care of them while your mom and sister completed the daily chores. When he came home a few hours later he appeared disheveled, saying there were a few runners hanging out in the Home Depot parking lot when he came out. He took the first two down, but there was a third he hadn’t seen. He scuffled with it for a few minutes before he was able to lodge his shotgun under the chin and blow its head off. You began checking his body for bites. All you found was a small scratch on the inside of his wrist. He said it happened in the scuffle, must have caught some of the loose gravel in the parking lot. It didn’t look like a bite. How could you have known? How could either of you have known? The baby went down for a nap and you went to the barn to help your mother. Two of the mama goats were due any day now and she didn’t want them to be left alone. You relieved your sister of goat duty and she went in to get dinner started. After only an hour or two, you and your mother heard a scream from the house that turned your blood to ice water. When you ran inside, Danny was on the ground. He had a hole in his head from your sister’s shotgun, and wispy tendrils hung from his mouth.

“What happened?” You screamed at your sister. She was holding the baby and sobbing.

“I heard the baby crying so I came in to check on her.” She began, but the tears took over. You moved forward to grab your daughter from her arms.

“No!” She screamed. She held the baby tighter and stepped backwards.

“Give her to me!” You shouted. Your daughter’s cries bounced off the walls of the room. You wanted to comfort her. You held your arms out again, but your sister shook her head.

“Look.” She turned the baby in her arms. There it was. On the outside of her thigh. A bite mark. “Danny turned. I didn’t get here fast enough.” She cried.

“Put the baby in the crib.” Your mother instructed. She shook her head again and moved her hair from her neck. She had one too, on her collarbone. In one fell swoop, half of your family was dead.

You and your mother dug graves in the wildflower field behind the barn. It was your sister’s favorite place. She spent hours laying there, among the flowers, reading and drawing and watching the clouds chase each other across the Wyoming sky. Your father never recovered from his illness. Some kind of respiratory infection that never cleared up. Pneumonia your mother guessed, but without any x-rays it was impossible to tell. His lungs filled up with fluid and he would have suffocated to death. He didn’t want that and neither did his wife of twenty five years. She gave him enough pain medication to knock out a horse and he went peacefully to sleep. A month after you buried your sister and boyfriend and baby, you and your mother had another grave to dig. After that, your mother gave up on life. The grief was too much. The pain was too deep. She stopped eating, stopped bathing. She was the only reason you kept going. Trying to keep her alive was keeping you alive. And then one night, she went to sleep and in the morning when you tried to wake her, she was already gone. She just withered away into nothing. She was so small that you carried her on your own to the wildflower field, not that you had any choice. You had five pretty great years together, all things considered. And within three months, it was all ripped from you. You had considered going out to the field where your family rested and putting an end to it. The only thing that stopped you were the animals. If you died, who would take care of them? It wouldn’t be right to leave them to starve to death, or worse, be eaten by infected. So you kept going. For fifteen years, you woke up and fed the animals and harvested the eggs and milked the goats. You learned to be on your own.

Joel sits next to you on a bale of hay in the barn and his eyes shimmer with tears by the end of your story. He snakes his arm around your shoulders and draws you in close. “I’m so sorry. Sorry you had to go through all that. Even sorrier that you had to do it all alone darlin’.” You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and sniffle.

“Thank you, Joel. And thanks for being here.” That night after dinner, Joel plants a kiss on your forehead and shoos you out of the kitchen so he can clean up.

“You go take a shower and get some sleep.” He says. “You had a heavy day.” You take your time in the shower, letting the hot water wash some of the emotions of the day away. You are drying your hair with a towel when you hear Joel’s boots on the hardwood floors. What is he up to? You wonder. When you get to the end of the hallway you see him near the front door, his backpack is slung over one arm and his rifle the other. His hand is outstretched towards the doorknob when he hears your voice. He stops in his tracks and drops his hand but doesn't turn around.

“You’re leaving?” He drops his head to his chest and nods. “You weren’t even going to say goodbye?” You ask, not even bothering to try to hide your tears.

“It’s time for me to go.” He says, still looking at the floor. He’s healed enough now. He has to go find Ellie, you think. You steel yourself and clear your throat.

“Okay then. Goodbye, Joel.” You tell him. You’ve been alone for all this time and you’ve been fine. You will be fine again. He turns then to face you. You can see his own tears shining on his cheeks. “Are you sure you’re healed enough?” The waver in your voice betrays your false confidence.

“Ask me what you really wanna ask.” He rasps. He sounds as wrecked as you feel. “I need to hear you say it. I want to. I do, but I'm not a good man. I’ve done things you couldn’t even imagine, darlin’. I can’t be another thing that hurts you. I can’t be another disappointment for you. You need to tell me that this is what you want.”

Your heart jumps into your throat at his confession. “I can’t lose anyone else, Joel. I won’t make it. I won’t survive. Please , stay. Don’t leave me here all alone again.” You practically beg. You’d drop to your knees and kiss his boots if you thought it would help. He throws his belongings to the ground and closes the distance between you. He grabs your face with both of his hands and crashes his lips into yours. Your mouth opens in a gasp and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue in, tangling it with yours.

Hours later, you lay naked in his arms. You trace lines into his chest with your fingers and his chin rests on top of your head. You look up at him and he smiles. It’s now or never, you think. “Who is Ellie?” You ask. “You call out for her in your sleep.” You tell him. He takes a deep breath and kisses the top of your head.

“My daughter.” He replies sadly.

“Where is she?” Joel tightens his arms around you.

“She died.”

I no longer have a taglist! Please follow @ramble-on-fics and turn on post notifications for updates!

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forbidden-sunlight · 5 months

Text

yandere!athanasia de alger obelia with fem!reader headcanons

Warning: OOC, obsessive behavior, implied violence, mention of death, stalking, implied manipulation.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your own Internet consumption!

Hey guys, hope you all have had a lovely winter solstice and a Merry Christmas! Somehow, this fic got deleted, so I'm re-uploading it! Special thanks to @lxdymoon0357 for helping me write this fic. Check out their content, it is amazing!

Just a heads-up, I am temporarily removing Loving Promise on a Broken Ring from the masterlist so that I can polish it to be the best version it can be. When it's ready, I will post the fic back onto the blog. I will be posting a couple of fics in 2024 here and on my other blog, @an-idyllic-novelist.

These headcanons can see read as either romantic or platonic :)

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's dive inside the pages of novel.

Amongst the supporting characters Anthanasia had read about in The Lovely Princess, there was one person who had stayed beside the original First Princess of the Obelia Empire even when it seemed like the entire world was against her: [First Name] [Last Name].

[First Name] [Last Name] had come from a well-known family, trained by Felix Robane himself until she was worthy enough to be sworn as the ‘sword’ and ‘shield’ of the First Princess, her personal gaurd. Although Jeannette had won over Claude’s affection with her unrealistic optimism and kindness, [First Name] was not swayed over to the female lead’s side. Nor did she believe Anthansia would try to poison her own half-sister out of spite. In fact, she had been the only one.

Regardless of what the knight believed, however, the First Princess still died by the Emperor’s hand. The loss of Anthansia drove [First Name] to commit suicide in her grief, and then she disappeared for the rest of the novel. After Chapter 9 in The Lovely Princess, the novel’s world revolved around Jennette Margarita and the male lead.

…Which is complete and utter bullshit! [First Name] went through so much character development in the spin-off stories featuring Anathansia, which she had actually enjoyed reading a lot more than the original content. Why would the author throw that out of the window again like she did with Lily’s character?! Augh, stupid book, stupid writer!

Now that she had been reborn as Anthansia, she refuses to allow events in the novel’s timeline that will endanger her life before and after she turned eighteen. Anthy's initial plan had been to steal as much as she could from the Ruby Palace, hoarding it in a secret area until there was enough funds to escape the country.

Plan A went up in smoke because she had met Claude four years earlier. Now….God, she had to act cute and try to make sure he doesn’t get bored of her or else he’ll kill her! He’s a meanie! A tyrant! What kind of asshole would just sit and watch his daughter drown in the lake or carry her like a sack of potatoes! If there’s anything that was remotely positive about this series of unfortunate events is that she got to know Felix.

Felix was nicer than Claude, and he was the one who had recognized [First Name]’s potential to become her knight!

Maybe. Maybe if she played her cards right with the Emperor and Felix, she’ll get [First Name] to come to her palace sooner!

But if Anthy does that, then [First Name] will have to go through two, or even four years of training under her Daddy’s personal guard until she is deemed qualified to protect a member of the royal family! Argh, even calling Claude that name is embarrassing enough!

And yet…

If she does change the story even a little bit for the sake of her survival and bring her favorite character here sooner than how it’s written, then…[First Name] won’t throw her life away as she had done in the original work. She’ll get to live a comfy life here, train to her heart’s content, maybe even join Anthy for tea parties! Anthy would like that very much, and she definitely wouldn’t tell her to take ten steps back when they walk through the palace together.

Then when the time is right…when Anthy is able to leave the palace and allow her half-sister to become the new princess in everyone’s lives….she’ll bring [First Name] with her. After all, there’s no other reason for Anthy to stay here except for Lily. And a lady always needs an escort wherever she goes, right?

….Right?

Athanasia de Alger Obelia will use her intellect and charm to ensure that you, her most precious knight and favorite character, will survive the series of unfortunate events that were written in this crappy novel world. Even if it means she will have to play the part of a sweet and cute daughter in front of the man who had caused her death in the first place.

If she wants to go for a stroll in the garden or gets dragged to go on a boat ride with Claude, make sure to stay nearby. She doesn’t want to lose sight of you.

Athy will insist that you come to her tea parties too. She would love to see you in a dress, but knows it would damage your reputation if she began to treat you, someone of a lower status, as an equal…even though she desperately wants to.

When there is time in her busy schedule, she will come and seek you out at the palace training grounds. She wants to see how you are progressing under Felix’s guidance and be assured that you aren’t being treated badly by the rest of calvary. If you are, just say or point your finger at the culprit. She will handle the matter personally.

No hard feelings if she becomes a little bit clingy though, okay? Athy adores you, and it’s normal to spend a lot of time with a person that you like from morning to night. Just don’t leave her for side. That’s all you have to do….if you want to survive in this hellhole. Don’t even think about asking the court magician about the princess’ behavior towards you. Luca will just shake his head in pity, wondering how in the world did the princess become so infatuated with someone like yourself and not see Duke Alpheus’ son stares at Her Highness with that same disgusting expression.

Taglist

@nunezs-stuff

@that-one-pretty-bitch

@swallowtailcherry

@dxmoness

@dragonempress18

@abelheilonwife

@sleep-all-day-everyday

@technikerin23

@gyatdamnpookie

@lyomeii

#forbidden-sunlight #yandere x reader #x reader #ns.fw #yandere manhwa x reader #manhwa x reader #manhwa x you #who made me a princess #wmmap athanasia #yandere #yandere female #wmmap x reader #tw stalking #tw obsessive love #tw obsessive behavior #cw obsessive behavior #cw obsessive love

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valleydean · 9 months

Text

The Beginning

Story by: valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) Art by: sidewinder @hawkland

Rating: Explicit

Word count: ~118k

Tags/archive warnings: endverse, zombie apocalypse, graphic depictions of violence, blood and gore, drug use, animal death, Dean POV, Cas POV, Castiel's loss of angelic grace, newly human Castiel, jealous Dean, fear of abandonment, angst, rough sex, body horror, internalized homophobia, denial, minor Cas/OC, drugs as a coping mechanism, sex as a coping mechanism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn, slow build, codependency

Summary: One year ago, soon after Lucifer was freed from the Cage, Dean and Sam parted ways. Since then, Dean has been hunting on his own and, along with Cas despite his declining grace, searching for a way to prevent the apocalypse. When the outbreak of the Croatoan virus begins, Dean and Cas head to Bobby’s to plan their next move. On the way, as the contagion rapidly spreads through America, they must contend with the rabid infected, martial law, and humans who will do anything to ensure their own survival.

Preview:

Cas stepped to the other side of the door and turned around to face Dean. Dean stopped walking, looking forward at Cas and waiting for him to say anything at all.

When he did, it was, “In there.”

Dean pulled his brows together, his eyes flashing to the dark window panel in the door. The directional light of his flashlight bounced off of it, obscuring whatever was inside. The glass was a deeply black mirror.

His gut clenched, feeling like someone had shoved their hand into his intestines and was trying to rip them out. He slowly brought his face closer to the window. His transparent reflection stared back pensively. He looked beyond it, squinting and refocusing his eyes.

There were bodies in there—maybe three of four. He couldn’t really tell. Some of them were in pieces. Pools of blood soaked them, glinting like a knife in the moonlight that fought its way through the dirty windows.

Dean opened his mouth, about to ask what the hell happened.

Something slammed against the other side of the glass. A bloody hand. Dean jumped back, his shout echoing down the hall. It shattered the bubble of silence—so, too, did the banging on the glass as the man inside tried to beat his way out of the room. His dripping red fists pounded incessantly, leaving smears on the window. He was giving off animalistic grunts and hisses.

“What the…” Dean said, his heart still in his throat. He looked at Cas, demanding an answer. Part of him wanted to blame Cas, to ask him why the hell he slaughtered people and left them in a room. But maybe they weren’t people. Then, what? Demons? Monsters?

Something didn’t add up.

The man kept doing everything he could to bust through the glass. Dean noticed the paring knife clutched in his fist.

Cas didn’t kill those people.

“I led them here and locked them inside,” Cas said, as if he’d read Dean’s mind. “They killed each other.”

The lines of Dean’s forehead bunched up when he lifted his brows in surprise. There was something he was missing. It felt like a forgotten word on the tip of his tongue. A distorted memory from a faded dream.

“You’ve seen this before,” Cas supplied. “The Croatoan virus.”

The words hit Dean like a truck. Blanching, he said, “Croatoan? You mean, the thing that turns everybody into Jack Torrance?”

“No, the demon virus that triggers murderous actions in anyone who contracts it,” Cas corrected, and Dean was still too busy freaking out to tell Cas they pretty much said the same thing. Pressing his lips together, Cas turned his gaze on the door, and there was a subdued kind of despondency in them, like he was trying to control how much emotion he showed on his face. “It’s one of the signs of the apocalypse. This is Lucifer’s doing. He unleashed the Horseman Pestilence.”

“Pestilence,” Dean echoed, the word taking a long time to process. He remembered, thirteen months ago, when he and Sam cut the ring off War’s fingers. That had been the day he and Sam parted ways. Dean hadn’t seen his brother since. He’d only talked to him once on the phone, when Sam called him a few weeks later to tell Dean that Lucifer wanted him as his meatsuit.

Dean rattled his head, trying to shake loose any thoughts of Sam. He focused on Cas saying, “The entire town’s been infected.”

Dean remembered how quickly the virus spread—and how it spread. An infected person had to bleed into someone’s open wound. Once the blood mixed, that was it. Soon after, the victim would turn into a one-track-mind, bloodthirsty monster.

He glanced back at the doorway. The man was still standing behind the glass, looking at Dean like he was lunch, but at least he’d stopped pounding on the window.

“It isn’t the only one,” Cas continued. “There are pockets of the virus across America—possibly the world.”

How hadn’t Dean heard about this? His chest felt too small, like his ribcage was shrinking around his heart and lungs. “Where’d it start?”

“I don’t know.”

Coming this October to @deancashorrorfest

#deancashorrorfest #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #endverse #siderwinder art #destiel fanart #deancas fanart #horror au #my writing #hawkland

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billys-pretty-babe · 5 months

Text

Last Kiss

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary: A freak accident took you away from your boyfriend, and he doesn't know what to do with himself, he's never faced a loss like this in his life.

Warning: Reader death (car accident), lots of suicide ideation (overdose, driving a car into a lake), suicide notes, swearing, Billy and reader are still in high school (entering their senior year), Billy says lots of hurtful stuff to his family (due to grief), vomit, substance abuse (drugs and alcohol), suicide (overdose), no happy ending

Word count: 3,151

A/N : Grab your tissues, this made me cry until I dry heaved. Loosely inspired by Pearl Jam's cover of Last Kiss (X) These are extremely heavy triggers please proceed with caution.

August 12, 1985

Billy laid in his room, cigarette between his lips, exhaling the smoke before doing the same thing. School was starting in three days, he was finally a senior and as soon as he would graduate in May 1986, he'd leave Hawkins with you, going back to California. He was on babysitting duty once again, Neil and Susan were who knows where, and Max was in her room with her weird friend, as he heard them giggling.

Music blared in his bedroom; he didn't even realize anyone was at the door until Max's fist banged on his door. He rolled his eyes, fixing the black shorts on his hips. He got up, putting the cigarette in an old beer can, shaking it a little before putting it in his trash can. He opened the door, "Need money for pizza?" Max shook her head, she looked odd, he noted the way her eyes were teary, Jane in the hallway, looking at Max.

