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sprout-fics · 8 months

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(Gif originally by @shadow0-1)

Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Again.

(Soap x GN! Reader)

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 5400 Tags: Doomed Narrative, Time Loop AU, Heavy Angst, Blood and Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Whump, Hurt Very Little Comfort, Happy Ending, (I PROMISE THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING!!) Warnings: Major character death. That's...literally the plot A/N: Hi here's the doomed timelines AU nobody asked for

Call of Duty Masterlist

Summary:

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

The first time you meet Soap, it’s how you expect.

It’s a warm spring day, the kind where you need to shed layers in the brightness of afternoon, only to don them again come sunset. He stands just beyond the shade of the barracks, awash in sunlight that seems to catch the blue of his eyes. You blink as you take him in, and it’s the only barest indication you give at the instant impression that he’s handsome.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You reach for it automatically, remember yourself and offer a pleasant smile in return, along with your name.

“Looking forward to working with you, John.” You reply, and John- Johnny, as you’d come to call him in the tender moments between you, chuckles.

“Call me ‘Soap’.” He tells you easily, and you smile a bit wryly, tilting your head at him.

“The hell kind of name is ‘Soap’?”

- - - - -

It’s easy to work with Soap. He has a cheery, bright demeanor to him that is immediately endearing. He’s friendly, outgoing. His smile is contagious, and the bark of his laughter becomes familiar to you. You listen and guffaw at his jokes over the comms, try vainly to hide your smile when he says them before you.

It only makes his eyes twinkle to see you try and conceal your amusement, and that becomes familiar too- the sparkle of his irises with endless mirth.

He catches you during your duties, sidles up beside you during weapons training, becomes the first to suggest himself as your partner during drills. The company he offers is warm, welcome, lifting the dusky heaviness of your heart into something more tender, fragile. You hold it for him, feel his grin bleed into yours, lay awake at night and sometimes think about the shake of his shoulders when you get him to laugh.

You feel endlessly special when he devotes his time to you, feel as if Soap treats you like you’re the only person in the world. Even in the presence of others he finds ways to indulge himself in you. A nudge of his boot against yours under the table of the briefing room, tossing you an extra round of ammo as you gear up for a mission, finding an excuse to sit next to you on the chopper ride home. Soap feels like a breath of fresh air, the first taste of a cool breeze during summer, a respite from the weight of the world.

Like two stars in orbit, you circle each other, drawing closer into the gravity of each other’s gazes. You try at first to resist, to hold yourself away from the feelings of the other sergeant, knowing at any moment that he could be taken from you. It’s written in the wheels of fate, your destinies as soldiers. If you’re lucky, if you stay alert, if you train hard enough, if chance smiles upon you, maybe you’ll both live to a day where the sound of rockets and bullet-fire doesn’t haunt your waking dreams.

Yet you can’t resist him. When you fall asleep against his shoulder after a days long mission with hardly any sleep, when he playfully grapples with you over the last slice of pizza during movie night, when he gives you that smile during a rare night off-base at the pub- how can you resist?

Gravity pulses between you when you at last fall into him, feel his breath against your lips as your fingers comb through his mohawk. He breathes the blessing of your name against the corner of your mouth in a panting gasp, flexes his fingers across the small of your back when he drags you even closer. The taste of him is honey and ale, a sweetness with a beloved bitter aftertaste, one you drink down greedily in the form of his moans against your flesh.

When you lay in bed together after, sweaty limbs tangled together, you watch the tender, soulful smile form across the handsome planes of his face, and you know.

He’s yours.

There’s kisses stolen in the hangar before take off, moments hidden in the shadows of safehouses. He cups your face and lifts it to him in the aftermath of battle, smears ash against your cheek with his gloved thumb. You try to carve each moment into your heart, never fail to try and memorize the glint of his eyes, the soft slope of his smile. You know the shape of him in the darkness of his bedroom, know the sound of his voice even blinded by the brightness of his mere presence.

Johnny is the sun- emanating a gentle, beckoning warmth from afar. Yet when you get closer you see the glory of his inferno, see the flashing burn of his eyes in the midst of battle. The solar flare of his battle cry seems to carry you like soar of Helios's chariot upwards into the heavens of his devotion. When you touch him, you’re seared, branded by his fingers as they trace sentimental sketches across the dip of your waist. You want to bask in him, feel the ember of his stare as he gazes at you silently across the table of the restaurant he takes you to for your official first date.

“What?” You ask him, averting your eyes a little bashfully, catching his shrug in your periphery.

“Just lookin’.” He replies with a grin, his cheek smushed as he balances on his hand. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

You kiss him for that, and when he laughs you kiss him again.

You kiss him a thousand times, each as sweet and passionate as the last, know the curve of his smile on your lips. You kiss him before your next mission, when he holds you against the wall of the armory and tells you how he can’t wait until you both get back.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t come back.

He’s looking at you in the chopper when you hear the sound of the RPG. The explosion has him backlit for all of a moment before the world is spinning, the roar of the dying engine in your ears and Price’s holler to “BAIL BAIL BAIL-!!”

You reach for the rope, glance behind you to see Soap not out of his seat- a breed of panic in his eyes unlike that you’ve ever seen from him. The jammed clasp of his strap is caught in his hands as he tugs at it desperately, and you meet his gaze for all of a moment, seeing the imminent knowledge of what comes next in his beautiful blue eyes.

You fall, without him, are caught by the canopy of trees where the snap of branches under you muffles the distant sound of the helicopter exploding as it lands.

You ignore Price’s orders, run desperately for the wreckage, only to be greeted by an inferno that stretches towards the sky.

Johnny is on fire, and this time when you reach for the burn of him the flames are real. They scorch your flesh and you shout his name even as you try to reach him, already knowing it’s too late. When Ghost and the others haul you back you fall to your knees, grip the scorched earth beneath your fingers and scream.

And then you wake up.

Warm springtime.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You blink, heart still hammering in your chest, feeling the warmth of flames chase you even as songbirds sing in the trees. Yet Johnny is alive before you, whole, smiling, looking so much like the man he was when you met him for the very first time.

“Was it a nightmare?” You ask him breathlessly, and Johnny- Soap- merely arches a bewildered eyebrow at you.

“What?”

Nightmares, you come to learn, are so much more kind.

It happens all as it did before. The jokes over comms, the glancing gazes over drills, the bump of elbows in the mess hall. It’s familiar, sweet, amorous…

And you know something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Back to the start, somehow. You don’t know how, you don’t know why- but there’s no denying what has happened. Johnny died. You went back, and now you have a chance to save him.

It’s months before the helicopter crash. You replay the scene over and over again in your mind, and you keep arriving back to the look in Johnny’s eyes as realization washed across them. Everyone who dies a sudden death is confused, scared, not ready, and the knowledge and horror you saw in his stare haunts your waking dreams.

Yet Johnny falls in love with you just as he did before, and you fall into him so readily, desperate to accept his warmth in the wake of his death. Orpheus embracing Eurydice, you try to trace him into your skin, imbue the memory of him into the marrow of your bones and pray that you can reverse his fate. The gears of destiny tick in the back of your mind even as he stares at you over the restaurant table on the evening before your departure.

“Just lookin’.” He tells you when you return his stare, mistaking your concern for confusion. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

When you kiss him, you try to swallow the sob in your throat.

When you get on the helicopter, you point out his jammed strap with shaking fingers, and he blinks in astonishment.

“Hell’s bells.” He huffs, fiddling with it before it comes loose, and it stays that way for the remainder of your journey. “That coulda been terrible, ey bonnie?”

He makes it out this time, and when he rises from the forest floor he rushes to you, cups your face in his hands and stares down with eyes glinting in concern.

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, chest heaving with exhilaration. “Are you hur-”

He jerks back at the sound of a gunshot, and you drop automatically, crawl to him just in time to catch his hand as he reaches for you. The bullet wound at his collarbone gushes red, red, red, and your hands are coated in it as you plead, tell him he’s going to be okay-

The light fades from his eyes, still staring up at you, the last thing he sees.

You still feel his heartbeat on your hands when you wake up.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You tremble, take it and see him blink in surprise when he feels the uncontrollable shake of your palm against his.

The second time, you think it’s a fluke, a horrible prank.