"Chief of police is here, he needs to talk to you." His mind began racing. He was trying to figure out where to hide his ounce of weed. "Tell him I'm not here." Max shook her head, "You really need to talk to him." Billy sighed and nodded, leaving his room, shutting the door behind him. Max went to her bedroom, Jane following right behind her. Billy went to the front door; Jim Hopper was sitting on the railing of Billy's porch. Billy shut the front door and Jim looked up, hit hat off of his head.

"What'd I do?" Hopper shook his head and Billy raised a brow, sitting on the steps of the house and Jim joined him. "My dad and Susan?" Jim shook his head once more, clearing his throat. He reached into his back pocket, grabbing his wallet and he pulled a small clear bag out of it, handing it to Billy.

A bloody picture of you and Billy was in the bag, he looked at it, his stomach churning. He put it down, looking at the grass, trying to contain what he had eaten that day. "I don't know how you guys know each other, but that was in her car. It was a freak accident; a truck driver was falling asleep and didn't see her car." Billy grew increasingly nauseated, Jim putting the image in his head. He began to sweat, pushing his hair back.

"She's not okay, is she," he asked, choking on his words and the bile building up. Jim shook his head, "She passed a few hours ago, her parents didn't want anyone there." Billy leaned over the railing, throwing up in Susan's flowers and Jim put his hand on Billy's naked back, patting gently.

Billy spit a few times, trying to get the taste out of his mouth and he pushed his hair back again, wiping his mouth on his hand, wiping the liquid on the wooden railing. "Is your dad here?" Billy shook his head, "No, I don't know where he's at." Jim nodded. "When's her funeral?" Jim looked at Billy, "I'll come by when I find out." Billy nodded, looking at the picture again.

They were pictures from the Funfair from a photobooth, he remembers exactly how the night went. "Her mom said you were around a lot, even met them." Billy nodded, those were the first and would be the last set of parents he ever met. "Yeah, she was my girlfriend, was gonna be a year in December." Jim nodded and a static voice came through his radio, someone needing him at the station. "Take care of yourself, Billy. If you need anything, you know where to find me or ask my kid in there for our address.

Billy nodded, quietly thanking Jim and he got up, putting his hat back on his head and patted Billy's shoulder and walked to his car. Billy watched Jim leave, looking up at the sky, doing his best to contain his tears. He got up, going back into the house, Max and Jane on the couch. He handed Max money, "For your dinner," he said before going to his bedroom, slamming the door shut and he locked it.

He carefully took the strip of pictures out of the baggy, putting it on his bedside table that held a picture frame of the two of them at prom. He looked through his room, finding the black box that held a locket, his name engraved into the pretty heart locket, your guys' first picture in it. He snapped it shut, hoping you'd have an open casket service so he could put it with you.

He laid back down, letting his mind run rampant with memories of the two of you. Hours must have passed as he saw Neil's truck headlights pull into the driveway. He hoped for his sake that Max had ordered dinner and had cleaned up afterwards. He heard Neil's heavy footsteps go through the house and then he heard Max's door open as he heard her cry, most likely in search of her mother.

He heard a soft knock on his door before he heard Susan's voice, "Billy, I'm so sorry." He heard her soft footsteps leave his door and his brain finally came to terms that you were gone. He curled up, stuffing his face into his pillow as he cried, his body shaking with his cries as he struggled for air, gasping through his hiccups and sniffles.

Almost two weeks after he found out about your death, the funeral was held, Max joined him along with Susan, Neil out of town for his job. Your mom hugged him, rubbing his back and your dad hugged him, something he had never done before that day. It was an open casket and as everyone left the room, preparing to go to the cemetery, he walked to the front of room. He stood above your body, more tears falling, and he held the locket in his hand.

He felt someone's presence, someone was behind him, probably Max or Susan waiting for him since he drove them to the service. He unclipped the locket and put it around your wrist, clipping it back together. He looked down at the silver ring on his finger, something his mom gave him. At this moment, he didn't care, his mom never left a hole in his heart like this, he'd forget about his mom with time, but he'd never forget you and the mark you left on his heart.

He slid the silver ring off of his finger, holding your cold left hand as he slid it onto your ring finger, where the diamond ring he would've bought you, would sit. He looked at you, you didn't look any different than you usually did. He grabbed one of the chairs, moving it closer to your casket and he sat down.

"What am I supposed to do now," he asked, "I haven't gone to school, I think I'm going to drop out. I haven't left my house either until today, because I needed to say goodbye to you. I keep taking it out on Max and everyone else, I've never been this angry before, I think I'll always be like this. I know if you were still here, you'd tell me that you would want me to move on, but I can never do that, no one is going to treat me like you did."

He gulped, trying not to choke on his tears, "I decided to stay here so I can be close to you, I'm gonna come see you every day, just like I did when we were dating." He wiped his face with the back of his hand, "I love you, and I'm gonna love you forever, because you're doing the same for me." He moved the chair back, letting his fingers touch yours, trying not to react to the coldness of your body.

He turned around to leave the room, your mom standing in the doorway of the vast viewing room. "We have something for you." He nodded, following her out of the room, and out of the building, to the car where your dad was standing at the trunk. Billy walked over, wiping his face, his eyes burning from crying so much. Your dad opened the trunk, two boxes in it. "We kept what we wanted to, this is everything that has you two in it, your clothes that she took from you, and other stuff we thought that you would like to have." He nodded, thanking your dad and your mom hugged him again.

"You're still family and welcome to our house whenever, Billy." He nodded and thanked her, and your dad helped Billy take one of the boxes to the Camaro and Billy opened the trunk as your dad put the box into the trunk and Billy shut it, placing the other box in the backseat beside Max. Her hand went to reach out, "No, that's not for you. Keep your damn hands to yourself." He moved the driver's seat back to its regular position as he started the car.

He looked in the mirror, sighing as he saw Max looking out of the window, "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have snapped at you." She shrugged, "It's fine, I get it. That's her stuff." He nodded and he followed the black hearse to the cemetery. They all arrived, and he fixed his black dress shirt, throwing a blazer on and Max and Susan got out of the car. Billy met up with your dad, your brother that was a few years older than you, and other family members that he never got to meet.

Billy didn't want to be a Pallbearer, but your dad had asked him, and he couldn't say no to him. The six of them talked as the funeral director opened the back of the hearse. "Okay, so Billy and I will be in the middle since we're going by height." Everyone nodded at what your dad said.

Your dad introduced Billy to your uncle, grandfather and cousin and he shook their hands. Your grandfather and uncle grabbed the back of the casket as Billy and your father grabbed the handles on the middle and your brother and cousin grabbed the front handles. Your casket moved to everyone's shoulders, their other hands grabbing onto the handles as they all began walking to your grave site.

Susan held Max's shoulders as Max wiped under her eyes. They all put your casket on the contraption and took their seats, Billy sitting with your parents, Max and Susan on the other side of your mom. The funeral director began speaking before your dad got up and gave a speech. Your mom gave a speech as well, along with your brother and Billy stood up as your brother left the podium, your brother putting his hand out and Billy clapped his hand to his, leaning in and their shoulders touched, and your brother sat back down.

Billy grabbed the crinkled, tear-stained notebook paper out of the pocket of his blazer. He pushed his hair back, clearing his throat. "I'm Billy, I'm," he cut himself off, "was her boyfriend." He couldn't bring himself to say your name. "I had a whole speech prepared, but nothing I say will ever amount to how much I truly love her, how she made me feel during tough moments. We met on my first day at Hawkins High, I asked her to be my girlfriend in December and I met her family in January. I had never had a girlfriend before her, she made me feel like everything was okay during family problems, like nothing could hurt me. She was always so happy to see me, there was never a dull moment with her. She was the first person to tell me that they loved me and actually mean it. We did everything together; we were glued at the hip. We would have graduated together in May 1986 and then we were going to move to California and start our new life there, get married and have kids later on in life."

He wiped his face with his index finger, looking at your casket. "The Funfair was one of our last dates, she hated heights, but I was somehow able to convince her to go on the Ferris Wheel with me. She freaked out the first two minutes were on it." Your brother laughed with your dad and Billy chuckled at the memory, "We used to go on late night drives to the diner on the outskirts of town, we'd go to the lake just to go sit on the dock and look at the stars." He looked at your casket one more time, this last sentence for you and you only, "I love you more than I can ever say, I just wish I got to tell you one more time." He cleared his throat, a single tear slipping from his right eye, onto his paper.

He thanked the crowd and sat back down at his seat and your dad put his hand on Billy's shoulder. Everyone watched your casket get lowered into the dirt before someone began covering it with dirt, your headstone showing to everyone the more the dirt pile shrunk. People began leaving, your brother and Billy talking behind a tree as they smoked cigarettes. "You're still my brother, even though she's not here anymore. You need anything at all, you know where to find me." Billy nodded, thanking him.

"Is it hard for you?" Your brother nodded, "Very, I moved out because I couldn't sleep next to her room anymore knowing that she wasn't in there." Billy nodded. "How's school?" Billy hummed, "I don't go, haven't left my house since Jim Hopper came to my house to tell me that she passed." Your brother hummed, nodding in understanding. They finished the conversation and Billy saw Max and Susan at the car, ready to leave. He sighed, not ready. "I can take them back to your house, I know where it's at. Cherry Lane, right?" Billy nodded, thanking him and your brother walked to the girls, and they got into his car.

Soon, Billy was the last one left, and he was to your headstone, sitting right beside it, the dirt still too soft on top of your casket. He took a deep breath, "This is fucked up, I was supposed to go first from natural causes." He put his hand on top of the headstone, rubbing a ridge just like how he used to rub your skin. "I wonder how much these plots are, might as well put my down payment for the one right next to you," he chuckled before sighing.

Many weeks passed and not a day went by where he wasn't high or drunk. He was able to get ketamine, weed, and some type of pills. He was hoping that something would be laced with something that would kill him. He was mean now, to everyone he knew. Max did her best to breakthrough to him, but she ticked him off weeks ago when she said she understood the feeling and he freaked out, leaving his house and ending right back at your burial sight. She didn't understand, no one in his family knew how he felt.

He had gone through loss before, his mom leaving, his grandparents passing away, but nothing fucked him up like your death did. Now, he sat in his bed, weed in his system as he wrote notes, sealing them in envelopes as he wrote names on the front of the envelopes. He wrote one for his entire family, your brother and parents, and one for you. He had dreamt about his death, sometimes when he drove by Lover's Lake, he wondered if he'd be able to crash his car into the water, but determined he was too good of a swimmer to go through with it.

He knew that his drug supplier wouldn't give him anything laced, so it was in his hands. He finished his notes, coming to terms that he wanted to die. He left his bed, putting clothes on and making sure he had his wallet, making sure his driver's license was in it. He made his bed one last time, quietly making his way to Neil's bedroom as he found the high strength pain meds from a past surgery, he hoped they would still work.

He walked back down the hallway, shutting his bedroom door, walking past Max's bedroom, sliding the envelope under her door, leaving Neil and Susan's envelopes on the coffee table in the living room. He grabbed the keys to his Camaro, driving to your parent's house, putting their envelopes in the mailbox before he made his way to your brother's apartment complex, talking to the person at the front desk as they slid it into his mailbox.

Billy made his way back to his car, making his last stop at your grave, wedging your envelope between the vase and the headstone. He rubbed the top of the headstone before going back to his car. He looked at the plot right next to you, hoping that Neil would respect his last wish to be buried right next to you.

Billy made his way to Lover's Lake, the last place the two of you spent time at. He looked at the pill bottle, popping the top and started off with four pills, swallowing them with water from a bottle that had stayed in his car for days. He took more, and more until the bottle was empty.

1 AM

Max walked into her bedroom, seeing the white envelope on her floor and she picked it up before she heard the front door open, hearing Neil speak to someone before the door shut and she heard Neil scream like he was in pain. She tore her envelope open, and her eyes welled up at the opening words.

"I'm sorry for everything I put you through."

She felt sick to her stomach, clutching it as she read the letter as she heard her own mother cry, Neil's cries were the loudest. Someone knocked on her door before it opened, Susan standing in the doorway before she walked into the room and wrapped her daughter into a tight hug. Max sobbed into Susan's neck and Susan tightened her hold on Max's body, swaying them. "He was in pain, baby, he felt like he had no other option." Max cried harder, wishing she had tried harder to help him.

That night, two families were broken, your family dealing with two losses and Billy's family having to come to terms with his death, Max taking it the absolute hardest, because maybe just maybe, they could have been best friends and do what normal siblings do.

#billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things billy #william hargrove #billy hargrove x f!reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove angst

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asumofwords · 1 year

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Rape, assault, choking, slapping, suicidal thoughts, feelings of hopelessness.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my babies, here is the next chapter.

I wanted to preface this by saying, please be cautious with the trigger warnings, it is going to be a heavy chapter. I also wanted to say, be kind in the comment sections and what you say, there may be survivors who read your words.

If you are at all triggered, please know that you are not alone, and that you are a survivor, and there are people you can talk to and get help with.

I think we all knew that this was coming, but even still, it feels wrong to say enjoy this time. Tread carefully, and be kind to yourself <3

Chapter 74: A Crown of Thorns

Another day went by in your chambers, time moving at an odd pace.

Sometimes it moved speedily, at others seemingly dragging on. You did not sleep that evening, sitting on the chaise as Helaena and Lucerys stood by the fireplace, continuing to whisper together until you had grown so used to their sound, that you did not find discomfort any longer.

It grew to be a noise that was like a breeze outside the Keep, brushing against the windows or through the corridors, or the soft crackling of the fire.

A sound that blended into the background, like the waves that would crash against the cliff-face of Dragonstone, or the soft discernible buzzing of Flea Bottom.

There.

Inevitable.

Inescapable.

Despite being in the Keep for only a few of moons, you felt as though you had been there for a lifetime. It was a strangeness that you couldn’t shake off. And an uncomfortable reminder of how much time you had lost with your family.

Another loss to never be gained again.

Your body had begun to feel weak, lack of sleep and proper meals scraping roughly against the sinews on your bones. You forced yourself to eat a meal, watched on by the maids that morning, concern evident in their eyes.

You finished the bread on your plate, and the entirety of the sweet star fruit one of the girls had neatly cut up for you with your own knife and fork. You had even indulged in three slices of beef, and attempted to swallow a roasted tomato. But the tomato did not go down smoothly, its wet and slimy texture causing you to gag as soon as it hit the back of your throat.

You had drank your tea under the eyes of the maids, who had whispered words of praise as you drank it, promising that it would make you feel better and that you should be yourself in no time. That Aemond would return soon, and perhaps they could escort you on a walk through the Gardens to lift your spirits.

They were kind. They were patient, and the walls that they had guarded themselves with when you first arrived had been lowered significantly. You even felt that they had come to care for you sincerely, and not just as a part of their duties.

You missed Saria and Aella.

The meal had definitely helped your spirits, and your body felt slightly better being given some sustenance. Yet your mind was still raw, Helaena and Lucerys had been by your bed when you had woken, their whispers peeling back layers of dwindling resolve.

Though as you had eaten, they had left from your sight, their whispering voices still ringing in your ears.

In truth, you were exhausted.

Mentally and physically.

It felt like an uphill battle.

You would take two steps forward, and five steps back. Your mind waxing and waning through strong and brittle. Memories of the past striking fear seemingly out of nowhere at times, and storms of uncertainty racing you towards the edge of a cliff you knew there was no coming back from.

But surely this was progress.

The road to recovery was a long one, and although your side had healed, it still came to irritate you.

Where there was once an open wound, now sat puckered and scarred skin, still sensitive to the touch if you pressed it. Some days it would twinge, and small sparks of discomfort would rise up your ribs if you sat at an odd angle, bumped it against something, or even if one of your gowns was too tight across the new skin.

At moments like those, when your elbow would push pressure against it, or the side of the chaise would dig into it meanly, or Aemond’s hands would grasp or tease, you could feel the phantom pains of when it had once been opened. You could feel the way in which the new skin was now pulled taut by scars and ached at random.

Sometimes it even itched, and you had to gently let yourself rub the pads of your fingers, no nails, across it to soothe the irritation.

The scar, you supposed, was similar to your mind.

Though it had healed, there was still the presence of what had happened. There was still the pain and uncomfortability, the voices and visions, and reminders of the past whenever those corners of the mind were pressed or disturbed.

Like your scar, if the wound was touched, even though healed, it would still offer a reaction. It would ache, or itch, or send panic rearing through you. And this was something that you hoped would heal with time.

You just needed time.

And time was what you had, though the looming threat of Aegon did little to the scars on your psyche which were poked, and prodded, or scratched by the sharp nails of paranoia and justified rage.

You doubted the lacerations to your mind had even begun to heal, and if they had, any little progress they had made, any scabbing over, or the prospect of change had been picked away by the circumstances surrounding you. Relentless fingers pulling at the platelets that had formed over the injury, blood and memories spilling forth, setting you back to where you started from.

The same open wound.

That evening, when the maids had come to your chambers, you had ate with little fuss, though your stomach cramped at suddenly being so full. You had nibbled at the warm bread and feasted on cooked potatoes and legumes. Even indulging in a goblet of wine, which somehow settled your nerves.

A quick fix to a longer issue.

When you had finished your meal, the maids, who had not left the chambers as you ate, hovering about, pretending to tend to their duties, when in reality they were casting quick and short glance over their shoulders at you, readied you for bed.

The vanity sat in front of you as one of the maids had begun to brush out your hair, combing it gently as she looked at your face in the reflection. A soft humming came from her chest as she worked, untangling your knots.

It was a tune that plucked a string of familiarity within you. A musical lilt that felt ancestral to its core, and you found that it calmed you almost immediately.

There was something about it, something that made your brain tick.

You shifted in the green cushioned seat and looked the girl in the eyes.

“What are you humming?” You had asked, voice soft.

The girl cleared her throat and stopped, “A daughters song, Princess.” She responded meekly.

“Would you sing it for me?”

You wished to hear it.

To feel it.

For it to drown out any whispers in the back of your head, or the corner of the room. You wished to hear it for what it was, to see if it did hold familiarity or if it was, like many things in that present moment, just in your head.

The girls hands stopped in your hair as she looked at you, before a blush spread over her cheeks. She looked down and then over her shoulder at the other maid, who had discontinued fluffing the same pillow she had been arranging for quite some time.

Clearing her throat again, she nodded, “Yes, Princess.” And began unsteadily, as if nervous for your reaction, uncertain if she would be punished or berated.

“Come now my daughter, come sit beside me, rolling green hills, and a mountain of flames,” She began, and you let yourself lean into her hands as she kept them threading through your hair.

“We sit one last time, two parts of the same, a curse to be born, a woman’s last name. A woman of duty, a wicked hearts game, a wife’s job is set, the children are tamed.” As she continued, you realised that you had not heard the song at all, though the melody reminded you of a memory you could not discern.

“The girls life is done, the woman’s life breathes, rise with the sun, and rest with its leave. Clipped of your wings, never to fly, a woman’s one job, is to let her man die.” The maid looked down, not meeting your eyes as her hands stilled in your locks.

As you made no move to punish her, or reprimand her, or even correct her, she continued, voice a fair bit more confident, though still soft and gentle, “We all face the fate, no woman can hide. The sins of the flesh, till the woman has died.”

You blinked sheepishly at the girl as she distracted herself with brushing your hair, not daring to look up at you.

“Why is that so familiar? Is it a Westerosi song?”

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. My mother used to sing it to me.”

“It is quite dark.” You mused softly, reflecting on the song.

‘Clipped of your wings, never to fly.’

“It is a song about becoming a woman, Princess. It is not an easy road, especially for common folk. It is a song sung to us to prepare us, should we ever be married.”

You hummed in agreement, “Thank you for sharing it with me. Is your mother-“

“Gone.” She uttered, voice hoarse with emotion, “A fever when I was a child, Your Grace.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. She sounded like a wise woman to sing it to you.”

“She was.” She smiled softly at you in the reflection.

The smaller maid came to the both of your sides as the other took her hands from your hair, “Will you be needing anything else from us, Princess?” She asked.

“No, thank you both.” You smiled at them, though it twitched from strain, “You may rest for the evening.”

As the girls turned to leave the chamber, a crawling sense of shame and realisation washed over you.

“What are your names?” You called across the chambers, looking at how the two girls stopped to turn and face you, not looking down at their feet, but instead directly at you.

The eldest of girls who had mousy brown hair, and deep brown eyes, bowed her head as she spoke, “Amala, Your Grace.”

The youngest whose hair was a deep blonde, skin littered in freckles followed the other, bowing her head and looked down as she introduced herself, “Joanna, Princess.”

You smiled at the both of them, a genuine smile, and repeated their names on your tongue to the chambers.

“Apologies for not asking sooner," You apologised sheepishly, "Thank you. You may leave.”

The girls gave another short bow and smiled at you before leaving the chambers, the orange of their robes disappearing out the chamber doors.

You sighed, back bending on the vanity chair as you relaxed without their presence.

Exhaustion seeped into your bones, and your eyelids grew heavy with every breath you took. Looking across the room, Helaena and Lucerys stood by the fire watching you, mouths moving, and only snake-like hissing coming out as they whispered.

Wearily you moved, and got into bed, promising yourself that you would only rest your eyes, if only for a moment, and then you could rise again and stay vigilant. Yet resolve flew out the window as soon as your leadened limbs laid on the plush down of the bed, and the soft doona was pulled over you.

Laying your head on the pillow, you kept your eyes on the chamber doors and waited. But the wait was longer than your body could stand, and so your lids grew too heavy to hold open and slid shut, the depths of sleep dragging you under.

Dreams of serpents surrounded you, their glistening yellow bellies and scales of emerald green shining against the stone floors.

Jet black eyes stared at you as the largest of snakes rose its head.

A forked tongue flicked out. The thin, pink muscle rattling in the air around you as it watched you with beady eyes, tasting the air.

Tasting you.

It hissed, large fangs showing as it begun to curl around your feet, winding its way higher and higher up your body, its muscles constricting you.

And yet there was nothing you could do, and nothing that you did do but watch as it wrapped around you higher and higher, pressing your arms to your side as it hissed in your ear. Your mind screamed at you to move, but your body refused, knowing that it could not escape its fate.

Knowing what was to come.

Making peace with its own demise.

The serpent pulled back to look you in the eyes as it curled its body around you tighter. Its scaled gums pulled back, revealing rows of needled teeth as it grinned at you.

“He is coming.” It hissed, before striking forward towards your neck.

You woke with a start, a sharp biting pain on your flesh as you felt weight atop you.

The chambers were dark, and all you could feel was your heavy limbs that were held down by a weight atop you. You jerked, breath coming out of you in a gasp as the feeling of teeth on your neck pushed you to the surface of consciousness.

Your heart galloped in your chest, beating against your ribs.

In the dim of the chambers, the teeth relinquished your neck, head rearing up to look down at you.

There, above you, hands holding your arms down and thighs pinning your own beneath him, sat Aegon. His teeth shone in the night as he looked at you, canines glistening predatorily as he realised you had woken.

Fear coursed through you as you began to thrash beneath him, desperate to get out of his grip as he held you down, his short wavy hair halo’d around his face.

“Thought you’d never wake up.” He grinned excitedly.

“Get off me.” You growled, trying to shift your legs to knee him between his.

He tutted you with his tongue, cocking his head as his hands tightened around your arms, bruising the tender flesh, “That’s not very nice.”

“Fuck you. Let me go!” You yelled into the chambers, hips bucking up as cold dread settled over you.

Please, Gods. Not this.

“Why do you fight this?” He mocked, “Why do you try to honour my brother when he fucks Alys? He has left you here,” A sick grin crawled wider across his face, “All alone.”

“Fuck you. Get off me! Kn-“ You began to call out to the knight for help, to see if he would respond, but Aegon’s hands lifted from your arms and pushed down on your throat roughly, pushing all air from your lungs and preventing the scream which had begun.

“You think the Knight would help you?” Aegon sneered, as you thrashed beneath him, pushing at him with all your strength, “Do you think he would listen to you? I could command him to come in here and make him watch, and he would do it. Should I call him for you?” He growled, fingers tightening around your throat, the room beginning to spin.

Please Gods, have I not given enough?

Your hands flew up to grab his, nails digging into the skin as you desperately tried to pry them from your neck. The muscles in your back cramped painfully as you tried to push up and away, to throw him off of you, but the Kings hands did not relent, and the world around you began to fade into black, the chambers softly floating away.

You relaxed beneath him, mind going numb as his laughter faded, hands releasing slightly. Air rushed into your lungs as you coughed and spluttered beneath him. One of his hands slid down your body to yank your chemise up from your thighs.

Grunting you tried to wriggle away from him, one hand lifting to try and claw at his face which he batted away with ease. His hand continued to pull up the chemise as you jerked in his hold, one hand still on your throat squeezing.

No.

Gods, please, no.

Not him.

Anyone but him.

“You know, I think I like it when you pretend that you don’t want me. The chase makes it far more enjoyable.” He purred, wine on his breath as it fanned over you.

Your voice was trapped in your chest.

You wished to scream at him.

To tell him to get off you.

To cry for help.

But nothing came out.

Aegon slapped your cheek playfully with one hand as he cooed at you.

“Should have taken you as my second wife, just as Aegon the First had. You and Helaena could have been sister-wives, and I could have watched you both swell with my seed.” He smiled, as you tried to push him back.

Aegon grabbed your throat roughly, pushing down, jolting your head and holding you, grin staring down at you in the dark of the chambers. The room dimmed as you struggled to breathe, legs kicking pitifully beneath you.

And then you were floating.

Not there in the room.

Not beneath him.

Not feeling anything but the pain against your throat and an odd numbness that began to surround your body. You could hear the mumbled voice of Aegon, but it felt so far away.

So far away.

You felt like you were fading. Drifting, and drifting, like a ship sails the sea, bobbing atop the waves as it moved through crystal waters on its way to a destination, weightless and carried by the tide.

But you didn’t know where your destination was, and instead you were being carried, drifting in gentle waves that told you not where you were going, moving you as you faded further and further into the darkness.

Until you lifted away.

Gone.

A weight moved across your body and the world came back around you, ears ringing as your body was jolted. A coldness spread down you as you slowly moved through the abyss and back to the room.

There was a voice, mumbling to you.

But you didn’t want to leave the numbness and dark you had sunk into. You wanted to stay were you were. You wanted to keep your eyes shut and bask in it.

There was no pain there.

There was no fear there.

There was nothing.

Not even you.

You were so tired.

Why wouldn’t they let you rest?

Someone was speaking to you.

Why wouldn’t they just let you sleep?

The pull on your throat steadily brought you to the present, and feeling shot back through your body.

There are hands on you.

Hands all over you.

Hands touching you and pinching you.

A hand slapping your face roughly, snapping you back into the room.

Your eyes opened as Aegon sat atop of you, lips moving but you couldn’t hear a word he said, your ears ringing loudly in your skull. The world tilted and confusion rolled through you.

Your throat hurt.

Why did you throat hurt?

You groaned trying to shift him off of you.

Why was he on top of you?

Aegon kept talking down at you, and as your body slowly came to be, and feeling moved back through your mind, you felt a rough pressure against one of your breasts as he squeezed it meanly in his hand.

You tried to squirm away from his grip, mumbling as he smiled at you.

“Get… off me.” You uttered softly, still dizzy and unsure of what was happening.

Aegon knelt half on you, half off, his knee pressed down on your stomach, as one large hand pinched painfully at your nipple, and the other moved between your thighs. You jerked in his hold, trying to get out from beneath him as a large finger forced its way inside of you.

You cried out as he thrusted his hand into you painfully, not caring for your pain or confusion. Pain rippled up from between your thighs, his fingers scratching against you dryly.

“Fuck you’re tight.” The King growled from above.

The world tilted, and you felt as though you were to be sick as he continued to fuck his hand into you, the other rolled a stiff nipple between his fingers. Tears began to gather in your eyes as the world caught up around you and realisation sat in.

This was it.

You could scarcely move from your spot beneath him. Every jolt of his hand stirred your head and made you nauseous, and all you could do was whimper beneath him, desperate to not throw up. You thrashed on the bed, feeling his fingers slip out of you.

The hand on your breast moved back to your throat and squeezed. The chambers grew dark, and your vision blurred as you looked at Aegon. His figure slowly disappearing as you faded away again.

You were so tired.

If you closed your eyes maybe this wouldn’t be happening.

If you closed your eyes, perhaps he would not be there anymore.

Your eyelids grew heavy and slid shut, and you felt yourself fade away from the world again, drifting away on the waves that pulled you in with its tide.

Please let me stay here.

Everything around you was black until it wasn’t, and you were blinking your eyes awake, a sharp pain blooming across your cheek.

“Stay with me, I want you to watch.” Aegon growled, as a tear slide down your cheek and onto the pillow below.

“Aemond.” You whimpered, head fuzzy, fear mounting within you.

Your heart was in your throat.

Fight back.

Where was Aemond?

“Aemond isn’t here to stop me this time.” He purred, “I’m going to fuck an heir into you like he should have.”

“He’ll kill you.” You slurred, tongue heavy.

Aegon laughed earnestly, “He won’t. I’m his brother, and you’re nothing but his whore.”

A sob fell from your lips as he laughed in your face. Despair settled in the pit of your stomach.

The King adjusted himself atop you, slapping away your hands as you tried to push him off of you again, kicking your legs out underneath him weakly, sheets tangling at the end of the bed, raising your head to chase his hand as you tried to bite him.

One knee slid between your thighs and then the other, parting you open for him as you tried to pull yourself up the bed and away. Aegon wrapped his hands around your throat again and squeezed, rutting his clothed cock against you roughly, enjoying the way you cried beneath him.

Please, let it be over.

You felt yourself begin to drift away again before he let go of your throat, your head lulling to the side as your body jerked from lack of oxygen. Your uncle jerked his pants below his ass, pulling his cock free before leaning over you. He rubbed his tip along your entrance and you felt the urge to be sick.

It was like the dungeons.

The feel of the stone beneath you. The dampness of the room. The darkness of the cell.

It all came rushing back as you sobbed beneath him.

“I’m going to fuck you, the way I should’ve in that cell.” He pushed forward, rubbing himself along you as you cried and clawed at his hands, “The way I should have when you first came back to Kings Landing.”

Aegon squeezed your throat, causing dots to form in your eyes as he forced you to stare at him, jerking your head.

“I’m going to fuck an heir into your cunt, and watch you swell with my child.”

Across the room, the whispers of Lucerys and Helaena had quietened, and all you could hear was the heavy breathing of your uncle who began to force his way inside of you.

Please, Gods, spare me.

You cried out in agony, sharp burning pain rippling through you as he forced himself through your folds dryly, huffing a laugh of pleasure as he pushed to his limit, seating himself inside.

You felt yourself tear as he jolted you up the bed with his thrust, crying out in pain, splitting you open on his cock as your eyes scrunched shut. Your hands raised to claw at him again, trying to reach his face or chest, but Aegon’s hand around your neck tightened further.

This was it.

You wished you would die.

You wished he would kill you as you sobbed beneath him.

You were so weak, too weak to fight back as he pulled back slowly, moaning as he went, looking down to where his cock speared you. There was a wetness between your thighs that you knew was blood, and you whimpered again as he slowly pushed back inside of you.

“Fuck, your little cunt is so tight for me. Are you sure you’re not a maiden? You’re bleeding on my cock like one.” He huffed, continuing to slowly push himself back inside of you, each and every inch of his cock sending agony racing up and down your spine as your legs were forced open beneath him.

“Aemond’s probably fucking a bastard into Alys right now as I fuck one into you.” He laughed, your heart clenching in your chest as you sobbed loudly into the chambers.

“Don’t cry,” The King cooed, thrusting harder into you, “It is an honour to have my seed inside of you.”

You coughed beneath him as he picked up his pace, pistoning his hips into yours, your body jolting beneath him. The pain never leaving you, and a sickness settling into your stomach.

Please let me die.

Please let me fade away.

Please Gods, take me away from here.

“Please.” You uttered.

Please, Mercy?

Please, Gods, help me.

Please, Aemond, return to me.

Please.

Aegon moaned as he heard you whimper, and let go of your throat, a lungful of air racing through your mouth as you gasped. Aegon fucked himself into you, the sound of his grunts and his flesh slapping against yours filled the chambers with your sobs.

And there was nothing you could do but endure.

As you always had.

It was only a matter of time.

This was inevitable, you told yourself.

It was always to happen.

You could never stop it.

Aemond could never stop it.

The Gods had made it so.

It was to always happen.

Your head lulled to the side as he continued to drag his cock in and out of your walls painfully, your breasts jerking beneath him as he fucked you up the bed.

You silently cried as Aegon raped you mercilessly in Aemond’s and yours bed.

Eyes looked anywhere but him, searching to be anywhere but beneath him. To feel anything but him tearing through your walls, or the way his cock bruised your cervix.

The fireplace was blurred, and beside it, two figures watching you.

Aegon’s pace began to increase, the bed creaking as you sobbed quietly and gagged, begging in your mind. You kept your eyes on your aunt and brother.

Please, help me brother.

Please, aunt.

Please.

But they did not come to help.

Nor did they whisper.

Instead the pair watched on from the fireplace.

Helaena’s face full of sorrow, and Lucerys’ of rage.

A numbness began to creep through your mind, the same numbness you had felt before. The numbness that had crawled through your veins at the night of the wedding, and instead of fighting it, you welcomed it with open arms.

Take me.