He steps on a landmine, scattered to the four winds.

The third time, you’re petrified.

A man hidden in the darkness, he lunges for you. Johnny pushes him aside. The blade wedges between his ribs.

The fourth time, you beg destiny for answers.

You make it to the compound, the fence lights him up like a firework.

The fifth time, you try to tell him, only to find your throat clogged, unable to speak. You try to tell him a hundred more times in the months that follow, and each time the words are stolen from your breath, as if fate forbids you to inform him of his doomed destiny.

“...Nothing.” You tell him when he asks after you’ve tried to speak over the restaurant table, your food barely touched.

Johnny shrugs. “Doesna matter, too busy looking at how pretty you are.”

You cry silently that night in his bed, while he dozes gently next to you, unaware of what awaits him.

You can’t tell him. You don’t know how to save him. You still love him.

He’ll forget he knows you, forget he loves you by the time he wakes up

You’ve found eight ways for Soap to die, and have taken years to defy all of them. You have to write them down everytime you wake up unless you somehow forget. The notebook is filled with scribbled reminders, ever present in your pocket even as he steals the last slice of pizza out from under you.

He doesn’t have enough ammo. Remind him to take extra clips

He put his knife on the wrong strap that he usually does, fix it for him.

He steps on the landmine fourteen steps after the creek. Stop him.

You can’t stop trying. Not when it’s him.

Yet each time you find a way to outsmart the latest execution of him, fate finds one more thing to steal him out from under you. Unstoppable, imminent, condemned to wake up and see his smiling face mere moments after his heartbeat slows to nothingness.

“I love you.” You whisper as you cradle his head in your lap, knowing he already can’t hear you, glassy eyes staring up at the sky. “I’ll see you soon.”

You burst into tears by the 19th time, buckling in on yourself much to the shock of the men around you, relaying startled looks of confusion between them. You excuse yourself, find a dark corner to fold into and sob, knowing this time you’ll fail too.

It’s Soap who finds you, sits beside you, says barely a word when you cry into his shoulder even though he doesn’t know you. Not yet.

Falling in love with him each time is painful. Your heart beats for him and him alone, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose him again. You’ll go right back to the start, to him having just met you, not yet falling into gravity with you, even as you hear the tick of gears turning ever closer to the moment you’ll watch him die.

“Don’t you know me?” You want to ask him, want to bunch his shirt between your fists and let tears stream down your face. “Don’t you know you loved me?”

His smile doesn’t waver. He jokes and laughs and playfully teases you and it hurts. It’s a balm that burns, heals your heart and yet doesn’t erase the scar. He’s your only comfort, the only thing you have as you feel your soul chipped a little further each time he leaves you. You can’t tell him why you cry into his arms, can’t confess to him that you’ve seen him die more ways than you care to remember, that you’ve tried to save him in dozens of lifetimes and he doesn’t even know.

He holds you even though he doesn’t understand, hushes sweet endearments into your hair and comforts you, not knowing how this will end.

“I love you.” He tells you softly as you hiccup against his chest, not knowing what else to say. “Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

Your tears drip into the fancy china at the restaurant he takes you to and Johnny looks afraid.

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

He looks at you, blinks. His brow furrows.

“How’d you know my name?”

This time, you forget to warn him about the rigged doorway, and he vanishes in a flash and puff of smoke.

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

You wake up. Everything happens as it did before. You meet him, you listen to the sound of his laugh, you finish one of his jokes over the comms and he groans.

“Don’t tell me ye know that one too!” He grouses, and when you smile your chest aches with the force of thirty lifetimes.

You place a palm against his back, unable to help yourself as you enter the compound, wanting to feel the frame of his body just one more time before destiny finds a new way to kill him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiles even as uncertainty colors the blueness of his gaze.

“Yer like my guardian angel.” He tells you, still smiling even after all this time. “Dannea what I’d do w’out ye.”

A grenade at the staircase. He pushes you out of the way. He doesn’t duck out of the way in time.

You close your eyes when you wake up. You can’t bear to look at him, knowing you’ll just lose him again.

You try to keep him from loving you, thinking perhaps that is the crime to warrant this eternal punishment. You can’t stop loving him, but maybe, maybe you can stop him from loving you. Maybe if you never have him to begin with, maybe you can save him.

Yet Johnny is drawn to you anyways, sucked in by the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, like a moth to an infant flame. He hovers at the fringes of your soul, tries desperately to find his way inside, and you can’t help but let him. He comforts you when you cry against the futility of it all, and there’s nothing you can say to him to explain. You wet his shirt with your tears, knowing it’ll be the one he dies in.

The next time, you force yourself to not speak to him, to try and avoid him at all costs, try everything to drive him away. If he never loved you to start, then maybe he’ll live. He seems pre-ordained to find a way to confess to you, ask why you hate him so, look at you through glistening eyes and ask “What did I do?”

You wonder if maybe that’s destiny too, if it’s truly Soap falling in love with you, or his strings being pulled by the same machinations that inscribe his death.

When he asks you again, tries to approach you with flowers and apologies, and offers to take you to dinner on the eve of his death, you wheel on him in desperate fury.

“You don’t actually love me!” You cry, face hot with tears. “Can’t you see that?! All this time it’s just- it’s just the story we’re in. Just because you’re supposed to love me doesn’t mean you do. It’s all just a fucking lie.”

Soap is stunned, too shocked to speak. In all the dozens of lives you’d lived, you’ve never ever yelled at him before.

Hurt flashes across his eyes. His eyes drop along with his hands, the bouquet limp in his grip. The bitterness of his smile as he refuses to look at you threatens to shatter your heart like glass.

“You hate me.” He murmurs, as if to himself. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean tae…”

He falls silent, and eventually he walks away.

You don’t get on the chopper this time. You can’t stand to watch him die again.

You try to tell him again, ask him why. Why does he have to torture you like this? Why love you, why allow you to love him so deeply, only for him to leave at the end of this doomed story bound to repeat? Why would he love you?

He looks torn. He’s hurt. He wants to comfort you. He doesn’t know what to say

“Why wouldn’t I love you?” He asks in a whisper, devastated by your outburst.

You can’t speak. You’re forbidden to tell him. You want to. You can’t.

“Bonnie-” He tries, stepping forward, trying to embrace you as if that will somehow solve everything.

“No.” You manage, pressing backwards as he reaches for you, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Pain dances across his eyes. “Go away, Johnny.”

He leaves.

He dies anyway.

When you wake up, your body feels weighed down with the passage of a hundred lifetimes, and your legs fall out from under you without warning. Johnny hauls you into his arms, his blue stare flickering with concern.

You forgot how much you love being held by him.

This time, you don’t push him away. In fact, you never do again.

Yet things are different now. It’s subtle at first, things you take for granted. Something in this story has changed, and in turn it’s changed him. Johnny walks into rooms and seems to forget why he’s there. He asks what day it is and frowns in confusion when Ghost replies blandly for the second time that day.

“Didn’t you already tell us this?” He asks of Price during a meeting, and Gaz’s head snaps to him, to the smartness of his tone towards your captain.

“No.” Price responds gruffly, succinctly, and continues on. You watch Soap, see the way he doesn’t seem to understand. His fingers tap on the table, and it’s a small gesture meant to conceal the worry in his eyes- the knowledge that maybe, maybe he’s been here before.

“I saw you in a dream, once.” He tells you one night as you both clamber onto the roof of the barracks to stare at the stars. “Before I even met you.”

You stare at him, and he laughs a little nervously, rubbing at his nape. “A bit crazy, eh? Sounds like am’ off ma heid.”

You shake your head, slide your hand over his, feel your heart thump when he looks at you in surprise. “Tell me.” You whisper, and when he smiles you shudder, feel the weight of destiny press heavy on your shoulders.

“I saw you crying.” He murmurs, and his eyes are a little distant, like he’s looking back at a life that no longer exists. “I told you not to cry.”

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

This time, you nearly die beside him, and almost wish fate would take you too.

He has nightmares now. He thrashes in his bed, a cold sweat dampening his skin when he wakes. You ask him what it was, what vision plagues him, and he only shakes his head, eyes distant and terrified. He clings to you like he’s a little boy frightened by shadows, gazes at something you can’t see but know all the same. He doesn’t have the words, but he doesn’t need them.