Aegon became more vocal the closer he got to his release, his moans and groans cascading into the air as his thrusts became sloppier and more painful. You blinked into the dark, slumping in the bed as you prayed he would finish soon.

That it would be over soon.

“Kepa.” You whimpered, calling out to your father that you knew could not hear you.

That you knew could not help you.

That you knew could not save you.

Aegon groaned loudly, and suddenly it was over.

He pushed himself as deep as he could go and you felt the heat of his seed begin to pool against your womb. Nausea rolled inside of you, and you retched loudly, feeling the food you had pitifully eaten begin to rise from your stomach.

The weight of the King settled atop you as he laid his body down from exhaustion, cock still twitching inside of you.

Searing pain spread through your core as you blinked the tears away, still crying beneath him.

It was over.

Aegon shifted, pulling his now soft cock from inside of you, a moan tumbling from his lips as a whimper escaped yours.

You laid still, mind reeling, body frozen as he looked down at you.

“Let us pray you birth a King’s bastard.” He snickered, your head still turned as you looked at the fireplace, Lucerys and Helaena watching on.

The tears continued to flow down your cheeks, and the familiar comfort of the murky tide rose to swallow you whole. It tugged you beneath its surface and dragged you under more rapidly than it had the first time, and you swam with it, diving down into the abyss.

And then it was quiet.

And then it was still.

And then it was over.

You do not know when Aegon had left, nor if he had left without a word. But your mind sought solace in the cold numbness that spread through you, and you let yourself drown in it, turning on your side to stare at the wall unblinking.

The sticky wetness of his seed and your blood on your thighs had begun to dry as your tears subsided.

The pain still strummed inside of you, but it did not feel like you, it was as though you were experiencing someone else’s pain. It was unfamiliar. Alien.

Uncertain.

Soon, the room faded away, and the world around you fell silent, and all you could feel, was the feeling of not being.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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garbinge · 9 months

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You, Me, and Italy

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader From these August Prompts: Italy Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, angsty, mentions of suicide, death, grief, loss, broken heart, drug use, addiction, being high, someone close to ODing, uncomfortable, sad, mentions of sexual situations, it's based on canon mentions of suicide and death and grieving, but a little more in depth. So just be weary of any triggers one might have in reference to these things.

A/N: This is not apart of my Richie Jerimovich multichap. This is heavy. I try and steer clear of fics like this because of my own triggers and trauma around drug abuse and addiction but this just was an idea sitting in my head probably because of all that trauma. The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth @fancyvoidtragedy @shinebright2000 @knight4xmas

The kitchen was always your favorite place to be when you couldn’t sleep. Something about the ability to hear every single noise in a space where usually you’d be lucky to hear the person next to you speak at a normal tone.

You had come in through the back, placed your stuff down in the locker that had your name written on a green piece of tape, your insanely patterned bandana was snug around your head just above your forehead, something you always wore when cooking. Now, the sounds of the water running as you washed her hands filled your ears and was followed by the clunks of pulling the knives out, the blade tinging as you set it free from its case. Now slicing, the quick quippy sounds of the thin slices of all the items you needed to prep. Basil, onions, garlic, fig, and parmesan cheese. All the ingredients you picked up from the grocery story that was still open this late. The chopping and the sizzling filled your ears in a similar way that music would fill someone else’s. It kept you grounded, kept you calm, kept you in the moment.

“Late night snack?” A voice interrupted that tranquility but surprisingly, there was no reaction from your side. You kept steady as your hand tossed the garlic and basil in the olive oil, other hand equipped with a spoon ready to add in the parmesan ricotta mixture.

“You’re lucky I don’t scare easily.” Your voice was steady as you focused on the pan in front of you.

Mikey looked down and laughed before he made his way from the office over to his best chef and best friend. He leaned against the prep area, hands crossed as you had your back to him.

“You should toast the breadcrumbs.” Mikey said as he took in what you were doing.

Immediately, your head turned to look over your shoulder and shot the man a look. “I’m a one-woman show here, Mikey. I’m getting to it.”

“You know, I can help you out.” He had crossed his leg over the other now as he waited for a response. “Only if you want to.” His arms were now uncrossed as he raised them in a surrender.

Your head tilted, the only invitation he needed to start helping out.

“I’m making arancini, fig and garlic arancini.” You specified.

“Rice balls. You’re making rice balls.” Mikey teased. “What inspired the fig?” He asked as he toasted the bread crumbs at the stove next to you.

“Remember when we went to that bar the other night?” You looked up at him, despite being a few feet down from you, he still towered over you in height. “While you and Richie were off doing God knows what, I ordered shit from the bar. They had this fig, arugula, and goat cheese pizza.”

“Jesus Christ, what fuckin’ bar were we at?” Mikey laughed at the fanciness of how it all sounded.

“That place, Porta. I’d say it was more hipster than fancy.”

“God, I don’t even remember.” Mikey laughed before placing his attention back on you and continuing the conversation. “So the pizza was good?”

“It was, and I just kept thinking what would go well with fig and landed at a rice ball.”

“Arancini.” Mikey corrected you with the biggest grin growing on his face.

A laugh left your mouth as you took the sauce off the heat, wanting it to cool down slightly before pouring it into the egg mixture that was already placed in the fridge.

The silence fell over the both of you and you both continued to move around the kitchen. Mikey stood with the bowl of rice in his hands, resting it on the prep counter as you stood over and poured in the egg mixture. Mikey was whisking it around rapidly, that way the eggs didn’t scramble. The smell coming from the bowl was filled with savory scents of garlic and sweet touches of fig reduction.

“You good, buddy?” Mikey was looking at you as he stirred everything around. It wasn’t so much in reference to your current state, which was focused as you concentrated on pouring the egg mixture in, but more in reference to why you were here late.

Buddy. Such a Mikey term. The two of you knew each other for years, meeting when you were smoking in the back of the restaurant you used to work out. To put it in simple terms, he poached you. He had just grabbed a bite at said restaurant, with his brother Carmy, a detail you found out later since Mikey came alone to the alley in the back where you had been taking a break. He asked if you had made the slow braised beef and proceeded to tell you about his restaurant. You never walked back into that restaurant again and started at The Beef the next day.

As time passed, things got close with Mikey. The two of you just fed off each other, you vibed effortlessly and one day that led to more. You spent a majority of the night locked in the office making a bed out of the table, the floor, the bookshelf, anything that had an inch of a flat surface, Mikey took you. That however, never amounted to more. It was always just sex. There was no label on what the two of you had, no real dates, no holding hands, just stolen moments around the restaurant, late nights in the kitchen, nights out at bars, and overnights spent at each others places. But that never made anything awkward because despite their being no label, everyone knew there was something between you two. It was impossible to miss. The way you two got along, the way you spent every waking moment together, whether you were at the restaurant or not. But what the real dead giveaway was, you two moved in the kitchen like you had perfected a choreographed dance, every, single, time. There was never any missteps, any arguing, no bumping into each other, you just glided by each other, calling out kitchen terms and directions. It was a sight to be seen, everyone thought so. Including the family. Sugar and Carmy were impressed when you came by for the first time maybe a month into starting at The Beef. Richie had already seen how the two of you worked together but both Berzatto siblings were shocked by it.

“Hey, you good?” Mikey repeated himself and bent down a little to look into your eyes.

“Yea, sorry.” You shook your head from your thoughts.

“I don’t buy it.” Mikey pressed you again for more information. “What’s with late night rice balls?”

“You ever feel stuck?” There was no point in trying to hide what you were feeling from Mikey.

“Uh, just every day of my life.” You let out a breath through your nose in a sort of chuckle. “I just, wish I could get out of here.” The frustration was littered in your voice.

“Where would you go?” He set the bowl down now that everything was stirred, and he turned to face you.

“Anywhere.” You turned too so you were facing him.

“So let’s go.” His voice raised, like what he said and meant didn’t need planning, didn’t need money, he spoke it outloud like it was the easiest thing to achieve.

“Yea, where?” You were about to start naming off places around here in Chicago as a joke but he was quick to answer you.

“Italy.”

You frowned but a smile was growing on your face. “Italy?” You questioned.

“Yea, let’s go to Italy, we’ll eat all the rice balls in the fuckin’ country, we’ll learn how to make ‘em like a true Italian. We’ll eat our way around Rome, Sicily, Naples, it’ll be great, just me and you and Italy.” He was so energetic in how he spoke, his hands were in the air, his voice was echoing off the kitchen walls.

“You, me, and Italy?” You questioned him as your head nodded in agreement.

“You, me, and Italy.” Mikey nodded with the biggest smile on his face.

____

Time might’ve passed and a lot of things might’ve changed, but sometimes stayed exactly the same. You were pushing through the back door of The Beef, bag and kitchen tools in hand as the clock ticked past 1AM.

“Mikey?” You called out, expecting to see him appear in the kitchen. You called out again and heard nothing. It was odd, but also maybe not. He had been distant lately, you picked up on that when most nights he didn’t come back to your place. You knew things had been tough for him, he was having money issues and as a result moved back in with his mother, he was stressed. Every time you did get the chance to see him, he wasn’t fully there, sometimes you’d taste alcohol on his breath, others you could tell his mind was caught in a thought or 20.

Moving to the lockers, you saw the door open just slightly and the lamp on illuminating a ton of paperwork. You saw his hand resting on the table and slowly peaked in.

Now, you had your suspicions, they were probably more than suspicions, you knew. You knew Mikey was hooked on something. But you didn’t want to accept it. But there it was, slapping you right in the face. It had been functional, he had been functional, which is what made it easy for you to question, for you to say nothing. After tonight, you’d regret it, you’d regret staying silent, not giving in to your suspicions, voicing them out loud.

You took in the sight of him, he was so out of it, you could see his glazed over eyes even from the distance you were at. The giveaway as if everything else wasn’t so obvious was the pills scattered all over the paperwork in front of him.

“Mikey.” The urgency hit you just as much as the the scene of him. You were next to him in seconds, shaking him awake.

The smile that filled his face as he stared at you, the smile that warmed your heart, the smile that melted you, the smile of your best fucking friend was breaking you.

“What–what’re you doin’ here?”

“How much did you take, Mikey?” You moved forward to the table to search for a bottle, a pill count, see how many were on the table, but Mikey’s hands began to grab your arms.

“No, no, no, no, no. Stop, you’re ruining the fun.” Mikey complained, his voice was slurred.

You pulled back immediately, uncomfortable and unsure what to do. Your heart was beating fast and before your tears could even start falling, Mikey started yelling. “You’re ruining the fun!!” It was a repetition of what he had said before and all it did was secure your feet frozen to the ground. “That’s all anyone ever does anymore. Ruin the fucking fun.” He spun in the swivel chair like a child and when it stopped spinning he looked at the bookshelf and began speaking again, but this time more at a whisper.

“Even my own fuckin girl. I can’t have anything.”

You snuck out the door, searching for your phone in your pocket. The irony that in your hastiness, you spent more time looking for it than if you searched for it with purpose and patience.

As you picked your phone up to your ear, your hand was shaking. “C’mon, pick up, pick up.” You mumbled, taking your other hand to pick at your lip.

“It’s 1 in the fuckin’ morning, I’m neck deep in shit diapers, if this is you and Mikey asking me to go out, I’m blocking your number for eternity.” Richie seemed stressed in a completely different way.

“Richie, it’s Mikey, he uh, I don’t know, there’s pills, he’s awake–sort of?, he’s angry, I don’t know how much he took but he, he uh, I just need help, I need you down here, can you get down here, please?” The shakiness in your voice was the dam holding back your tears.

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Keep him up.”

With that Richie hung up and you were moving back into the office, you squatted down and turned the chair so he was facing you. “Mikey, babe?” You tried to keep your voice soft. His red, glossy eyes met yours as he plopped his head down to look at you.

“My girl.” A little bit of hope filled his face, he reached his hand up to cup your face. The impulse to pull away was strong but you stayed there, you stayed there with him and let him speak to you.

“You’re so pretty, you know that? So pretty. And you’re so talented, you can throw down, you know that? Best fuckin slow braised beef I’ve ever fuckin’ had.”

The amount of compliments he was giving you, it should’ve had you elated, floating, with butterflies but instead it was making you sick–uneasy. And you just had to sit there and let him say it, over and over again. You were counting in your head, hoping that once you got to the 10th 60th second count, that Richie would be here.

“Hey hey hey, you listening to me?” Mikey moved slightly to look at you, even in his fogged state he could tell your mind was elsewhere.

“Mhm.” You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared into his eyes.

“You, me, and Italy, baby. You, me, and Italy.” The second time he said it, it was in a whisper like he was desperate for it to be true. Like if he said it low enough the world would grant him the wish. That’s when you really saw him, saw what was happening in his brain. Alongside that hopeful look was one of peace and happiness. The absolute gut wrenching emotion you felt in your heart when you realized it. How being high set Mikey free, set him free from his demons, in some weird twisted way this was the closest you’ve seen Mikey to his usual self.

Before your heart could break anymore, you heard Richie’s voice behind you and he was slipping into your spot and picking Mikey up.

______

“You know I remember this one time, we went over to Mikey’s place, the one on Courtyard, me, Carm, and Richie, and it was Sunday, Braciole night. We walk in, Mikey’s got the game playing so loud in the background, we start prepping, cooking. I remember he told me not to put raisins in the braciole even though that’s how mom did it. And he just, he had this smile on for those first 30 minutes, like he had something planned, like he was in on the joke. But the thing is none of us knew what the joke was. And then, the door opened, we were all confused at who it was and then, this woman appeared. Mikey introduced her to us, he was so happy, and we were like shocked, cause Mikey, our big brother, the player, brought this girl over to our fucked up family Sunday night dinner. She didn’t care that the TV was loud, that we were even louder, that Mikey and Richie would tell the most insane stories, over and over again, and in fact, she moved around the kitchen like, well, like she’d known us all our whole lives. I don’t know if I ever saw Mikey so happy.” Sugar was sitting in bed, her phone on speaker while you sat silent on the other line.

“You at the restaurant?” Sugar cleared her throat.

“Standing right outside it.” You spoke up, trying to hide your tears from the story Sugar just told.

“I’ll be there soon.” There was rustling on the other side of the phone, like she had started to get up and get ready.

“Sugar?” You questioned, worried she was about to hang up.

“Hm?” She hummed.

“Thank you.” It was two words but sometimes you needed to hear it. How much Mikey loved you, he didn’t tell you often, but you felt it, you saw it. But now, that he was gone, that all that was left of Mikey for you was the things he left at your place, the memories you shared, you took the antidotes Sugar occasionally told you and kept them someplace special.

“I’ll see you in the chaos.” Sugar replied back to you in which you did the same.

For a few seconds after the phone call, you stood there, staring at the gutted restaurant, staring at the mayhem happening behind the glass, which was normal for the restaurant, whether it was in business or not. But right now, standing outside, in the peace of the quiet reminded you of those late nights in the kitchen, and you were destined to hold onto that peace for just a few more minutes.

Eventually, you joined the chaos. Greeting everyone as you made your way through the renovation. Finding yourself getting swept up into something in the immediate first seconds you entered the front door. After an hour or so, when you wrapped up your job in the front, you made your way to the kitchen.

“What’re you doing?” You placed your stuff down in the office as you walked past Richie, Fak, and Marcus who were gathered around someone’s phone watching a video, arguing back and forth. Natalie stood up from the chair in the office and placed a hand on your shoulder in a half greeting and walked over to the arguing men. Your eyes lingered on the office table and chair a little longer than normal, letting the memories flood into your brain for a short few seconds before you turned to put your attention back on everyone.

“Scraping and painting and fighting over moving the lockers.” Marcus spoke up.

You turned around and stepped out of the office, staring at them trying to attempt to move the lockers. Carmy had appeared now, yelling at them to keep it down and when the mention of Mikey’s locker still being locked was announced, that’s when everyone silences.

“Just fuckin’ open it.” Carmy spoke up.

A hat. June 5th, 2010. Taste of Chicago. The booth.

You smiled at that. You weren’t there for the booth, but you heard all about it. From the family, but from Mikey, it was one of the many stories he’d tell you over and over and honestly, you’d do anything to hear him tell it 200 more times.

Carmy handed the hat to Richie, and as he turned around his eyes fell on your.

“Yo, uh, I got something for you.” He said and walked right past you into the office, searching for something. As everyone went back to working, you turned and took a few steps towards Carmy as he moved the papers around looking for something.

“So, uh, we’re sending Ebra and Tina to culinary school, for them to stay sharp, learn some new shit, and uh, I–we, Syd and I figured you didn’t want or honestly really need that, so uh–here!” He proclaimed the last word louder than the rest as he found the envelope with your name written on it and handed it to you.

You looked down at it for a second and then back at Carmy, you two didn’t talk much in general, but you definitely didn’t talk much about him.

“You and Syd…” You started to say as you mindlessly tapped the envelope against your skin. “You uh,” You wanted to say that the two of them reminded you a lot of you and Mikey, the effortlessness in the kitchen, the way their ideas just bounced off each others and how they brought this new sense of life to each other. But it was that last thought that weighed heavy on you. There was a point that Mikey brought a new sense of life to you and you did the same to him but unfortunately that emotion, that feeling, had changed at some point, at no ones fault but it didn’t stop you from not cherishing it more. “Just, don’t take it for granted.”

“Yea, yea.” Carmy nodded, getting where you were coming from but also not really wanting to get into it and you were okay with that because you didn’t want to get into it either.

Carmy’s eyes moved down to the envelope and back to you. Taking the hint you nodded. “Right.” You said quickly and began to rip the envelope open. As your hand reached in and pulled out the papers in the envelope, you saw the word United and then followed by a seat and time and that’s when you saw the airports.

ORD – NAP

Naples International Airport.

“Carmy.” You looked up, eyes shocked.

“It’s what Mikey would’ve wanted.” Carmy nodded and walked by you, taking his hand to rest on your shoulder and then tap it as he exited the office.

You stared down at the tickets, trying to take in everything.

“You, me, and Italy, Mikey.”

#The Bear #The Bear FX #The Bear fanfic #Mikey Berzatto #Michael Berzatto #Michael Berzatto x Reader #Mikey Berzatto x Reader

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arkhamsrevenge · 7 months

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PS5 Harry Osborn x Reader requested by @seele-opal - how abt something with harry and the symbiote before he went full venom? maybe something abt how it'll react to its hosts' romantic partner

Trigger Warning! This story contains violence and talks about abuse, suicide and death!

You went to high school with Peter Parker, Mary Jane Watson and Harry Osborn. They were always nice to you but often left you to your own devices. A couple times you had scared off Flash and his buddies due to your wit and unwavering hate for the school bullies. When you heard Harry’s mother had died, you secretly started to make copies of your school work and put his name on them to lessen the load for him when he returned to school. You had kept your secret hidden well for a while until you ran into Peter Parker in the school library. Well more like he ran into you, papers scattered everywhere and as Peter helped you pick them up he saw doubles of each paper you were working on.

“So you’re the one passing Harry in Honors Lit and Economics.” He whispered. You shrugged.

“He’s going through it. Thought I’d lighten the load.” After that, Peter and MJ started eating lunch at your table. They never forced you to take your headphones out when you wanted to eat while listening to music or if you didn’t say anything at all. In fact, you were starting to like their company. Harry eventually came back to school and was surprised to know he wasn’t missing many assignments. Peter of course brought him up to speed and later that day you received a note in your locker. It was from Harry, a thank you note for helping him out. You smiled and tucked it into your bag then someone cleared their voice behind you. You turned to see Harry himself holding a small bunch of violets.

“I know they aren’t much and I picked them outside the school but I wanted to get you something and MJ said you keep drawing violets on your paper when you're bored.” You blink not knowing just how closely those two had paid attention to you. You swallowed roughly and a small smile appeared on your face.

“Thanks. That was really nice of you.” Harry laughed.

“You…I’m the one that should be on my knees thanking you. I’m still going to graduate on time because of you.” You shook your head.

“It was nothing really. It’s tough to go through…a loss. It sucks. Feels like you’ve been gutted and your chest feels like someone keeps putting weight on it. It’s hard to even get up and walk most days.” You chose your words carefully.

“Sounds like you’re familiar with this.” Harry’s eyes dropped down, tears starting to well up in his eyes. Your heart started to break. No one had been there to hold you together when your sister died by suicide. You had to hold everyone together because they were falling apart and looking to you, the oldest sibling, to fill in the cracks. It was so hard but you got through it. Now you go to therapy once a week to correct all the damage done to your mind.

“I am.” You say stepping closer. “If…uh…I’m a good listener. You know, whenever.” Harry met your eyes and a small smile appeared on his face.

“Thanks. I gotta go meet up with Pete for a project but catch you later?” You nodded and laughed as Harry waved goodbye. A couple weeks later Harry took you out on a date and you guys were a thing, not really a couple officially but a thing. MJ and Peter had the same thing going on. You even had your first kiss together in Pete’s backyard when you guys hung out for a movie night. Pete and MJ had gone into get more snacks and silence fell between you and Harry. You turned to him to ask him something when he kissed you. It wasn’t a perfect kiss by any means but you both kissed each other and then DIDN'T SPEAK OF IT AGAIN. Awkward as both were, kisses were still stolen in private. Graduation came and went but all of you kept in touch until Harry just disappeared one day to go to Europe. Eventually Peter and MJ found out what had happened to him, he wasn’t in Europe. He was sick and dying, he had been diagnosed with the same disease his mother died from. Shock would be an understatement as MJ was telling you this over the phone.

“Shit that's..awful. Where are you now?” You ask when you hear a honking noise from outside your apartment complex. “Outside. Come on.” MJ answers. You laugh and grab your bag and head out the door to run into…Harry Osborn? After not seeing him in months you expected from him to be sickly, dying but he looked just like you remembered him.

“Woah. Sorry. Uh…” He said steadying himself with his cane. You held him, got his footing and waited. “I had this whole image of me learning on the wall over here all cool while you came outside but got too excited I guess.” He even sounded the same. He had the same bright tone in his voice and he didn’t sound out of breath or anything. The look in his eyes confused you. You couldn't understand what it was but he was looking at you like he was fighting something back. But still you huff out a laugh.

“How bout you get more of your strength back then you can try to put the moves on me, OK?” Harry laughed and pulled you into a hug. You wrapped your arms around him and let him hug you for as long as he wanted.

“Thought I’d never see you again.” He whispered. You held on tighter and Harry let you go. “I’m sorry. I was being treated here in the city and didn't want you to worry about me. I’m OK though. I’m in remission.” Your jaw dropped.

“That’s great. I’m glad to hear it.” Then another honk came from behind Harry. Peter was honking Harry’s car.

“COME ON! I’D LIKE TO GET TO CONEY ISLAND TODAY!” You laughed and rolled your eyes. Harry offered you his arm and you both laughed as you carefully assented down the stairs. MJ opened the car door for you and held out a hand as you climbed in. Harry got into the driver's seat and drove to the docks where you guys caught a boat to Coney Island. Once there, all four of you went on all your favorite rides. It was just like back in high school except trouble struck. The villain known as Tombstone was captured by other bad guys? You weren’t sure because all you could do was look for your friends as you all had been separated. Tombstone looked so scared. You felt bad for him, just seconds ago he was telling you where to get the best caramel apples on Coney Island and even said thank you for talking to him. Well these people were trying to take him so as SpiderMonkey was fighting most of them off you went to try and help Tombstone. A net had been thrown on him so you started to cut it with your pocket knife, trying to free him.

“Get outta here kid! It aint gonna cut it!” He shouted at you but you were determined to help him until you were thrown to the side landing rough. You look up to see a man standing over you with a knife. You kick him in the shin and take off only to have a sharp pain run up your thigh. The bastard had thrown his knife and it sliced through your thigh. You fell and held your hand to you leg hoping to stop the bleeding. As you hid around a corner Spider-man ran off to save the people on the busted roller coaster. You started to get light headed, wanting to call out to the hero but didn’t want the people on the roller coaster to die.

“OH MY GOD!” You feel someone jerk you which makes you yell out in pain. You look to see MJ’s scared eyes. “Ohmygodohmygod oh no nonononono. Just stay with me alright? I’m gonna…I’m getting you help just keep putting-HARRY!” MJ screamed. Your eyes started to get heavy. You're losing too much blood. “HEY HEY HEY! DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT! LOOK AT ME!” Hands grab your face and shake slightly. Your eyes try to focus knowing the voice belongs to Harry who was desperately trying to keep you awake.

“We gotta stop the bleeding! Keep putting pressure on the leg. I'll go get a paramedic!.” MJ says as Harry carefully puts his arm behind you and his other under your legs. He pulls you closer to him and whispers

“Just say with me. OK? I’m not losing you a second time. We barely got a chance to- '' You suddenly feel something crawling up your leg, you don't have the strength to move it but you do have enough to open your eyes. Black goo like tentacles were creeping up your leg, stopping at the gash in your thigh, the goo covers it and the pain slowly fades. Are you imagining this? “Holy shit.” Harry. Harry’s still here? The goo continues to cover your body until everything fades to black.

You gasp for air look around frantically, your still at Coney Island but on a roof top and someone was still holding you. You look up to see Harry, sitting with you curled up against him.

“Hey.” He breathes sounding relieved that you woke up.

“Hi? What happened?” You ask.

“Well…we need to talk.” You turn to see Peter in a Spider-man suit. “Now I know this might be shocking but-” “Oh please.” You croak. “I’ve known for years.” You say starting to move trying to stand.

“Woah. Not so fast OK? You lost a lot of blood.” Harry says holding you tighter. “Your body temp is still a little low so just…for now just stay.”

“I should be dead.” You whisper. “How is it I’m not?” Harry looks to Pete who looks right back at him.

“I…think I healed you.” Harry says. You blink thinking he’s lost his marbles.

“Huh.” Then tentacles start peaking out of Harry's back. So you weren’t hallucinating. “Harry what?”

“It’s my treatment. This exoskeleton suit is healing me but…it healed you leg and then like wrapped around your entire body until you were healed enough. I have no idea who it works but I’m glad it did.” Your jaw is still on the floor not knowing what to say. “Pete and I are going to run some tests and you're gonna come. I’m not letting you out of my sight until you see Dr. Connors.” Harry says picking you up with ease. He wasn’t able to do that before.

“Harry, how-” “The suit. It really did heal me more than I could have hoped for.”

#spider man 2 ps5 #harry osborn #ps5 harry osborn #harry osborn x reader #ps5 spiderman

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 5 months

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The Ward Pt. 3 | Jonathan Breech x fem!character

Summary: Jonathan Breech is sentenced to three months in a Dublin psych ward after trying to take his life. He meets a girl and thinks he's fallen in love... but is this just a product of opportunity and loneliness or could it be more?

Warnings: Based heavily on One the Edge (2001) so there is already a lot of mental-health specific discussions. More specifically- mentions of suicide, self-harm, death, depression, anxiety, feeling helpless and alone, medication, vomiting, pregnancy. Pt. 3 has smut: unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), and loss of virginity. Please don't read if you think any of the previously mentioned topics could be triggering! Some of this is taken from my personal experience with mental-health issues so read with care.

word count: 3790k

Pretty- Coco & Clair Clair 🎶

Narc- Interpol 🎵

Note- One the Edge is free on Internet Archive...

Please read the warnings before continuing, thanks!

After group therapy, Jonathan walked into the men’s bathroom on the women’s ward and stood just inside as the door swung closed quietly. Margaret was sitting on the ledge as she had a day or two before, reading. She looked up as he entered and closed her book.

“Was I really your first real kiss?” He asked and she scoffed in surprise.

“What?”

“Was I really your first kiss?” He asked again and Margaret stared at him before answering, a blush already forming on her cheeks.

“Yeah…”

“How was it?”

“You were there, remember?” She put her book aside and put her palms against her face to cool them. She looked at the wall, too embarrassed to look at him.

“Pretend I wasn’t.” He smiled and she rolled her eyes, “tell me how it was.”

“It was good, I don’t know.” She laughed uncomfortably and he smiled wider.

“Tell me how you felt when you kissed me,” he prompted and she shook her head in uncomfortable disbelief.

“Well, um I felt happy and good like I didn’t want to stop. I liked looking at you and I liked feeling close to you.” She answered. “Is that what you meant?” She furrowed her eyebrows and Jonathan nodded.

“You liked kissing me and I liked kissing you. I don’t think this is just a relationship of convenience, I think we could really like each other.”

“Here we go,” she jumped off of the ledge and landed beside Jonathan who had one hand resting against the handicapped stall.

“Just hear me out! I thought about what you said and I think I really do like you. I like talking to you and I think we understand each other really well.” He explained and she laughed softly.

“We both tried to kill ourselves, of course we understand each other.”

“But see, that's the thing. We understand each other better than other people would. You said that there are plenty of attractive girls out there but what makes you so sure that I would choose anyone else if I could choose you?” He waved his other hand as he spoke. She had started to walk away when she turned back and went up to him, talking low.

“Because even though we kissed and we may like each other, we don’t know each other at all. I’m some girl from America who happened to take too many pills to kill herself and it didn’t work. In any other situation, you would have walked past me on the street and gone for someone else.” She started to get upset and he looked down at her from against the wall. “I’m not interesting or beautiful or that smart, I’m just depressed and lonely and that makes me easy to love when you have nothing else to do.” Jonathan inhaled quickly.

“I don’t agree with you at all. I think you’re interesting and so beautiful that it distracts me during group therapy. Even though I’ve only been here for about a week, I feel that I have a pretty good idea of who you are and what you mean to me and my happiness, and you mean a lot.”

“But what if I can’t make you happy?” She interjected, angry tears filling her eyes. “Not everything can be solved by sex and love, Jonathan. We’re unstable and could kill ourselves at any time. You can’t trust me and I don’t trust you,” she whispered and started to turn when he reached for her.

“Margaret, I love you.”

“Don’t say that when you don’t mean it!” She nearly screamed, hitting his chest with her hands. She started crying as she hit him weakly. He watched her, his jaw clenched. “Don’t call me cute or beautiful or anything else when you don’t fucking mean it!” She cried and pushed herself away from him. Her nose was runny and she wiped it on the sleeve of her green jumper. Her hair was messy and some of it stood up. She took a deep breath and looked back at him, caught in the beauty of his eyes. “We lie all the time. We lie about how we feel and about how sad we are so that others feel better about themselves. We can’t lie to each other, not here. So, don’t lie to me, please. I’m sick of lies, Jonathan.” She whispered sadly and Jonathan closed the distance between them and held her. She didn’t resist and hugged him around his waist, putting her face in the crook of his neck. He kissed the top of her head and smoothed down her messy hair. She cried quietly against him and he waited patiently, holding her closer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her cheek, “I won’t lie to you, I promise. I’m so sorry.” He promised, though he hadn’t been lying. “I shouldn’t have sprung that all on you but I wasn’t lying, Margaret. What I said was true. I won’t force you to believe me but I promise that I was telling you the truth.”

She stopped crying slowly and took in a shakily breath. He rubbed her back, feeling the warmth of her body through her clothes.

“What if I don’t feel the same way? What if I hate you?” She whispered and Jonathan looked up at the ceiling tiles. He knew that it was a possibility and he was prepared to accept it. He put his chin on top of her head and exhaled slowly.

“Do you?” he asked, “Do you hate me?”

Margaret thought for a moment and shook her head against his chest, “no.” Jonathan sighed in relief and pulled her even closer, kissing her head. She gripped his shirt gently in her hands, her fists clenched against his back. After a few minutes she pulled away and went to the sink where she splashed cold water on her face. She rubbed cold water over the back of her neck and took a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, wiping the water away. He watched her with a sense of wanting, wishing that he could touch her face how she was now. He crossed his arms over his chest and rested on one hip, jutting the other out. He sucked on his bottom lip and leaned his head back against the yellow tile of the outdated bathroom. He built up the nerve and left the wall, standing beside her at the sink. He took the paper towel from her hands and wiped the skin beneath her jaw and below her collar. He kissed each place after he wiped it and she closed her eyes, breathing softly through her parted lips. Then he kissed her and she brought her hands to his neck, tracing the lines of tendons in his neck. He pulled away and threw the paper towel into the trash.

“You’ll be ok?” He asked and she smiled softly from the sink.

“Yeah. You?” She asked and he nodded.

“Yeah,” he smiled back and left the bathroom. He smiled to himself as he went back to his room. He sat on his bed as the sun set, his hands clasped around the back of his neck. He sat like that for what felt like hours. He rubbed his eyes and kicked off his shoes, realizing how long he had been sitting there, staring at the floor. The razor, still lying by the wall, caught his eye. Jonathan crossed the room and grabbed it from the floor. He twirled it in his fingers again and studied the sharp edge. The release of pain was always nice but he hated the way the blade had felt, stinging as it would slice through him. He put the blade back into his carton of cigarettes and pushed the box further away on the table so that he wouldn’t see it. The sun had completely set by now and he stood at the window. The bars blurred in his vision so he could only see the garden outside. He thought about Toby and how they had escaped over the wall for the night, and how he had come back to Margaret waiting for him in his room. The thought of her prickled his skin and jumped his heart. Why couldn’t they find comfort in pain, especially when it was in each other? Maybe this wasn’t just a momentary salve, what if there was a reason why they were both here together? Life was never ensured and he was young and wanted everything out of life while he could still bear being alive. The analog clock on the wall read midnight and he sighed quietly, trying to make himself tired. Time changed shapes when he was depressed, it slipped by quicker than he could understand or it slowed down to a painful trickle. The corridors were quiet outside and the night nurses retired to the office, listening out for the sound of harm. Jonathan’s door clicked open and he jerked around, expecting to see a nurse.