You roll over one night, startled to find him wide awake, eyes unblinking as he stares at you. His voice sounds like an echo of himself, a dark magic winding through his words that sound like an all too familiar prophecy.

“I saw myself die.” He tells you, in a voice you’ve never heard- one you’ll never forget. “You were there- and then you weren’t.”

He finds bruises on himself the next morning, in the same places you watched him become riddled with bullet holes.

You’re running out of time. You don’t know when you’ll wake up and he won’t be there. You don’t know if this will be the last time you ever see him.

“Please.” You beg him, tugging on the straps of his vest as he steps towards the chopper. “Johnny please, don’t. Stay here. Don’t go.”

His eyes shine with worry at the sudden, fervent desperation in your words, and he opens his mouth to respond-

Only for his eyes to take on that foreign, distant stare once more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, and once more you’re forbidden to tell him.

Because you’ll die. Because I’ll be forced to watch. Because I have no way to stop it. Because I’ve seen it happen a hundred times and I can’t do it anymore.

Inevitably, you arrive here, and this singular moment in time, at the place where you’ve yet to find the part in which he survives.

It always ends like this.

You survive the crash, fend off the ensuing ambush, weave past the landmines and the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, disable the electric fence and disarm the rigged door. You make it inside, stop him before he triggers the tripwire, disarm the pressure plate, lob the grenade back up the stairs, open fire on the door to his left before he passes it. You anticipate the reinforcements at your back, fix the radio when you signal for ex-fil, remember to give him your extra ammo. You know when the roof collapses and drag him to safety, point out the missed charge in his demolitions package, take out the turret before he even spots it-

Then you arrive here.

“The detonator doesn’t work.” He tells you for the thirty sixth time, out of a hundred and forty eight lifetimes. You know what comes next. The chopper will get here, you will be overrun, and Johnny will kiss you one last time with an apology, push you into Gaz’s arms even as you scream. Then he’ll make his way to the control room without you all, will stay behind and make it his final, valiant act.

Then you’ll watch the facility explode with him still inside, hear the gears of fate click and send you hurtling back to the beginning.

If you stop him, you’ll all be shot down. You’ll be the only survivor of the crash, and will see the broken bodies of your teammates join him. Or someone else will take his place, and your rescue chopper will be shot down anyways.

There’s no escape. This is always the moment that you can’t save him from. Thirty six lifetimes and you know in just a few minutes you’ll wake up, will hear his voice begin it all again, over and over until one day you wake up and he isn’t there.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You had a dream last time. You were both sitting at the restaurant table, and you spoke before he could.

“Are you going to tell me how pretty I am?” You asked him, swallowing down grief, feeling it bloom like a macabre bouquet when the sound of his joyous laughter tickled your soul.

“Stole the words right from mah mouth.” He chuckled.

You blinked, and the seat across from you was suddenly empty.

You close your eyes, in this moment, try once more to find the part where you all make it out alive. You try to find the part where you don’t lose him. Where you’ll go back to that restaurant and it’ll be the last time.

You’ve had enough.

“I’m going to stay.” Soap declares, eyes grim with resolve.

He turns to you.

You close the distance, reach up and kiss him. You tangle your fingers in his mohawk like you did the very first time, listen to his shocked gasp as you try and drink in the taste of him just one more time. Just one more time.

Honey and ale. A bittersweet goodbye.

You snatch the detonator from his hands, raise your hands to his shoulders and push.

He topples backwards, nearly colliding with Price, and it gives you just enough time to bolt for the door leading towards the control room, locking it behind you.

Soap screams your name, hurls himself at the door, frantic desperation coloring his beautiful blue eyes. The color of a sky in summer time, of a fresh breeze that reminds you so much of him.

There’s a nervous smile on his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He thinks it’s a prank, another joke between you two, and he says just as much, voice wavering when he asks you to unlock the door.

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You whisper, tears warming your eyes. “I can’t lose you again.”

Confusion makes him pause, but it’s only for a moment.

“Open the door.” He demands then, jiggling the lock uselessly as his voice rises. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!!”

“I love you.” You whisper, raising your hand to the glass pane, your splayed palm against his closed fist and the world between them. “In this lifetime, and the one before. Ever since the day I met you, I’ve loved you, Johnny.”

He calls your name, voice cracking in desperation and he begs you to come back. You take a few more moments, and think to yourself how unkind it is that the last time you see him will be like this. Afraid, broken, desperate.

Terrified.

Just like how he was all that time ago, the first time you failed to save him.

Not this time.

“Don’t cry.” You tell him quietly. “I always hated watching you cry.”

You leave him even as he screams after you, running in the direction of the control room.

You don’t know this part. You’ve only ever watched Johnny or one of them vanish in this direction. You aren’t prepared for this the way you are with the rest of this story. You’re not ready for the hail of gunfire that greets you, the bullets ripping through flesh. Your blood drips red onto the floor, you run low on ammo, and yet somehow you press on.

Not this time. You think. Not ever again. You can’t take him from me any longer. I won’t allow it.

You’re limping, heavily wounded, riddled with bullet holes, chest seizing and smearing an abstract of crimson behind you as you finally make it to the control room. By the time you dispatch the remaining soldiers you’re on the floor, feeling the corners of your vision pulse red and black as the gears turn, as the clock ticks down.

The timer has just enough time to make it out once you start it. You know you won’t be able to.

So you watch the numbers click on the countdown, flop onto your back and cry.

You didn’t want this.

You wanted just a little more time. Maybe you should have let him go, let him finish this if only he can wake up and not know you. Maybe you should have let him die one more time, if only to get the chance to fall asleep in his arms months into the future and past, knowing he was going to die.

It’s too late now, and as the numbers click down, as your heartbeat thrums in your ears and your vision pulses red, you can only try to remember the feeling of his smile against your lips, the sound of his laughter, your name breathed into your skin as he wraps his arms around you, safe from destiny in his embrace.

“Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

You love him. You’ve always loved him. In this lifetime, in the hundred lifetimes before. In a thousand lifetimes to come you will still love him. Even if you go back, wake up again to that warm spring day, you know you will only love him once more.

You wish he was here, at the end, and wish that even if he was he’d find a way to live without you.

When you exhale, it’s the sound of his name, the memory of his eyes as they stare across you from the restaurant table, full of endless devotion.

The world goes dark.

And then you wake up.

It’s bright.

You don’t expect what comes next.

There’s no birdsong. No springtime warmth. Only the beep of a heart monitor, the feeling of cottony sheets tucked into a hospital bed, the fluorescent glow of overhead lights.

And the sound of a voice.

Johnny is holding your hand, head bowed, tears falling freely down his face.

“I did it.” He sobs, words choking his throat, shoulders trembling.

Whole. Alive. Just like you.

“I did it.” He cries again, looking up and finding your eyes with his that swim with emotion. When he speaks, it sounds like the weight of a hundred lifetimes presses down on him.

“This time. This time, I saved you.”

Taglist: @soapskneebrace @guyfieriii @writeforfandoms @alicesfracturedmirror

#john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #Soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #my writing #my fic #to add to masterlist #Alex play Dumb Ways to Die

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wynnyfryd · 3 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 48

part 1 | part 47 | ao3

cw: mentions of smoking/sexual activity

Chapter 11

February

For two and a half months, Steve’s life goes perfectly. He didn’t realize how far into a pit he’d fallen until Eddie showed up to help Robin and the kids lift him out, but the difference is jarring. Golden hour sunlight after catching a matinée.

Steve spends two months blinking.

He sloughs off his sadness like a snake shedding skin; spends the winter getting back to being Steve, restocks his favorite hair products and restarts his fitness routines — morning runs through the woods, afternoon pick-up games with Lucas and some of his teammates when the weather doesn’t suck. Weightlifting in the evenings because Eddie says he likes how Steve’s arms look when they get a little big, says it’s more fun to pin him down when he knows it’s just for show.

And he tries new things, too, just because Eddie likes them or because the kids think they're cool. He reads a Vonnegut novel. He eats Indian curry. He even learns a song on guitar.

...Sort of.

Eventually.