Margaret closed the door quietly behind her and looked at him, a shy smile coming to her lips. His silhouette blocked the light from coming in through the window but she could still make out his sharp face in the shadow. She walked up to him and kissed him softly, her hands finding the angular shapes in his face. His lips were slightly chapped and he licked them when she pulled away for breath.

“You’re here,” he whispered and she nodded.

“You were right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he put his hands around her hips and ran his thumbs up and down. Her white nightgown glowed in whatever light still managed to shine through the small window. Like before, he could see the shape of her body below the clothes and he shivered. She wore no shoes so she stood on the balls of her feet to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He leaned into her and supported her hips as she balanced. She took a step back and panted slightly, he watched her, his lips pink from kissing. She took the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head and dropped it ungracefully to the floor. Jonathan stared at her as his heart quickened further. He thought he knew what was happening but he wanted her to lead him, he wanted her to be in control as it started, so he waited until she went back to him and unbuttoned his cardigan. He kept his arms by his sides and let her push the cardigan off his shoulders and down his arms. She studied his body as she undressed it slowly. She unbuttoned his top, the one that was still too short on his arms, and paused when his chest was exposed. With her shaky fingers, she traced the line of his sternum down to his navel. His stomach flinched below her cold touch and he smiled as he watched her, her lips held open in awe. She took off his shirt slowly and kissed his collarbones up to his shoulders. He yearned to undress her immediately but he waited for her to explore him completely at her own pace.

Margaret looked up at his eyes that looked royal blue in the dark and hooked her fingers around the waistband of his pants. He nodded and she pulled down his pants, so he stood with only his boxers and socks on. She stepped back once again and looked at him. His chest was hairless and smooth, there was some scarring from old acne at the base of his neck. He had long lanky legs and longer dark hair that swept naturally to either side of his face. He was beautiful, she thought to herself. He could tell that she was giving him his turn, waiting for him to touch her as she had touched him. He approached her slowly and started by tucking her hair behind her ear. She closed her head and leaned into his gentle touch, he smiled. Jonathan ran his index fingers down either side of her chest to her navel and bunched the fabric of her nightgown into his hands. Then he moved his fingers to the cuffs of her sleeves and played with the small eyelets of lace decorating each one. He smiled down at her and when she opened her eyes, she smiled back.

“Are you ready?” He asked her quietly and she nodded.

“Yes.”

Jonathan returned his hands to the fabric around her navel and pulled the dress up and over her head. Her hair fell back against her shoulders when the gown left her head. He put the dress aside and looked down at her bare chest. He didn't expect her breasts to be bare below the gown and the sight of them made him blush. His hands rushed to touch them but he managed to slow down his movements, touching her ribs first before sliding his dry hands over her chest. She exhaled shakily as he cupped and squeezed her breasts in his hands. It was like he was seeing a girl naked for the first time, though he was not a virgin by any means. He knew she was, he could tell without her having to say the words. So these moments were important to her and he wanted to honor that. He moved his hands up to the base of her neck and he kissed her. He lowered himself slowly to the ground, to his knees, and looked up at her. She looked down at him with a mix of fear and anticipation. He smirked reassuringly and kissed the front of her underwear.

“Can I taste you?” He asked quietly and she drew in a shaky breath before nodding with a small whimper. He slowly pulled down the waistband of her underwear, exposing her cunt, and left the underwear half-way up her thighs. He felt his erection push against his boxers as he placed a second kiss on her cunt and she gasped quietly. His hands held her thighs still as he licked the closed entrance, guarded by a small gathering of hair. He lowered his head farther and ran his tongue up and down her slit. She gasped softly as he did so and her hands found his shoulders which she squeezed. He raised his head and kissed her navel where she had a small freckle. He pulled her underwear down the rest of the way and helped her step out of it. He stood up and cupped her face in his hands.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered and she held his wrist, looking up into his blue eyes.

“Will you fuck me?” She asked him slowly and he smiled.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “yeah.”

She kissed him and breathed deeply through her nose, catching his scent and relaxing against him. Jonathan guided her to his bed and they both crawled onto the mattress and sat on their knees, kissing each other hungrily. She lowered herself back onto the bed, her head at the foot of his bed. He supported himself above her, his arms on either side of her head, careful to avoid her hair as it spread out around her head. He looked at her, startled by exactly how beautiful she really was. He kissed down her chest and held the tops of her thighs in his arms, lowering his head to taste her again. She squirmed as he nibbled at her thighs and traced her labia with his tongue. He sucked and prodded her while she whimpered quietly, her hands still gripped around his shoulders. He hummed against her and she moaned, her hand snapped against her mouth to ensure that she wouldn’t be too loud. He came up for air and smiled. She was arching her back against the mattress, her chest rising and falling with excitement.

“Are you ready for me?” He asked her and she propped herself up on her elbows.

“I think so,” she whispered.

“I’ll go slow, ok?” He nodded reassuringly and she smiled nervously.

“Ok.”

He slid off his boxers, showing his erection. Margaret looked at him, her brows furrowed in fear. He noticed her expression and cupped her cheek with his hand.

“Hey, it’ll be ok. You can tell me to stop anytime and we’ll take everything slow.” She smiled softly and nodded again. He spat on his hand and fisted himself slowly, coating his erection with the lubricant. He moved the head of his erection against her and pressed gently at the small opening. “It’ll hurt a little at first. I’ll try to be gentle, tell me to stop if it hurts too much.” He rubbed the side of her thigh and pushed inside her just a little. She exhaled stiffly and he pushed a little farther.

“Relax, It’ll feel better for you if you do.” He cupped her face and waited for her to relax around him before going all the way in. She gasped sharply when he was inside but as soon as he was, her body opened to accommodate him. The stretch of him inside her was nice and she caught her breath.

“Ready?” he smiled, his arms propping himself up above her. She nodded enthusiastically and slid her hands up his chest, to his neck.

“Yes, I’m ready. I’m so ready.” She whispered and he chuckled softly. He thrusted farther before pulling out and doing it again. She learned how to catch and release her breath as he entered her, hitting a spot that made her gasp in pleasure. She didn’t think that penetration could feel so good. Jonathan panted and tried to compose himself as he slid in and out of her tight cunt. He moved slowly above her and shivered in pleasure at the sound of her quiet moans. He dropped his face close to hers and watched each other as they opened their mouths in silent gasps, exchanging hot breath.

“Faster,” she whispered and put her hands on his lower back, pulling him farther inside her.

“Fuck,” he gasped weakly and moved his hips quicker, her walls tightened around him as she squeezed her thighs. The bed squeaked quietly beneath them and she laughed quietly, bracing one hand against the wall beside them.

“Jesus, Jonathan…” she gasped and threw her head back against the mattress, “so good…” was all she managed to get out and he cupped her breast with his free hand.

“Fuck, fuck,” Jonathan cursed and changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting her G-spot exactly. She gasped loudly and covered her mouth quickly. He covered her hand with his hand and went faster, hitting the spot again and again. He watched her eagerly as her eyes rolled back into her head and she grew wetter around him. He gasped quietly and panted, the muscles in his back flexing and relaxing with each thrust.

“You’re going to cum,” he panted out and she nodded breathlessly beneath their hands. Her legs wrapped around him and pulled him as far as he could go inside her and he tried to quiet his involuntary whimpers as she kept gripping around him and coercing him deeper and deeper inside. Finally she came and he felt her finish around him. She moaned into her hand and he helped stifle the noise as she finished. He pulled out and kissed her, his hands now pulling the cum from between her legs and coating his still-erect penis. He fisted himself as she kissed him, sucking on his tongue and his lips as she came down from her organsmic high. He was still wet and hot from being inside her and he finished in his hand, shooting his cum onto the cement floor. He broke their kiss and panted heavily above her, his arm now tired from masturbating.

“Did you finish?” She asked softly and he nodded. “You pulled out,” she observed and Jonathan smiled.

“You said you were scared of getting pregnant,” he laughed, letting his head fall against her stomach. She smiled, contracting the muscles in her abdomen, and she carded her fingers through his hair. He turned his head to rest his cheek on her bare stomach and looked up at her. She stared straight up at the ceiling and twirled his hair.

“Was it ok? Did it hurt?” He asked softly and she shook her head.

“It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. It was really good, Jonathan,” she sat up and he rolled over to rest his head on her thigh. She leaned over him and kissed him. He sat up and ran his hand around her waist, kissing her more.

“You were so perfect,” he whispered.

“Is this how it’s supposed to end?” She asked him as he pulled away. He furrowed his brow.

“What do you mean?”

“Do I go back to my room now? I don’t know what people do after sex.” She pulled her hair around her shoulder and braided it nervously. He laughed lightly and shook his head.

“No, no. You can stay here. I want you to stay here…” he trailed off and admired how her body looked in the moonlight after they had fucked. Her face was flushed and her lips were wet from kissing.

“Ok,” she dropped her hair and nodded slowly, “I'll stay.”

“Good.” He smiled and reached over the bed for their clothes. He pulled the sweater over her head and rubbed her arms to warm them up. She pulled on her cotton underwear while he put his pants back on. He pulled down the covers for the first time since getting there and they crawled beneath the blankets. They faced each other and Jonathan petted her hair away from her face, absorbed by how soft she was.

“Your lip’s getting better,” he observed and she smiled.

“Who would’ve thought,” she joked. They stayed there in silence, Jonathan stroking her hair. Margaret shifted closer to him in bed where it was warmer. “Are you tired?” she asked in a low voice and Jonathan nodded slowly.

“Yeah, a little.”

“Did it take a lot of energy?”

“To fuck you?” He smiled.

“Yeah,” she laughed quietly and he shrugged.

“Yeah but it was worth it. I like being tired after. I liked making you cum.” He added at the end with a smirk.

“I liked it too. I like you.” She nestled her head below his and he sighed, wrapping his arms around her. He kissed the top of her head and waited for her to fall asleep before drifting off himself. She smelled like the outside, fresh and clean like rain. The smell washed him away.

----

The end? lmk below if I should continue this series :)

#cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #smut #cillian fluff #young!cillian x reader #young cillian murphy #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #jonathan breech #on the edge 2001 #multi chap fic #cillian fanfic #fanfiction #cillian fic

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theetherealbloom · 7 months

Text

NO COMPLAINTS | JOEL MILLER

No Complaints | J.Miller One Shot

Summary: In the peaceful town of Jackson, life seems stable. Ellie has found some sense of belonging, but for you, life remains a constant struggle due to the trauma you carry. You've faced loss, isolation, and danger, and you're not sure where you fit in. That's when you cross paths with Joel Miller, a man with a haunted past and a heart hidden beneath a tough exterior.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Age-Gap (Late 20s - Early 30s) Angst, Hurt-to-Comfort, soft!joel, suicide ideation, Almost SA (dw nothing gets that far), Assault, Abuse, Blood, Injury, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Panic Attack, Slavery, Ellie and Joel had talked through their problems and everything is ok so no golf =D

A/N: This fic by @familyvideostevie titled “the meaning of it all” inspired me to write again after a long-ass writing slump. Literally, go read all of her fics cause they're just THAT good. Tbh, I’m not sure if this was even good to post since I’ve been out of practice. This one is a little darker than my usual writing, idk how it happened… it just does… so remember the trigger warning ya’ll!

Song: No Complaints by Noah Kahan

MAIN MASTERLIST

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You always thought that you’d find peace in never being awake long enough to feel anything. You lay there staring at the red marks on the hillside and the sharp grooves in the bark of the trees, and you couldn't help but wonder how you got to be in this desolate spot. Your feet, which were now exposed and rough, bore witness to a difficult journey.

All you knew is that one moment, you were fighting for your life from a group of raiders a few miles North, and you ended up where you lay. Had it been minutes? Hours? You weren’t sure as your vision was blurry and hazy, only saw the bleak white winter sky, you could hear crows cawing in the distance as you were freezing, and the snowflakes were on your lashes as you lay there in the snow.

Memories were a blur, time a mysterious riddle. One second, you had been immersed in a life-and-death conflict with savage captors who had enslaved you many kilometers to the South. In the next, you were in this desolate, snow-covered setting, with no clear explanation for how you had arrived. You saw the world through hazy glasses, your eyesight clouded, and all you could see was the stark winter sky, pure and cruel. As you lay there, a lonely soul in the middle of the cold wilderness, the eerie cries of far-off crows provided a haunting tune to your frost-chilled daydream. Each snowflake rested sweetly upon your eyelids.

A ghostly mist danced in front of your eyes with each breath, a whispered reminder of life's fragileness. You tried to relish these fading moments with every exhausted breath out. You felt tired and under pressure from having survived for a long time. You had endured the storm for a long amount of time, seeing pathetically as those you loved died, leaving a thick veil of grief, guilt, and unremitting agony in their wake.

You ached for relief, an end to the never-ending agony that had become your daily existence. During those last seconds, as your eyes closed like a curtain shutting on a world of hopelessness, you heard the muted voices of a group of strangers and the distant sound of galloping horses. A lone figure towered above you, their voice a beacon crying for assistance, while the warmth of your own tears blended with the chill on your cheeks.

“Please… make it stop,” you gasped, the words escaping your trembling lips like fragile whispers, hanging heavy in the frigid air. "I just want it… to stop." And with that, at that very fragile moment, you gave yourself up to the gentle embrace of the gathering darkness.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

How you awoke unfolded gradually, like the faintest of whispers. First, a parched throat and chapped lips stirred you, and then the sensation of the plush pillow cradling your head, the yielding mattress beneath, and a soft blanket cocooning your form.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you hesitantly blinked awake, and an immediate panic surged within you, constricting your chest. The world around you was unfamiliar, and a gnawing uncertainty clawed at your psyche. Was this a new iteration of hell on Earth?

A relentless drumming, your heartbeat, echoed in your ears, and your vision swirled with chaos as you scanned the alien surroundings. You used your forearms to hoist yourself from the bed, your chest rising and falling with the rapid pace of your breath.

Then, the door swung open, revealing a man in a pristine white doctor's coat, clutching a clipboard. "Oh, you're awake," he began, but your question cut through his words like a knife.

"Where am I?" you demanded, urgency coloring your voice.

"You're safe," he assured, though the reassurance felt as hollow as an echo.

Driven by an instinct you couldn't fathom, you sprang from the bed, the IV drip yanked free from your left hand, a sharp sting preceding the rush of cool air against your skin. Barefoot and resolute, you pushed past the doctor, racing down the dimly lit hallway, your footsteps echoing in the empty, sterile corridors.

With a beating heart, you reach the end of the dimly illuminated corridor and see two enormous doors. With bated breath, you lunged forward, pushing them open and preparing yourself for whatever horrors could be behind them. You expected to be in another harsh and terrible location where the only things that remained consistent were torture and cruelty.

To your astonishment, you found yourself in a simple, wintry town. People of all ages populated the snow-covered streets. Elderly residents chatted quietly on porches, and children giggled and played, their rosy cheeks contrasting with the chilly air. The adults turned in surprise at your unexpected arrival, their faces mirroring a mix of curiosity and concern.

From behind, the approaching doctor and nurses shouted, their voices filled with alarm. In the midst of your confusion and disarray, a strong pair of arms encircled you, causing your instincts to scream in fear.

"Let go of me!" you cried out, struggling in the grip that held you captive.

A soft, heavy southern accent whispered gently in your ear, "You're okay... you're safe here. Ain't no one here gonna hurt you, darlin'."

Your fear intensified as you flailed and cried inside the confining hold. But you didn't notice the abrupt, stinging prick on your neck because you were too caught up in the chaotic mayhem. The environment around you became blurry and black in a couple of minutes.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The patrol had begun like any other routine, just another day in the relentless grind of survival. The plan was straightforward: coming across a few Clickers and eliminating them like they were just annoyances to be removed. What he had not expected, though, was to stumble across a lady who was on the verge of dying of hypothermia.

“Please… make it stop,” you begged in a voice so soft and fragile, "I just want it… to stop."

Joel couldn't ignore the desperation in your pleas. He'd been there before, when the world had crumbled into chaos, and he'd lost his daughter. Back then, he saw no point in carrying on, until he'd met Ellie and endured the hardships alongside her. He found her, protected her, and now, he cared for her as if she were his own.

Joel stood there, just across the street from the clinic, his weary eyes and gruff exterior a testament to the countless trials he'd faced. Those brave enough to ask for the details of what had transpired a few days earlier, who he had discovered, were met with curt, direct responses, followed by an icy, hard stare.

He'd assumed that Maria, Tommy, or whoever had been entrusted with integrating newcomers into Jackson would take care of you. So, for the past few days, he went about his life as best he could—patrolling, teaching Ellie how to play the guitar, constructing new homes, and restoring old ones.