(Actually, that whole thing goes pretty horribly and takes for-fucking-ever. Eddie spends an afternoon patiently encouraging him and doing his best not to tease while Steve clumsily moves through a beginner chord progression, and then breaks down wheezing when, after the sixth attempt with no improvement, Steve puts the guitar down in a huff and threatens to demote his pinky finger from his hand if it doesn't start cooperating. Eddie laughs so hard he tips face-first into Steve's crotch, and it takes them a sticky-spitty-sweaty half hour to get back to the lesson.)

Anyway, he likes the way their lives entangle. As easy as weaving his hands through Eddie’s hair.

He gets invited to band practice; he sits in on D&D. Sometimes he watches sports with Wayne when he's got a day off, then he heads out with Eddie for long joyrides through the countryside.

Eddie blasts his metal music when they get out to the backroads, and he talks too loudly over the bass and laughs even louder and rants about nothing and smokes cigarettes while he headbangs to his favorite guitar solos — almost lights his hair on fire on more than one occasion, fucking dumbass — and he does this silly, lewd shit that makes Steve's chest just ache. Makes it clench around the word that's been burning a hole in his tongue since New Year's Eve. Eddie wags his brows and palms himself through his jeans and asks if Steve wants to take another joyride when they get home, and Steve thinks:

God, I love you.

I love you.

How could I not love you?

And really, how could he not? And how much longer can he keep not telling him so? When it feels like the word is going to burst out of his chest Alien-style any second.

When it feels like Eddie's the reason he even has a home to get to.

Slowly — so slowly, hours spent thrifting and bartering and keeping an eye out for free stuff left out on the curb, even more hours sanding and painting and caulking and sweating to death between trips to the hardware store — they redo Steve's whole trailer. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, they exorcise the haunted tin can. They make it his; they make it theirs.

Eddie injects life into every inch of the space, fills it with weird art and funky lamps and a big, comfy leather couch that he likes to bend Steve over. Comes inside him in every room when they get done working on it as a reward; gasps in Steve's ear about how he always wants to be inside him: in his home, in his body, nestled deep inside his heart. "Keep me right here, baby," he breathes as he fucks Steve against a wall, his left hand gripping Steve's chest while he fills him from behind.

It’s perfect.

It's perfect.

Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts unless Steve asks.

And then, because this godforsaken town and everyone in it are fucking cursed, one day it isn’t anymore.

—

part 49

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#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic #oh giant joseph head we're really in it now

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hunnylagoon · 2 months

Text

Candy

PT1: Sober to Death

Ellie Williams x Reader

I’m home and here to stay like a ghost to haunt. You can’t shake me off your back for I linger in your head like carelessly uttered curse. Summer falls to ashes in my mouth and so I will spit them into your urn, just like that all of my devotion turns violent.

Premise: After a mental break you are being held together by nothing but glitter glue and craft yarn. You seek refuge with an old friend in a coastal town to live the life you thought you left behind.

Warnings: SENSITIVE THEMES / reader is a recovered addict / mentions of drug and alcohol abuse / angst / brief mentions of violence / possibly triggering discussions of drug addiction

Read at your own discretion

Inside me, something seethes. Inside me, some feral animal has been forced into a cage where it thrashes and screams. Perhaps I will turn into a snarling wolf and rip out the throats of each girl who made me go home crying in middle school. Maybe I will don the pelt of a sheep and surprise all of those who convinced me it was a good idea to try ketamine when I shed my cloak and reveal my long curled claws and fangs sharp as knives.

I'm heartless at worst and helpless at best.

I don't know how else to be. I was raised like a stick of dynamite lit from both ends and I can describe in detail how the earth warps beneath my feet or how I watch the sky bend until it snaps and collapses onto a body too tired to lift it back up.

Everything miles ahead of what I was, to them, I was only ever an addict. Cursed with the nickname 'popper' since tenth grade and everyone thought it to be nothing more than a joke they didn't know how I found serenity in the tablet of acid that rested on my tongue.

It started with pot and drinking on the weekends then flew into full-blown benders when I swallowed back synthetic sunshine like it was candy. None of my friends thought I would end up with my back plastered on my dorm floor, eyes wide with what once was a bottle of pills frothing out of my mouth.

It took me two overdoses to get here, had to put my white blood cells to work.

"I didn't think you'd be up this early," Joel smiled at me, he was nursing a mug of coffee, a plate in front of him with a half-eaten piece of toast and a golden yoke running onto the porcelain. That might've been my favourite thing about the farm, fresh eggs. Once you have them you can never go back to the sad pale grocery store eggs.

"That makes two of us," I pulled out a chair from the wooden dining table and sat down. Joel had put so much love into this home. These days I’m too nauseous to eat breakfast.

"Ellie doesn't even wake up this early," He took a slug of his black coffee, the scent was strong, filling up the entire house, I could smell it the second I woke up. "How's the room? Is everything to your liking?"

I had felt so guilty for free-loading off Joel whom I hadn't seen since I was twelve, it had been eight years. He sent me cards on my birthday every year but I never was able to grasp how close our parents had been. I'm pretty sure I was friends with Ellie when I was little, there were pictures of the two of us hugging each other and playing beneath sprinklers, my front teeth missing, Ellie covered head to toe in Spider-Man band-aids. I didn't have any recollection of us when we were close, as we got older we got more stiff around each other. When my family would visit, she would hang out with her friends and I would keep to myself. Of course, my parents moved us to the city where everything hit me too hard all at once. "It's perfect, thank you."

"It's pretty hard to peel yourself off that mattress, huh?" Joel smiled at me, showing me every ounce of warmth he had when I was a child.

I nod in response "So much more comfortable than those stiff dorm mattresses," It almost felt like I was making conversation with a ghost.

"Since you're up so early, care for a tour while I do some chores?" He asked. I had been here a few days already, though I just kept to myself I didn't want to impose on his pleasant life with his daughter who hadn't called him at three am sobbing because she had too many opioids. I had wandered briefly around the farm of course and I had remembered bits and pieces of it from my childhood but I felt so out of place that I mainly locked myself inside of my temporary room and lived through my friend's Instagram stories.

"I'd love to," I smile politely, unsure of what else to do.

"Do you think you're gonna go back to school?" Joel asked as he stood up with his plate and mug in hand and began to wash them in the stainless steel sink. "No pressure, there's life outside of a lecture hall."

This was a question I had been thinking about day in and day out. I was a year and then some into getting my degree when my 'fun habits' began spiralling uncontrollably. My parents had managed to snag me a two-year deferral so I could go to rehab and go back to school the following year but I was so full of shame that I shook with the thought of going back. For the first time in my life, I am afraid I have no real desires.

When I was dead inside a motel bathtub, I thought I needed to be somewhere different but now that I'm there, I need to be someone different too. "I'm not really sure right now, just please don't tell my parents I said that."

"Secrets safe with me," He opens a cabinet and pulls out a bag of cat food, shaking it until a scrawny calico cat appears out of thin air. Pepper happily devours the food Joel puts in her little bowl. I remembered Pepper, she was a kitten way back then and I would cut open socks to make clothes for her. "You should just know that it's never too late."

Very early in my life, it was too late. "Thanks, Joel," Not yet a corpse and still I rot like all of my ambitions turn to sludge at my tired feet.

He looks around, exhaling a deep breath, trying to scope out anything else he has to do in the kitchen. "You outta get geared up, I'm gonna wake up Ellie then me and you can get to work."

I nod in agreement even though I'm not sure what he means by 'gear up' so I figure that's just him saying to put on a hoodie and some rain boots. I stand awkwardly by the door, waiting for Joel. Absentmindedly I rock back and forth on my heels hands clasped together. I'm twenty years old but I feel like I'm twelve again, trying to find a place for myself in someone else's life.

I thought of the last time I was in this house. I was twelve, unaware of the future that awaited me, I had buried a time capsule with Ellie and her cousins somewhere on this property. Writing to my future self, talking about all of the things I should be. If only she saw the brain-rotten zombie that was her destiny.

My parents had told everyone back home I was backpacking across Australia and taking a break from academics to see the world. In the eyes of those who knew me well and were more than aware of what happened, it was a shame to them that I had wasted a sharp brain and a pretty face. It takes a whole lot of strength the endure myself.

It doesn't take long for Joel to walk back down the creaky stairs, Ellie trailing behind him, sleep in her eyes. She's in boxers and one of Joel's old t-shirts, hair still messy and unbrushed. Ellie yawns and gives me a little wave- it wasn't really a wave, just her raising a hand in my direction as an acknowledgment.

We hadn't spoken much since I got here, I had met her in the past but we didn't know each other. A lot can change in eight years. She wasn't unfriendly toward me, we indulged in small talk and laughed at each other's jokes but each conversation was so shallow I wanted to lay face down and drown in them.

Ellie goes straight for the fridge, unlike her dad, she pours milk into a sickly sweet cereal which seems cavity-inducing. She was back from college for the summer, taking advantage of her father's love and food. Joel walked over to where I was standing at the door, slipping into his mucking boots. "While you're both here," He says before looking at me "How much do you know about boats?"

I furrow my eyebrows "A good bit I guess?" I answer, figuring he was just trying to rekindle a spark between Ellie and me that had been put out eight years ago by rain, ocean spray, and vodka.

"Y'know, Els," He gestures towards me "This one used to work at her parent's marina, they tell me she's done a couple of repairs and I bet she could give you some pointers on how to fix up that boat." I'm confused by his words, this is the first I've heard about a boat. Joel can see the uncertainty on my face "Her uncle gave her a piece of shit boat last summer before she went back to school, over the year I guess some teenagers thought it was a good hideout and trashed it even more."

"Seriously?" Her head pokes up "It would be great if you could come down with me later, she just needs a little love," Ellie spoons some cereal into her mouth. I had always thought it weird how people spoke about their boats like they were women, I even caught myself doing it on occasion. "Only if you want to, of course."

"Sure," I agree, no idea how much repair this boat was in need of "I've got nothing better to do."

I could tell Joel counted this as a win. I knew he had been commuting with my parents and how desperately they wanted me to keep myself occupied for the summer. "Well, we've got some work to do, kiddo."

After a solid five hours of following Joel around like a duckling and re-learning all the names of the animals, I was walking with Ellie toward her pickup truck. "Wanna drive?" She asks as we walk to the long beaten driveway

"Oh, I can't." The coolness of the morning has ebbed away into a borderline unbearable heat, I wasn't sure how Ellie was absolutely unfazed in her Jeans, T-shirt, and trucker hat.

"You never got your licence?"

"No, it got taken away."

She cracks a grin "Jeez, what did you do? Hit a pedestrian?" Ellie teases.

"Something like that," Truthfully, my licence got revoked after I got a DUI and swerved my car off the highway, I was too high to realize the danger I was in and laughed the entire time warm blood pooled from a gash in my head that had to be stapled shut. Luckily my parents can throw money at anything and the problem will go away.

She hops in the truck, there are little bits and pieces of it that show how it's lived in. A rubber duck with sunglasses sits on the dashboard and I'm partially surprised it hasn't melted in the sweltering heat.

As beautiful and scenic as the drive down to the docks is, it's also extremely awkward, only on my end, Ellie seems completely unfazed. Travelling down the dirt roads until we finally hit the pavement.

The salty breeze of Andromeda Cove carries conversations of clubbing and tanning, mingling with the sweet scent of coconut sunscreen and sea salt. Colourful beach umbrellas dot the shoreline. Seagulls glide effortlessly overhead, their calls blending seamlessly with the distant laughter of beachgoers. Quaint shops and cafes line the bustling boardwalk, offering an array of surfboards, souvenirs, and freshly caught seafood delicacies.

The Cove was immune to those gross and bland modern buildings that looked like something I would've made in Minecraft as a kid. Everything down here was local and kept its charm even after all these years. "Do you ever miss it here?"

"I don't remember much of it to be honest."

"Really?" She asks, taking a turn down to the docks "It doesn't seem like it was that long ago."

"Yeah, my memory just isn't very good." My lungs are burnt and my brain is fried. You could tell me that I was in cheerleading for five years of my life and I would probably believe you.

"Alright."

I hadn't remembered her being this quiet but then again I don't remember much, I should probably write down everything I can before Alzheimer's sets in. There are lapses in my mind where memories should live, I recall my life through glimpses.

Ellie takes her keys out of the ignition and hops out of the truck, leading me down the docks. I keep guessing in my head which boat belongs to her and then the second I spot it, I know and how I dread. It's a sailboat or what's left of one, sharpie graffiti scribbled all around it. The word 'wanderlust' had once been titled along the side though the first half was scratched out by what I assume were those teenagers Joel mentioned so it just said 'lust'.

Ellie had no problem climbing aboard, I on the other hand had doubts that it could support the weight of two people, let alone itself. There were chips of white paint scraped off, Ellie motioned for me to get on deck "How long has this been abandoned?"

She waves me off "There's freedom that comes with abandonment."

I raise an eyebrow "Sinking in a boat that's docked is a very lame way to die."

"Nah," She says "We can haunt the marina."

She holds out her hand for me to take it and with hesitation, I do. Stepping over the gap between the dock and the boat, I haul myself over the rails. Even in the dark, I could make that climb, it was almost like muscle memory from working at my parents marina summer after summer. "She's a beauty, yeah? In her own special kind of way," Ellie pats the side of the companionway. "I actually made some progress on it last summer, if you can believe me."

"I don't know if I can," I look around, following her as we duck into the saloon.

She reaches for a notebook with a pink sharpie clipped onto it on the table of the saloon and turns to face me "Whoever was here must've been a real wordsmith, what I can't figure out is how the words got out of the notebook and onto my walls."

I crawl onto the cushioned V-berth to get a better look at all of the writing on the walls. Most of it had been poetry, not Edgar Allen Poe but the kind that only an angsty teenage girl on the verge of a mental break could've written.

The Statue of Juliette:

May I ask what you have done to women?

That your hands have only learned to harm one

Hand after filthy hand

Is dragged

Groped

Caressed

Prodded

Over my rusted skin

The things I have seen

The things I have endured

No water can clean me

No blanket can warm me

Take a hammer to my bronze flesh

And I will thank you for your kindness

As my body crumbles and clatters against cobblestone

I am eternally grateful

For this is the gentlest act I have ever faced

"I know," Ellie says, and I look back to meet her sharp gaze "A real Sylvia Plath.”

"Is this your candle?" I reach for it on the ground, it's halfway through its life. A vanilla bean bath and bodyworks candle.

She takes it from my hand and gives it a sniff "I was wondering why it smelled so good in here, I just thought that was you." She places the candle back onto the saloon table "So, Neptune's daughter, where should we start?"

I snatch the notebook from the table and flip it open to a page clean of any writing. It takes a little less than fifteen minutes to seek out all of the trouble spots. Ellie followed behind me and nodded to everything that I was saying.

The boat isn't in nearly as bad of condition as I expected. I suspected that the teenagers who occupied it while Ellie was away at college had all been girls, they took relatively good care of the boat aside from the graffiti, allegedly most of the damage had been there when Ellie got it from Tommy a year ago.

We now sat next to each other in the booth around the saloon table, the ocean rocked the boat beneath us ever so gently, the same way a mother would rock her child's cradle. I missed the sea when I was in college, on a bender I had driven three hours just to be back with it, it seemed the only safe place to let go and be reborn. I liked the sharpness of the air, the vastness of the horizon and the mystery beneath it. I thought I would rise from the seafoam a new woman the same way Aphrodite did but no, I threw up on the sandy shores and called my parents to make it go away.

I give the notebook over to Ellie, a new entry written in bright pink Sharpie amongst the poetry and anecdotes.

Wanderlust's issues:

Mainsail and jib seem sketchy; Unfold the hoist for a full assessment

Wiring issues are out of my hands but a probable concern-should probably call in an expert

Nav instruments are cracked

Leaks on starboard window, probs cracked moulding

Interior woodwork is original, mainly solid despite a bit of mildew

Graffiti and chipped paint, graffiti likely cleanable (May need a new coat of paint)

Possible rigging issues

Underside? That's a question for the experts

Final Verdict: Wanderlust is a seaworthy vessel in need of some love

Ellie lets out a low whistle "God, I love a girl who knows the difference between a mainsail and a jib." She cracks a mischievous grin.

"You're teetering very close between sexy and crass," I tease her in return.

She seems a little taken aback by my comment, like she hadn't anticipated a response but ignores it nonetheless "What would it take to make you my first mate?"