But as he made his way to assist Tommy with yet another task, he saw you in the middle of the street, awake and in a state of panic, clad in your medical gown. His chest constricted with a sudden, unexplainable urgency, and without a second thought, he was sprinting towards you, clutching you against his chest in an attempt to ground you.

Now, you were back in the small room of the clinic, asleep due to the sedative they had administered. Joel sat in a chair beside your bed, patiently awaiting your awakening. He couldn't quite comprehend why he felt drawn to be by your side, to ensure your well-being. He closed his eyes, pressing both palms to his face, contemplating the reason he felt so adamant about your recovery.

Maybe it was the way he had glimpsed the hopelessness in your eyes, a reflection of his own prior misery. The way you had pled, already having given up on yourself, touched a chord within him. He understood that sensation all too well. Despite the plethora of sins he had committed, perhaps aiding you was a chance for atonement, a way to make amends for everything he’s done.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You stirred from your slumber, feeling the haze of grogginess envelop you as your weary eyes fought to open. Gradually, your vision sharpened, and you found yourself in a familiar place. This time, you weren't alone.

Across from your bed, a figure sat in a chair. His countenance was rugged, marked by the passage of time, a salt-and-pepper beard framing a face etched with the stories of his life. His presence exuded a rugged handsomeness, even as he raised a quizzical eyebrow in your direction.

In a deep baritone, his voice resonated through the room as he uttered the words, "You're awake."

You shifted uneasily on the bed and looked at him with wide, unsure eyes, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. His piercing look was enigmatic; you didn't know how to respond, so you decided to be quiet, entangled in a fog of uncertainty.

With a soft hum, he introduced himself, "The name is Joel… Joel Miller. What's your name, ma'am?" His voice carried an air of gruff kindness that gently nudged you to respond, yet you found it hard to meet his gaze. Your eyes darted everywhere but his, and you said your name in a shy whisper, leaving it hanging there like a delicate secret.

Joel's voice wavered as he began, "I'm... I'm not exactly supposed to be here, but I—"

Your brows furrowed, and your eyes squinted with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion as you interrupted, "Then, why are you here?"

His words stumbled and faltered. "I... I don't—"

Frustrated with the lack of a clear answer, you turned your gaze away from him, your attention drawn to the frosted glass window on your left. Joel fell silent, respecting your need for space.

After a brief pause, you nodded toward the outside, your voice soft, inquisitive. "Is it real?" Joel waited for you to elaborate, and you continued, "There are kids playing in the street, no FEDRA, elderly being taken care of... it all seems so..."

"Normal," Joel finished your thought, and you snapped your head back to him, watching him nod in agreement. "Yeah, I couldn't quite believe it myself, to be honest," he admitted, clearing his throat. "Jackson is a safe place, a good community. They've got real food here."

A weary, exasperated chuckle escaped your lips as you felt a lump form in your throat, and your eyes grew watery. You hugged yourself tightly, seeking comfort in your embrace as you confessed, "I... I don't know what to do."

"We'll figure it out, darlin'," Joel reassured you, his words infused with a tenderness that pierced through his rugged exterior. It was a kindness you hadn't expected, a gentle ember igniting a glimmer of hope within you. Maybe, you began to believe, that life wasn't supposed to be a never-ending punishment after all.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Solidarity was something you thought was long gone ever since the beginning of the apocalypse, where the Infected had taken what they wanted, and the remaining people who survived will always be at war with each other rather than fighting the common enemy.

It took more than a few tries, but eventually, you got the hang of things, thanks to Maria and Tommy, and especially Joel and Ellie. Bits and pieces intertwined with time got you to understand them better and sometimes made you feel less alone. Your mind sometimes wonders how Joel and Ellie met, when Joel practically adopted Ellie as his own, or how they got to Jackson.

You’ve got a house that you have made your own, a bed, and a kitchen. You help give back to the community in ways that you can. You helped in the greenhouse, and the stables, and when you were finally ready, you went out patrolling with the group when you were up for rotation.

Initially, you kept to yourself, often skipping breakfast, lost in a peculiar silence that enveloped you like a shroud. It was a protective cocoon, a way to conceal yourself as if you were an isolated island adrift in a sea of people. The presence of others had always unnerved you, a lingering fear that refused to release its grip.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Taking charge of the stables for the month had its perks, especially when it came to tending to the horses—an undertaking that ranked high among your favorite chores. While two other residents were technically assigned to work with you, the majority of your time was spent in the solitary company of the majestic creatures.

In the quiet embrace of the early morning, just before the crucial handover to the patrolling team, you busied yourself ensuring the horses were well-fed and prepared. Running your fingers through Scout's mane, one of the older stallions, you continued the rhythmic task of brushing his coat, a tranquil hum escaping your lips.

"S'cuse me," a voice interrupted, and you jolted at the familiar sound. Turning your head, you found Joel, surprisingly up and about at this early hour. Mouth slightly agape, you greeted him breathlessly, "Joel, hi."

"Up early for patrol today... so... was wonderin' if you needed any help," Joel's gravelly voice broke through the quiet serenity of the stables.

You tilted your head, a subtle quirk of curiosity. The unexpected shyness emanating from Joel piqued your interest. Scanning him up and down, you suppressed a smile before nodding, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fluttering in your chest. "Um, sure... Could you feed the rest of the horses over there?"

He nodded in acknowledgment before moving with seasoned ease to attend to the horses, his hands moving confidently as he handled the feed and navigated the familiar routine of caring for the animals. As he worked alongside you in the quietude of the stables, the bond between caretaker and horses, and perhaps something more, unfolded in the soft morning light.

"How are you settlin' in in town, darlin'?" Joel inquired, his voice dipped in a gentle southern charm that sent a delightful shiver down your spine. The term of endearment he used left you feeling a sweet warmth spreading throughout your body.

You shrugged, a subtle smile playing on your lips. "Jackson is good, quiet, and peaceful. Never thought a place like this could still exist after... everything."

Joel's gaze lingered on you, and he couldn't help but note, "Well, it's got its charm. People here look out for each other. You included darlin'." His words held a quiet sincerity, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

Your eyes shifted around, a flutter of nerves settling in before gathering enough courage to meet Joel's gaze. You licked your lip nervously, and the words tumbled out, "Joel, I... I never apologized when I... um... first arrived here in Jackson. I'm sorry."

Joel looked at you, seeing the vulnerability in your eyes, and a softness overcame him. He offered you a sympathetic smile, "Nothin' to apologize for."

"You must have thought I was crazy," you lamely laughed, and Joel shook his head, his voice gentle, "No, not at all, just someone who's hurtin'."

You stared at him wide-eyed, feeling a phantom fear of tragedy as if he could see through you, still aware of any negative tendencies you may have. It evoked a sense of helplessness and vulnerability.

Then, a flicker of something in his gaze—a fire, a subtle intensity that caused warmth to spread across your face. An unspoken connection kindled in the quiet space between you, creating an inexplicable but undeniable bond.

Unable to hold his gaze, you looked away, clearing your throat, and tried to hide your smile as you continued to brush out Scout's mane. Joel smirked, watching you duck your head, proud of the way he made you react with just his gaze. The unspoken words hung in the air, a sweet tension that hinted at something more than apologies and simple conversations.

“So… what’s today’s patrol route?” You asked, trying to move the conversation, Joel walked over to you and finished feeding the horses, he stood in front of you and sighed, “Should be a quick one, makin’ sure there aren’t any infected or raiders nearby.”

Time flew by in the hypnotic flow of discussion with Joel before you realized it. His patrol partner eventually arrived, signaling the end of your stolen moments together. As you handed over the reins to Joel, a subtle thrill coursed through you when your hand brushed against his. A soft smile graced your lips, and you whispered, "Stay safe out there, Cowboy."

In response, Joel's steely exterior softened, and a rare, small smile played on his lips. He nodded, meeting your gaze with a warmth that transcended the casual camaraderie. "I will, darlin'," he affirmed, the endearment lingering in the air like a promise.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The kitchen at Jackson bustled with activity, and you were focused on the mundane task of chopping carrots for the evening's stew. Gemma, a fellow resident assisting you, had stepped outside to discuss some news with an acquaintance. The day seemed ordinary, a haze of familiar routines in the post-apocalyptic town.

But then, it happened. A deafening crash of the door bursting open shattered the tranquility, causing you to jolt in fear. Instantly, you were transported back in time, your mind torn from the kitchen and thrust into a nightmare you thought you'd escaped.

In an instant, you weren't in Jackson anymore. Instead, you found yourself in that dreadful place, that sinister basement that still haunted your darkest memories. It was as if the chains that once bound your ankles were clinking and dragging across the worn wooden floor again, just as they had back then. The echoes of your fellow captives' whimpers and cries resonated in your ears, the cacophony of despair down the hall of that wretched basement.

The room seemed to whirl around you, and a frantic panic welled up inside, a chilling flood of memories surging through your mind like an unstoppable tide. It was as if the past, a nightmare you believed you had left behind, had come crashing back into your reality.

Your throat constricted, and tears welled in your eyes, blurring the faces of the people and the clatter of the fallen knife in the kitchen. You couldn't bear it any longer. You couldn't pretend that everything was okay. You couldn't ignore the haunting echoes of the past any longer.

Without a second thought, you dashed past the bewildered onlookers in the kitchen, their voices fading into a distant, indistinct hum. Your pounding footsteps carried you through the dining hall and out into the crisp, autumn air.

Outside, you continued to run, propelled by an inexplicable urge to escape. The scene before you spun as you sprinted past, driven by an overwhelming need to distance yourself from the nightmarish memories that had clawed their way back to the surface.

Reaching the stables, you sought refuge by pressing your trembling hand against the cool, aged wood of the railing. It was a familiar anchor in this moment of turmoil, offering some semblance of support as your chest heaved, each breath drawn in ragged gasps. Your other hand clung to your racing heart as if to prevent it from leaping out of your chest.

Overwhelmed by emotions too powerful to contain, you eventually collapsed to your knees on the straw-strewn ground of the stables. There, amid the scents of hay, horses, and leather, you allowed yourself to succumb to the tidal wave of anguish. It was a cathartic release, an outpouring of pent-up pain, as you wept for the horrors of the past and for the insidious trauma that still gripped your very soul. The weight of the past was crushing, and a foreboding sense of its unending presence gnawed at you.

Amid the silent stables, in the hushed serenity of the autumn afternoon, your sorrow reverberated through the air. The horses nearby snorted and shifted, sensing your distress. Through your blurry vision, you made out the form of your own horse, Spirit, a palomino, whinnying and restlessly pawing the ground. Even he could perceive your distress.

With a heavy heart, you surrendered to the overwhelming emotions, curling into yourself. You buried your head in your arms, seeking refuge from the maelstrom within.

Time was elusive in that moment of vulnerability, and you couldn't gauge how long you remained in that cocoon of pain. It was the gentle touch of someone's hand on your shoulder that finally roused you from your anguish. Startled, you jolted and flinched backward, your tear-soaked eyes locking onto the familiar figure before you.

It was Joel. He knelt on the stable floor, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. His hands were lifted in a gesture of surrender, a silent assurance that he meant no harm. His voice, as gruff and comforting as ever, reached out to you with reassurance, "Hey, sweetheart, it's just me. Nothin's gonna hurt'cha."

You felt yourself wrapping your arms around Joel in a vulnerable moment as if motivated by an unsaid desire for comfort rather than condemnation. He hesitated for an instant, but then he threw his powerful arms around you and held you close to his chest. Tears poured easily into his flannel, his hold's warmth providing a haven from the cold.

His hand moved with a soothing rhythm on the small of your back, a gesture meant to calm the storm raging within you. In that quiet corner of the stables, amidst hay and the comforting scent of horses, you let out the pain that had long been buried.

Word had traveled through the residents about the outburst you experienced, reaching Maria's ears. Concern etched on her face, she went to check on you, only to discover your broken state in Joel's embrace on the stable floor. A shared look between Maria and Joel conveyed an understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the solace he provided. Without a word, Maria nodded in appreciation before quietly walking away, leaving you in the tender care of Joel's comforting arms.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Funny how it all fades away, the chaos of the world and the turmoil within, the very moment you surrender to Joel's arms. It's as if the universe aligns with the comforting embrace, reshaping the way it spins. You find yourself rearranged, your mind shifting, holding on a little tighter in the safety of your old age.

Your past, a fragile tapestry of pain, remains untold, hidden away from prying eyes. No one had ever asked, and the memories were not something you carried with pride.

Before you knew it, tears had given way to exhaustion, and you had surrendered to the solace Joel provided, falling into a peaceful slumber in his arms. Joel, unable to disturb your tranquil rest, gathered the strength to lift you with a gentle grace. Carrying you across the farmhouse they called home, he navigated the familiar halls with the kind of care one reserves for something precious.

In his bedroom, he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking you in with a blanket. You slept soundly, undisturbed by the world outside. Closing the door with a soft click, Joel rested his head against the wood, his tired eyes reflecting the weight of concern.

A voice sliced through the quiet, shattering Joel's contemplation. "Watcha hidin' in there?" Ellie's words caught him off guard, and he jumped, a whispered curse escaping him, "Fuck! Christ, kid, you almost gave me a damn heart attack."

Ellie leaned against the doorframe, her eyes studying Joel's worn expression. "Who's in there?" she asked, her curiosity tinged with concern.

Joel sighed, running a hand through his grizzled hair as he said your name, "She needed someone, kid. Don't worry, she's asleep now." He could see the questions forming in Ellie's eyes, and he continued, "She didn't need to be alone, not tonight."

Ellie's gaze softened, her understanding silently conveyed. "Need any help?" she offered, the bond between them speaking volumes in the unspoken connection.

Joel shook his head. "Nah, I got it covered. Get some rest, Ellie."

As Ellie retreated to her space in the garage, Joel turned back to the closed door, a silent vigil for the fragile peace within.

•───────•°•❀•°•��──────•

As you deeply inhaled, the scent of soft cotton sheets enveloped you, and the plush mattress cradled your form. A gentle breeze wafted through the open window, causing the curtains to sway gracefully. Blinking your eyes open, your eyebrows knit in confusion as the unfamiliar room unfolded before you, a stark contrast to the one you had meticulously crafted as your own.

As you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipped off, revealing a scene that painted a portrait of the person who occupied this space. A guitar stood propped up next to a box of records, hinting at the melodies that might have filled the room. A clock, perched on the wall above a small bookshelf adorned with a multitude of books, ticked away the moments. The window, adorned with a closet nearby, allowed soft daylight to spill into the room, casting a warm glow on the carefully curated details that made this space unique.

Exiting the bedroom, you quietly padded towards the kitchen, drawn by the inviting aroma of breakfast and a faint hum in the air. As you entered, Joel came into view, focused on the morning task of preparing a meal. You said his name, but he tilted his head to the side, as if catching a subtle sound in the stillness. Eventually, he turned around, and a small smile graced his face, revealing the hint of a dimple.

"Oh, you're awake. Good mornin', darlin'. How'd ya sleep?" Joel greeted, his eyes warm and the kitchen bathed in the aroma of breakfast. The worn, well-loved kitchen table held evidence of countless meals, the scent of brewing coffee enveloping the space, and a charming clutter of ingredients spoke of a morning routine crafted by familiarity and care.

“I… I’m–”

“Before you start to apologize for shit that you can’t control, don’t,” Joel interjected, a wry smile on his lips.

Deciding it was too early for arguments, you settled for a small nod, and Joel mirrored it with an agreeing one, “Alright, good.”

You began, “Uh, then I should… uh, see myself out then um–”

Joel shook his head, “Not with an empty stomach, you’re not.”

“But I–”

“Let me take care of you, please?” Joel's request carried a certain weight, and you found it hard to resist. Politely nodding, you ventured, “Is there anything I could help with?”

Joel shook his head, “Just have a seat over there by the dining table.” You complied, the chair scraping against the floor before you settled, observing Joel expertly preparing a spread of plates.

The front door opened, and Ellie walked in with a bright smile upon spotting you. "Hey! You’re still here and Joel hasn’t scared you off yet?”

You began to reply, but Joel scolded Ellie, placing down plates and glasses on the table, "Ellie!"

With a sheepish smile, you told her, "Quite the opposite actually."

Ellie shot Joel a cheeky look as she stuffed her face with food, “Wow! Look at you, when did you become such a social butterfly?” Joel sighed, shaking his head, while you shared a chuckle with Ellie, finding yourself welcomed into the heartwarming banter of their unconventional family.

You three had a nice supper together in quiet companionship. Ellie finally got up from her chair and announced that she was going to hang out at Dina's apartment. Never one to pass up a chance, she gave Joel a playful glance and puckered her lips into a kissy face at him while you were busy with the dishwashing.

By the time Joel was done drying the dishes with a towel and setting them on the drying rack, you picked at the loose skin on the edges of your fingernails, nervously waiting for Joel to ask the question you knew was coming.