"I'm sorry?"

"For someone with a bad memory, you seem to know your boats, Joel said that you used to work on charters. You gotta know more about sailing than me. It'll be a fun summer project, get you out of the house a bit."

I furrow my eyebrows as I look at her "You want me to work on the boat with you?"

Ellie nodded. She didn't rush to fill the silence that stretched between us, she didn't bother to sweeten the deal or hunt for some reason I would like working with her. She just let it stand. I looked her in the eyes, trying to figure her out. She goes from being almost non-verbal with me and now she asks me to spend the summer on a boat with her. I wondered if she knew what she was doing at all and if I would be carrying her through this.

I had a feeling that Ellie would become my next bad habit. It's easy to get addicted when everything interests you and nothing satisfies you. "I'm in."

"You won't regret this," Ellie almost jumps up, I swear I could've seen her making calculations in her head "So, I'm thinking we get rid of all this junk and get a good look at it bare bones, make a list of supplies and give her the spa day shes in desperate need of."

On my second day as first mate, I had been scrubbing away inside of the saloon while Ellie did some work on the exterior, my Scrub Daddy was being put to work. By the time I even made a dent in all of the Sharpie poetry, it was nearly falling apart and begging to be killed.

When I emerged from the companionway to replace my filthy bucket of water I spotted Ellie chatting up a girl on a dock. She had long glossy black hair that cascaded down her back in strategic ringlets. "So you're gonna sail on this thing?"

"Rebuilding her first," Ellie tells her, leaning against the railing. The girl she's speaking to looks like she's freezing, denim shorts cropped high and a white tank top.

"Do you need help?" She smiles and even I'm seduced by it. She has tanned skin that she's clearly been working on and sunglasses pushing back the silky hair from her forehead. "I've been on boats, lots of times," Her arms are crossed over her chest. I can see goosebumps all over her legs from the chill brought to us by the gray sky above and the frigid air.

"That so?" Ellie asks, rising to her full height. A wrench in hand, it looks like the beginning of a really bad movie, not a family-friendly one. She saw me then, standing behind her. I watched her facade drop. Her smile changed as I approached, turning from flirt to friend in two seconds.

"Oh, hey," The black-haired girl regards me like I'm some kind of threat. "So do you need help or what?"

Ellie looks at me and then back to her "Thanks for the offer but we're all set."

"Do you maybe wanna grab lunch or something?" She completely ignores me.

Ellie shakes her head "We've got lots of work to do, but-" She takes a deliberate pause and I almost cringe "I'll probably be at the shipwreck later. Stop by if you're around."

"See ya'," She grins and takes the sunglasses off the top of her head, placing them on the nose bridge before walking back down the dock.

"Wow," I dump my bucket of water over the rail of the boat "Looks like super difficult work out here, you are so brave." Sarcasm drips from my tone "Without you, who will flirt with all of the hot girls at the marina?"

"No need to be jealous," She says "I'm spending every waking minute with you after all."

I gave her the evil eye but I truly wasn't jealous. I didn't chase the thrill of a fling or late nights with girls whom I would forget by morning. I had dropped that by college and replaced it with ketamine and opioids, I abused liquor like I was its two-faced love. Now the only thing I chased was calmness.

I wasn't jealous, just briefly reminiscing over how carefree I used to be.

The tide was rolling and the sky above us was gray and angry as if something was raging within it. "Shit," I mutter, waves shifting from a distant hiss to a closer hush. The air hung heavy, I hadn't even noticed the change in weather from what seemed like the century I spent scrubbing away in the saloon.

Ellie must've noticed what I was. "So, I'm thinking we should go?"

"You think?" I retort.

Moments later we're packed and rushing down the dock to find her truck. It doesn't take long for rain to begin to splatter on the ground beneath us, it isn't light and gentle, it's harsh. It sounds like pebbles being tossed onto a sheet of glass.

By the time we reach the truck, I'm soaked, hair sticking to my forehead and neck "You didn't want to poke your head into the saloon and say 'Hey, it's looking like there's gonna be a storm'?"

"I was a little preoccupied," Ellie isn't much better off than I am, she takes off the flannel she had on top of her tank top and tosses it into the backseat, her tattoo out on full display. The rain is so heavy that everything on the outside of her truck looks like a blur.

"Can you even drive in this?"

"No, can you?"

"No, I told you I have a DUI," The second the words leave my mouth I regret the slip-up. My eyes go wide and a hand slaps over my mouth, I'm acting like I just told her I was the one who took out JFK.

"You didn't tell me that."

"Well," I look forward, ignoring her piercing gaze, "I thought I did."

If not for the rain outside that pounded against the glass as if it wanted to be let in, we would've sat in complete silence while we drowned beneath all of the words going unsaid. My mind begins to wonder, first I think of the black-haired girl at the docks; I hope she didn't get stuck outside in the rain, especially with her lack of clothing. Then I think about what Ellie's thinking, did she know already? Had Joel told her? I'm humiliated all over again like I'd been when the paramedics dragged my half-naked body out of a bathtub.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" She asks. I don't say anything and she takes this as a hint "We don't have to talk about it."

I'm beginning to grow comfortable with the silence. I almost preferred it to the back-and-forth banter Joel and Ellie constantly had, which was more so father and daughter teasing each other.

Joel had probably known more about me than I did, my parents liked to keep him filled in after all. They just loved to keep tabs on me, if it was legal I'm sure they would put cameras behind my retinas and watch my every move. Eight months ago when I was in rehab, that was the most peace I've ever felt. As much as my parents wanted me clean, they held resentment since I ruined my life and was destroying theirs by association. Joel didn't seem like the type to gossip to his daughter but it nagged at me regardless. "Did Joel tell you anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just-like," I search through my brain to find the words "Like what I've been up to?"

She shrugged "He just said you are on a deferral and need a break from the city."

"Okay," I say, my voice so quiet it was almost smothered by the obnoxious rain.

"Are you hungry?"

We had thrown on two jackets Ellie had in the back seat of the cars. She offered me Joel's black raincoat while she humbly took the bright yellow rain poncho. It took everything in me not to laugh at her, she looked like Georgie.

Ellie slung one arm around me, we were both hunched over as we ran as fast as we could. She was shouting stuff at me but I couldn't hear her through the rain, I just nodded in agreement and hoped she hadn't said something awful.

She tugged me left, the deluge chasing us into Salty's for cover. It was nearly dead in there, two other tables, one was an elderly couple and the other was a group of girls, laughing like hyenas while one of them showed the others a picture on her phone.

Ellie wasted no time in taking off her poncho and I didn't blame her, no one wanted to be seen in that. The second we settled into a booth by the huge glass window which took up the entire storefront, an over-eager waiter came up. He was tall, had dark hair and had handsome features, he must've been bored with how slow it was in here. "Hey, Jesse," Ellie said "Can I have water and a big-buck burger?"

He nodded and swerved his body to look at me, "Alright and for you-" He looked up from his notepad and paused for a moment before a huge smile cracked on his face "I haven't seen you in so long!"

"Hi," I smiled, my mouth hanging openly awkwardly as I tried to recall him.

"Do you remember me?" He asked, his hand dropping to his side "Jesse," He reminded "We used to go to school together."

I had no idea who he was "Oh my god, yes!" I say "I remember."

His smile grows "God, you look so different."

"You too," I gesture at him "You're way more-" My mind falls flat "Grown."

He nods along to my words "Have you had a chance to look at the menu?"

Wanting this conversation as soon as possible I nod despite not even opening the menu “Yeah, I'll just get the, uh, big-buck and a club soda.” I repeated Ellie's order.

He jots it down onto his notepad "It'll be right up."

"Ellie, I don't know who that is," I say when I see him retreat to the server station to fill in the order. The entire restaurant is nautical-themed, the walls painted black, and there were nets with faux fish covering every square inch of the ceiling.

"Wow, I had no idea," She says, sarcastically "Damn, your memory really is fucked."

Trust me, I know or at least I think I do. I disregard her comment "Water? Don't you wanna get rootbeer or something? Joel said you drink so much soda that your blood is made of corn syrup."

She grins "Gotta keep up the tough guy act."

Across the restaurant one of the girls waves to Ellie, this one has curly brown hair and a sundress "Hi, Ellie!"

Her eyebrows furrow "Hey there-um...you," Ellie said "Good to see you again."

The girl smiles slyly at Ellie before turning back to her friends. "Looks like I'm not the only one forgetting people, what's your excuse?"

"There's a lot of girls in the world, I can't remember all of their names."

"You must've gone through every girl in the cove, power to ya'," I say "No idea you had such a reputation."

"You don't know a lot about me."

I shrug "You know even less about me."

"I bet I could guess."

"Be my guest."

She leans back like she's carefully considering her next words, choosing them very wisely before she finally settles "You picked a major like communications and got bored quickly, decided you needed to do some soul searching. Probably read 'Eat, Prey, Love,' then went on a backpacking trip, expenses paid by your parents. Alternatively, you lived in a van and pretended to be a broke hippie."

I shook my head "Very cliche and you were only right about one thing."

"What?"

"I got bored quickly," The rain outside was failing to cease. Across from me, it looked like Ellie was calculating my every move. Her auburn hair was still wet, and from her hairline, a droplet of water dribbled down onto her button nose to rest on her cupid bow.

"Can I have a hint then?"

"No."

I see a realisation hit her "You partied with frat guys?"

I shook my head "I've always been too cool for them." I wasn't too cool for them, I was too fucked up to even know they were throwing a party until someone verbally informed me, by that point all I've ever done at a frat party was break in through a window and steal a keg like the disgusting fiend I was. It was nothing to be proud of, my friends thought it was hilarious and posted it on their Snapchat stories, egging me on and feeding into this sickening behaviour. What wasn't funny was how I got caught and winded up with a busted lip and broken rib. With pupils the size of my iris, I couldn't feel the pain I was in.

"Okay, now you have to tell me."

"I can't, I lose my mysterious allure."

The bell above the door chimes signalling the arrival of another customer and said customer makes a b-line for our table. She takes a seat next to Ellie "Jesse texted me that you were here.”

"Dina, were you at work?" Ellie furrows her eyebrows.

"Yeah, it's not like anyone's buying souvenirs right now and Jesse told me you finally came back," She whips her head to look over at me.

I genuinely remembered her, unlike Jesse. She had buried the time capsule with Ellie, her family and I. I also recalled how her older sister used to give us hand-me-down clothes. "Dina, hi."

She has freckles scattered across her face the same way that Ellie does. Her smile was so comforting, I forgot that I was soaked to my bones and shivering. "Well we should all do something together tonight," Dina grins "You're doing Ellie a huge favour by helping her fix that rig, she better give you some good head for it."

I almost choke on my saliva while Ellie just groans with disappointment like she had anticipated Dina saying something along those lines "D, you can't say that stuff around every girl I'm with, this is essentially my sister for the summer."

Dina raises her hands in defence "Sorry, my bad, I was unaware since you failed to mention that you have my old friend living with you." Ellie looks like she's going to say something but Dina speaks up again before she has the chance to "Let me give you my number."

Wordlessly, I hand my phone over to Dina who fills out her contact information and then gives my phone right back to me. I study Dina's face and her mannerisms, hoping that something might bring me back to my childhood which has been wiped away by every upper and downer you could put a name to. Something about her seemed familiar, maybe we had been closer friends than I thought.

I nod along to whatever she and Ellie are saying, chiming in random bits of dialogue but my mind is stuck on the two of them side by side. They're what I could've been if my family never moved us away and I hadn't turned my brain into sludge.

The life I could've had.

Ellie smoked from what I knew, maybe Dina or Jesse were into something a little more hardcore. Hardcore? If hardcore qualifies as drowning in a concoction of cough syrup, Vicodin, codeine, and Gatorade to balance out the flavour of self-destruction. The bottles I swallowed to sleep, I showed up to almost every lecture high. Here I was handed what was nearly a good life and I tossed it away for something with a sweeter taste than a stable job and proper education.

The horrors I've committed. No good deed will ever outdo the bad that I have unleashed upon this godforsaken earth. From my clouded brain, paralyzing thoughts come to life to curse myself, the nightmare no mother would wish for her child to endure.

Relapse after relapse, I would fall sick with the thought of how many times I had to relapse until I was finally clean and that bitter flavour washed from my mouth.

"Are you okay?" Dina asks with a smile and furrowed brows "We kind of lost you there."

It's one in the morning and I want to drink wine then slip beneath the rapid waters that will gladly pull me under and claim me as theirs.

Instead, I opt for a class of water. As Dina had said earlier, she wanted to get a bunch of friends together but the second we got home, I showered and locked myself away. Echoes of laughter and chatter drifted through my window.

I slip down the steps that lead to the kitchen. Outside the rain has finally dissipated and Ellie, Dina, Jesse, along with a handful of people I don't know crowd around a bonfire. The kitchen is illuminated only by moonlight, the moon hung over me as I poured myself water from the tap, a dead thing over a dying thing.

I have seafoam in my veins and centuries-passed sunshine that induces my craving for some pills that will put me to sleep. Three months completely clean and yet that doesn't end the yearning for the drugs that comforted me more than any human ever had.

The door cracks open and in comes Ellie, she's laughing and from the uncontrollable giggles, drowsy gaze, and slightly disoriented walking I can tell that she's been smoking. "Hey," She smiles at me, reaching passed me to grab a mug with Garfield on the front and fill it with water but she doesn't take a sip, she just sits it down on the counter behind us and stares at me.

Our faces only inches apart, I contemplate her next move. This close I can smell the marijuana on her and I almost want to scuttle upstairs and light a candle. Ellie hugs me, wrapping her arms around my midriff and letting her head find its resting place in the crook of my neck "Are you okay?"

"Mhm" She hums "I'm just glad you're here, whatever the circumstances are, I'm happy that you're helping me with the boat," I'm carrying almost her full way, and she's slouched against me "I love you man, I know you don't remember a lot from when we were kids but we had a lot of fun together."

"Thanks, Ellie," I give her a little pat on the back "That's really nice of you."

She peels herself away from me, using the counter to lean against instead. She looks me up and down, having an intense staring contest with my pyjamas "Do you wanna come out and smoke with everyone?" She's shed her tank top and thrown over a gray hoodie to shroud her from the oncoming cold.

I shake my head, no "I don't mess with that stuff."

"That's smart," She says "Have fun in your room, stowaway, I'll see you tomorrow to work on our boat," With that Ellie leaves without grabbing the Garfield mug she came in here for.

A/N: Hey, y’all. I’m aware I have a million open docs, I assure you they are all getting some love but I needed to come back to my roots and write some angst. These are some issues I have struggled with and I feel that it’s important to bring attention to it so it’s not taboo.

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tomblythismyhusband · 4 months

Text

haunted [ coriolanus snow x fem!reader ]

[summary]: coriolanus snow x fem!reader | You comfort Coriolanus after he wakes up distressed. There’s something he’s not telling you, it pains you, but you still try to show your love. Coriolanus reluctantly accepts your comfort despite his thoughts being on Lucy Gray.

[warnings]: mentions of killing sejanus and mayfair

[wc]: 1.5k

[note]: story takes place two months after coriolanus comes back from district 12. [might do a part 2 still debating… posting this at 2am btw <33]

**part two**

Coriolanus’ eyes shot open, his body sticky with a cold sweat.

Her voice. It echoed in his mind. Lucy Gray was still with him even in his own bed. Her siren songs swirling around his head making him sick to his stomach. Coriolanus let out a puff of air.

It had been two months since he’d gotten back from District 12.

Two months.

He hated himself for giving in to the thought of her. He was supposed to be stronger than that.

Lucy Gray had poisoned his mind.

The familiar scent of her still lingering as a constant reminder of her cruelness. This was her fault. She did this to him. She’s the evil one.

He comforted himself at the thought that she might’ve bled out to death in the woods after he shot at what he thought to be her.

She was a silly girl. A silly girl that didn’t understand the way the world worked. He could even argue that she was delusional. Living her days singing pointless songs and lazily wandering through the forest was not a way to live.

His heart pounded its he thought of the possibility that she might still be alive. Waiting. Watching. Taking her time to pick out the perfect moment to tell the world about how he killed Mayfair and was the cause for Sejanus’ death.