“Let’s go sit out at the porch and enjoy the good weather, watcha’ say darlin’?” Joel asks and you bring yourself to look at him and you just nod as you follow him outside. He opens the door for you and gestures to the seat that you take, Joel moves the table around and moves his chair closer to yours.

You inhale deeply, finding solace in the delicate dance of silence and the caress of a spring breeze that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“Have ya talked to anybody?” Joel's voice breaks the quiet, and you turn your head to meet his gaze, a mixture of curiosity and kindness in his eyes.

“What?” you respond, caught off guard by the sudden question.

“Y’know, made some friends around town?” Joel elaborates gently.

“Are you asking if I have friends?” Your quizzical tone hangs in the air, and Joel huffs, “Well, you ain’t answerin’ the question, honey.”

A sigh escapes you as you weigh the words in your mind. Finally, you admit, “I like being alone.”

“Must be why you’re talkin’ to me so much,” Joel remarks with a smirk.

You meet his gaze, the warm sun highlighting the depths of his brown eyes as he looks at you. Shaking your head, you say, “That’s why I knew you were different. Because, for the first time ever, I wanted someone else’s company more than my own.” The vulnerability in your words hangs between you, suspended in the soft glow of the sun.

Joel's weathered hand envelops yours, a gesture that carries the weight of shared pain. "I’ve had 'em, the um, panic attacks," he admits, his voice a low murmur that echoes the haunting specter of those moments. "Feels like all the air in your lungs is gone, and you begin to feel like you’re drownin’.”

“I see her sometimes,” Joel continues distantly, his gaze lost in the depths of memory. You wait, the air thick with unspoken sorrow. “Sarah, my daughter. I lost her on outbreak day. She was only twelve.”

Your eyes well up, and you squeeze his hand in silent solidarity. "I'm sorry, Joel."

Joel shifts his gaze to his broken watch, a relic that marks the day and time when his world shattered when he cradled Sarah in his arms as she bled out.

“I got Ellie now, and she’s…” Joel trails off, the weight of his feelings for Ellie impossible to articulate fully. She's his everything, the reason to press on in a world that often feels desolate.

“I know,” you say, nodding in understanding.

“Talkin’ about it helps, y’know. Learned the hard way, almost lost her.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as the raw vulnerability in Joel's words resonates with your own pain. “I don’t want to just survive anymore,” you gasp, the ache in your chest palpable. “It hurts, Joel.”

“What happened out there, darlin’?” Joel asks, his voice breaking.

With a sob, you reply, “Nothing good. Nothin’ good, Joel.”

Then, the floodgates open, and you begin to tell an account laced with patches of short-lived joy and a frantic search for any opportunity at a better life. You spoke about the day of the breakout, the terror of seeing your parents die, and the passing of your siblings. You were taken prisoner by deranged and vicious raiders who took you to a basement filled with the deafening screams of violence.

You consider yourself lucky, spared the physical torment, yet the anticipation of it looms, a shadow of dread. "They should've just killed me then and there," you choke out, laying bare the scars that time can't erase.

A surge of anger courses through Joel's veins, an incandescent rage that echoes through his chest, resonating in the very marrow of his bones. The simmering heat in his head intensifies, a visceral response to the mere thought of anyone causing you harm. Every protective instinct in him flares up, urging him to mount a horse and embark on a ruthless pursuit, to track down those who dared lay a hand on you and unleash a torrent of violence upon them.

Yet, a rational part of Joel prevails. He recognizes the urgency of your need, the necessity for his presence here and now. Despite the molten anger that simmers beneath his skin, he restrains the impulse to act immediately. For your sake, he remains seated, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he clenches his teeth, locking away the fiery wrath that threatens to consume him. It's a fierce battle within, between the protective warrior ready for vengeance and the caring soul determined to offer solace. In this moment, he chooses the latter, for you.

The weight of your dreams presses upon you, vivid and haunting, every detail etched into your consciousness. "I've been remembering my dreams, more vivid than they've ever been, every detail and little thing. Every time I think about going back there to save the others I just… I can’t,” you admit, the guilt seeping through every fiber of your being. Joel kneels in front of you, a pillar of support, placing his hand on your knee.

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart,” Joel suggests, his voice a gentle anchor. You nod, allowing him to guide you back inside. Both of you settle on the couch, and Joel scoops you into his arms, a comforting embrace that shields you from the harshness of your own thoughts.

Sniffling, you pour out your heart, “I know I should have gone back for them, but I saw the opportunity, took it, and fought. I fought hard, and then I ran.”

Joel hums, a soothing melody that allows your tears to flow freely. “I thought… I was okay with the idea of dying, right there, in the snow, and then–”

“I found you,” Joel interjects, his voice a soft murmur.

You look up at him, eyes filled with uncertainty. “You found me?”

Joel's voice drops to a low register, his gaze steady on yours. “I found you during the patrol, freezin’ to death. Thought I didn’t make it in time.” The admission lingers in the air, a symbol of the frailty of beating the odds and the silent connection that kept you from falling apart.

You both stay quiet as you try to calm yourself down while Joel holds you, unable to form any response to the revelation that Joel saved you. You know you’re supposed to be grateful, but at the same time, you don’t feel that way. So you settle closer to him and Joel squeezes you a little tighter as if he knows what you are thinking, and there is no judgment, just pure empathy and understanding.

Eventually, you settle down and softly say, “I don’t know what to do,” Joel rubs a soothing hand up and down your back, “We’ll figure it out, darlin’.”

Then for the first time in years, that's when you could finally breathe.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As the seasons wove their tapestry of change, so did the fabric of your life, threading moments of lightness and warmth. Having shared the weight of your past with Joel, he became a steadfast presence, an anchor in the shifting tides of your existence. Ellie, too, became a companion in the shared journey of growth.

On a particular day, amidst the vibrant greenery of the greenhouse, you found yourself potting plants and tending to the garden alongside Ellie and another resident named Tris. The air was filled with the earthy scent of soil and the symphony of laughter as you engaged in the simple joy of gardening.

Joel, clad in his worn yet beloved flannel, entered the greenhouse, his eyes inadvertently catching the scene of camaraderie and playfulness. He watched, a subtle smile gracing his lips, as you and Ellie exchanged sweet banter, a dance of words that resonated with laughter.

Ellie couldn't resist a playful pun, and you responded with a burst of laughter, the sound harmonizing with the rustle of leaves and the hum of nature. The moment encapsulated the genuine connection, the shared language of laughter, that had blossomed between you and Ellie.

There had never been a label given to the unwritten relationship between Joel and you. It was a wordless understanding, manifested in the tender attention he paid you and the evenings you spent finding comfort in the round of his arms. There was a promise in the air as he held you tight, "I'll keep you safe, sweetheart." The words were genuine and reverberated through the unexplored areas of your connection, a song of love and safety that didn't require any further explanation.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The morning proceeded as usual, and the break of dawn illuminated Jackson's sanctuary with a hopeful glow. There was a small party of new arrivals, an expected but unusual sight, and the customary welcoming committee was called upon to assist them in becoming adjusted to the way of life in the community.

You and a few others started the annual task of welcoming the newcomers into the communal room that serves several purposes. A mixture of wonder and expectation pervaded the air as the newcomers experienced Jackson's regularity and warmth—a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the post-apocalyptic world.

You did your duty without thinking as the new faces moved into the shared dining room, where a shared meal was waiting. But at the doorway, something stopped you cold, a pause that went against the normal flow of the greeting.

And then, you saw him.

Recognition struck like a bolt, the back of his head triggering a flood of memories—the cadence of his voice, the grimy shirt clinging to his frame, the dirt-encrusted hands that bore the stains of a past you had fought hard to escape. Time seemed to fracture as you stood there, immobilized, your mouth agape and dry, eyes widened in sheer terror.

You could feel the weight in the pit of your stomach, a concrete representation of the eerie memories of abuse and torment. This could not be real. He was not allowed to be here, breaking into the safe sanctuary you had taken refuge in. Previously perceived as a haven of security, the shared area now seemed to evoke images of suppressed anxieties and bad dreams.

His eyes lock onto yours, and a malevolent grin creeps across his face, revealing a set of teeth that seem to glisten with wicked intent. The sight sends shivers down your spine, and an overwhelming sense of nausea threatens to consume you. In that moment, Maria's reassuring grip on your shoulder serves as a lifeline amidst the storm of dread that surges within you.

Her voice cuts through the dissonance in your mind, “You okay? You look unwell,”, her concern accentuated by the chaos unfolding around you. Yet, it's her inquiry that acts as the catalyst for your unraveling. A surge of panic propels you out of the scene, your movements fueled by a desperate need to escape the looming threat.

The world blurs around you as you sprint through the town, a disorienting juxtaposition of familiar faces and judgmental gazes. The echoes of a haunting déjà vu accompany your frantic run, amplifying the weight of your terror. Tears stream down your face, and your breaths come in ragged gasps as your throat constricts, a relentless grip tightening around your airways.

Staggering, you struggle to maintain composure, but the relentless onslaught of fear takes its toll. The corners of your vision blur, and in a secluded moment, away from the prying eyes of the community, your body rebels. The gut-wrenching sensation overwhelms you, and you bend over, retching as the trauma resurfaces in both memory and physical reaction. The ground beneath you bears witness to the aftermath of a confrontation with the haunting specter of your past.

As you slide down the cold, unforgiving wall, a shiver courses through your body, amplifying the stark reality of the present moment. The cool surface offers little solace as you fold into yourself, desperately clutching your knees as if they could shield you from the impending storm.

The air around you thickens with a stifling heaviness, a cruel reminder of the past that refuses to release its grip. Curling into a defensive ball, you hug yourself tight, as though this simple act could ward off the encroaching darkness threatening to consume you.

With your head buried in your arms, the world outside the fortress of your limbs becomes a distant, distorted canvas. The minutes unravel, each tick of the clock echoing the pulsating rush of blood in your ears. The simplicity of the moment clashes with the complexity of the emotions swirling within.

Seventeen again, caught in the clutches of an awful, horrible place that has become an indelible scar etched into the tapestry of your existence. The pain is not merely a memory but a living, breathing entity, clawing its way back into your present, rendering the passage of time meaningless.

The walls around you seem to close in, their echoes carrying the weight of your history. It's a stark reminder that the past, no matter how desperately you've tried to escape it, remains an unwelcome companion, haunting the recesses of your soul.

You feel the air thicken as he draws near, his presence casting an ominous shadow that seems to devour the feeble rays of sunlight. A cold shiver races down your spine, a chilling prelude to the encroaching darkness. His footsteps echo like ominous drumbeats, each one resonating with an unsettling promise.

"You thought you could escape, huh?" The words slither from his lips like venom, his voice a malevolent symphony that pierces through the ambient sounds of the surroundings. His gaze, filled with a malevolent gleam, locks onto yours, trapping you in a macabre dance.

Despite your mind screaming at your limbs to flee, a paralyzing fear roots you to the spot. The weight of your past sins, haunting and relentless, manifests in the figure before you. His form, etched with the scars of your shared history, now looms with a menacing intent.

"Did you really think you could hide here? With these people?" His tone drips with disdain as he gestures to the community around you. The tendrils of his threat extend beyond mere words, reaching into the very fabric of your newfound sanctuary.

Your breath catches as his words morph into a menacing promise. "I can take it all away, you know. Everything you've found here." His gaze shifts to the people you've come to love, their laughter and camaraderie now tainted by the looming specter of his return.

Nathan. A name, almost lost to the recesses of memory, surfaces in your mind – a cruel reminder of the scars he etched upon your soul. In this ominous confrontation, the echoes of your past reverberate with the sinister intention of reclaiming what he believes belongs to him.

Nathan's grip tightened around your arm, and you let out a scream, thrashing wildly to break free. As your nails clawed at his face, Nathan spat out a curse, "You fuckin’ bitch, I’ll kill you!"

In desperation, you tried to stand, but he grabbed your ankle, dragging you mercilessly across the floor. Your knee aimed at his face was thwarted, and his hands closed around your throat. The air in your lungs dwindled, and you kicked and screamed in a futile attempt to escape.

Feeling the switchblade in your pocket, you willed yourself to grab it. Flipping it open, you cried out as you stabbed him in the neck. Joel stormed towards you, anger etched across his face, but before he could intervene, you pulled out the switchblade, attacking Nathan with a frenzy of stabs.

"Stay the hell away from me!" you cried, each word punctuated by a vicious thrust of the blade. Tears streamed down your face as you unleashed your rage on the man who haunted your nightmares.

Joel, realizing the danger, moved swiftly. He pulled you away from the blood-soaked scene, shushing you and grabbing your wrist. The switchblade fell from your grip, staining the grass, and Joel held you close, shielding you from the aftermath of the violent confrontation.

Amidst the chaos, Joel's voice cut through, reassuring and protective. "Easy, sweetheart, easy. You're safe now." The echoes of your cries mingled with the distant sounds of Maria, Tommy, and others dealing with Nathan.

Maria's gaze shifted towards you, concern etched across her features. She turned to Joel and gave a decisive order, "Go and make sure she’s okay." Joel's response was a firm nod, an acknowledgment of his responsibility.

There was a hint of irritation in Joel's eyes as he escorted you home with an arm around your waist. It was an aging-related displeasure with himself for not being fast enough. But he was driven by desire to take care of making sure you were safe, and he brought you home with a strong sense of protectiveness. The atmosphere was tight, with echoes of Maria's instruction that spoke of the need to protect you from the horror that had recently occurred.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

In the quiet confines of the bathroom, Joel tenderly cleans the cuts and blood on your skin. The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs in the air as he carefully tends to your wounds. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the harsh memories that still lingered.

Joel glances at you while he works, capturing your attention. Through the difficulties you've undergone together, you've built a mutual understanding and a silent bond. The air changes, as trust and frailty meld together at that one instant.

Joel stops and meets your eyes for a brief period. There is a tangible tension between you that none of you can deny. The air seems heated. He places the first aid kit aside and reaches for your face with his hands.

Without a word, Joel leans in, closing the gap between you. The touch of his lips against yours is a gentle reassurance, a promise that you're not alone. In that tender kiss, there's a quiet acknowledgment of the strength you've found in each other.

As the kiss lingers, the weight of the past starts to lift. It's a moment of solace, a testament to resilience and the possibility of healing. Joel pulls away slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

And in the quiet bathroom, amid the wounds of the past, you find a newfound feeling of hope, grounded in the connection established through endurance and the compassion of Joel's care. Joel smiles softly and says, "You deserve to be happy, darlin'. Let me take care of you."

As Joel continues to care for your wounds, a sense of calm settles within the small confines of the bathroom. The sting of antiseptic is a tangible reminder of the present, but you find solace in the fact that Joel is here, offering comfort and care.

He finishes cleaning the last cut, his hands lingering for a moment before he retreats. There's an unspoken understanding between you, a silent agreement that this moment marks a turning point. The ghosts of the past may linger, but the present holds a promise of healing.

Joel's gruff voice breaks the quiet, "You're a tough one, you know that?" A hint of a smile plays on his lips, a rare sight that warms your heart. You manage a small smile in return, grateful for the unexpected bond that has grown between you.

Leaning back against the bathroom counter, Joel lets out a sigh. "You've been through hell, and here you are, facing it head-on. I've seen folks crumble under less. You're stronger than you think."

The atmosphere shifts as Joel's gaze meets yours again. There's a question lingering in the air, one that goes beyond words. You realize that this moment is a crossroads, a chance to choose your path forward.

"You're not alone in this," Joel reassures, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that transcends the scars of the past. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

In that moment, you feel a surge of courage, a newfound strength that emanates from within. The pain of the past begins to lose its grip as you accept Joel's support. The familiarity of the bathroom transforms into a sanctuary, a symbol of resilience and the possibility of rebuilding.

As you rise from the seat, Joel watches you with a quiet intensity. You get closer as the uncovered pull between you becomes stronger. This is a turning point in your life when you realize that you are now in control of the two worlds you have battled to survive and are determined to rebuild.

Joel's weathered hands find yours, a comforting embrace that symbolizes the connection you've forged. The tension that once lingered now gives way to a shared understanding, a silent agreement to face the future together.

In the hushed bathroom, among the fragments of the past, you lean in, closing the distance between you and Joel. The kiss that follows is a testament to resilience, an affirmation of the strength found in vulnerability. It forms a bridge between the hope of the next day and the scars of yesterday as it becomes deeper.

Joel pulls away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Instead, he finds a glimmer of determination, a spark that signals a new beginning. With a whispered promise, he says, "We'll face whatever comes our way, together."

With Joel right there beside you, you walk into that tiny, quiet room, ready to tackle whatever the world throws your way. Strangely enough, the weight of the world feels lighter with him around. No complaints from you—just a sense of readiness for whatever comes next.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

End Notes:

tbh, I blacked out while writing this--- so UH if there are any inconsistencies let me know! :>

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