“She’s dead. She’s dead to me.” He repeated in his head trying to relax himself.

He hadn’t realized that he was panting till he felt you stir next to him.

You blinked awake, at the faint sound. Your boyfriend, Coriolanus Snow, laid next to you. He was.. trembling?

Your attention was caught. You shifted your body a bit to wake yourself up.

“Corio…?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes.

He didn’t respond. You slowly propped yourself up on your elbows, still blinking the sleep from your eyes.

“What’s wrong, are you ok?” You whispered into the darkness.

You reached out your arm to place it gently on his chest as you laid on your stomach. The moonlight slightly illuminated his stone faced expression. You could feel his heart beating rapidly.

“Coriolanus.” You said again, a little louder. Something was obviously bothering him.

“Just a nightmare.” He said lowly. You couldn’t help but notice the shakiness of his voice, the tenseness of his body.

You scooted closer to him, he flinched as you did this. “Darling, talk to me.” You said softly, looking into his eyes. They were shiner than normal, he looked ready to break down at any moment.

What was going on?

He seemed hesitant. You could see a tinge of anger in his expression.

He finally spoke, words that hurt you. Hurt you more then they should’ve.

“I can’t talk to you about this.” He whispered.

You always knew Coriolanus tended to be distant but it still hurt. Every time.

“Corio, you can always talk to me.” You said quietly.

You sat up now, concern plagued your body. You looked down at him as he stared straight ahead.

He shook his head, sitting up as well. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair. He tugged at the locks as he let out a shaky breath.

“I- I don’t-“ He choked out before biting back a sob.

This was new. Never had you even seen Coriolanus cry. Never. Not even at his former classmate Sejanus’ funeral did you see him shed a tear. While everyone sobbed he had stayed completely stone faced. Something must really be hurting him.

“Shhh… Hey.. hey…” You said softly, reaching your hands up to his face, placing them on either side. His eyes glistened with tears. You looked into them, your eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m here. Talk to me Corio.” You urged quietly, caressing his now tear stained cheeks.

He sucked in a shaky breath.

“Have you ever… had something happen to you that just inhabits your mind… haunting you?”

You tilted your head slightly. His words seemed vague. Was he thinking of his childhood? Sejanus? His time as a peacekeeper?

“Coriolanus what are you-“ Yous started to ask before you were sharply cut off.

“Just answer the question.”

His tone was cold.

You thought for a moment. You couldn’t really think of anything besides silly highschool moments like cheating on a test, or rejecting a nice boy’s date proposal. You decided to shake your head. You had a feeling Coriolanus was thinking about something a lot more meaningful than your futile experiences.

“No.. I haven’t.” You said quietly. You hoped your answer wouldn’t upset him further.

He let out a sharp sigh. “Then you wouldn’t understand.”

You frowned at his statement, pulling his head closer to you.

“Hey… just because I don’t entirely relate doesn’t mean I can’t help. I love you Coriolanus.”

His breath hitched as you said the word “love”. Oh how he hated that word.

A word that encased only lies.

Lucy Gray said she loved him, and what did she do?

She betrayed him.

The thought of you loving him made him shake with frustration. You didn’t mean it. He knew you didn’t. No one ever means “I love you.”

“I’m done talking about this.” He said passively. He tried to pull himself away from you but you didn’t budge.

“Why are you so scared to open up to me Coriolanus?” You asked in a slightly alarmed tone. “I don’t want us to just have a surface level relationship... I want all of you.” Your fingers gently stroked his face.

He fell silent for a moment.

“I just- have so much on my mind.” He choked out, fresh tears welling in his blue eyes.

You nodded, never losing his gaze. You wanted to make sure he knew you cared.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but just know I’m here.”

He stifled a cry as his head slumped against your shoulder. You gently ran your hands through his hair. He was broken and you so desperately wanted to fix him. He cried against you, his body shaking slightly.

You continued to stay calm, quietly kissing the top of his head. You traced calming circles on his bare back. You felt his tears dripping onto your shoulder.

“It’s healthy to let out your emotions Corio.” You mumbled against his head. You loved him so much. It hurt you to see him like this.

After a while he lifted his head, meeting your eyes. His face was flushed. You leaned in and kissed his salty cheek. He let out a breath as you pulled back staring at you.

Coriolanus shook his head slightly. “I don’t deserve you y/n.”

He meant every word of that sentence. He didn’t deserve your love that he didn’t know how to return.

He felt pathetic at this moment. He hated how vulnerable he was being, it was revolting. He didn’t understand how he could let his guard down like this. Coriolanus swore that after Lucy Gray he would never subject himself to love again.

But here you were.

Did you really care? Were you trying to use him? What were your intentions? These questions pounded in his brain, causing a headache.

You gave him a soft smile as his words filled your senses. I don’t deserve you. He had never said anything like that to you before.

“You mean a lot to me. You always have.” You whispered.

He leaned in to kiss you softly. “Thank you.” He mumbled against your lips. You could still the salt of his tears as you kissed.

You felt him lean back, to lie down again. You kept your lips pressed to kiss as you laid down as well.

Once you pulled apart you gave him a soft smile. “I love you Coriolanus.”

He studied you for a moment, then nodded. “Goodnight y/n.” Coriolanus then turned over, almost like he was blocking you out. You laid there, the familiar feeling of hurt twisting in your body at his usual coldness.

He had never told you he loved you. Not once. It was a word he constantly avoided. You silently turned over as well, waiting for sleep to numb the pain you felt.

Coriolanus knew that he’d probably hurt you by not returning your words, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t say I love you knowing full well that Lucy Gray’s lullabies soothed him into sleep. The captivating lyrics twisting his mind.

Damn Lucy Gray. Your ruining my life. Your ruining my relationship with the one girl who says she loves me.

Why do you haunt me like this? Why do you continue to stab me in the back?

Why do you choose to kill me slowly with your memory?

#coriolanus x reader #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #tom blyth #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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orphicrose · 2 months

Text

The co-host (Alastor x femreader) II

< >

Summary: You are Alastors Co host in life, perhaps more. But are separated by a sudden death. When you are finally reunited in the under world, it is up to Alastor to figure out why you don’t remember him.

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Alastor had arrived in hell a few years after you, completely unaware that you ended up in the same place. You both saw each other as saints, i guess that's what love does to you. If only you had more time to truly know each other. His last years weren't as dignified as yours. And neither was his death.

All through your sickness, he was by your side. Cooking for you, entertaining you, helping out with rent. Your mother would have, but she lived in another state, and had very little money to come visit you or support you. So Alastor did. But when your body decided enough was enough, you took a toll for the worse. You were gone within days, with him still by your side. Willing to do anything to see your eyes full of life just one more time. It truly broke him as a person. But no one would ever know.

He sent out a broadcast to honor your name, all of your frequent listeners shedding a tear over the loss. Because it truly was a loss. Spreading kind words like "she's in a better place now", if only they knew.

Then there was Alastor. In the end, everyone was glad the world had ridded such a monster. No one knew it when he died, but they did when the remains of those who had gone missing was uncovered. Some argue they deserved it, some argue it was an act of evil.

It had been a few weeks since the encounter with Satan. Y/N didn't have much of a choice, her soul was his. Now she had to do his dirty work. You see, Satan's a busy man. Being the keeper of the wraith ring, and having the people of earth call on him frequently for deals. He couldn't keep up with all of it. So, he gave some of that responsibility to Y/n. Someone who can claim souls and grant wishes from the desperate and needy. Of course the souls still belonged to him, she was just the messenger. With this comes the ability to travel to the mortal realm, and fear of other sinners when you are being called the sacrificer. Within days, Y/n rose the ranks as an overlord who owned a large territory. Unspeakable amounts of power being given to this singular soul was a lot to take in, but she didn't have a choice.

The business was now up and running, "The slaughter house". Satan being the CEO, of course. Y/N being the manager, and other souls of Satan being his laborers who dealt with mundane things like paper work. The pay wasn't too bad though. This operation being set up in hell also gave other sinners the opportunity to sell their soul to Satan in return for a high paying job. Its a bit extreme, but it gets very desperate in hell. I'm sure you can imagine.

Y/n's name was lost, now being called the demon of sacrifice. It was incredibly de-humanizing, and she hated it. Only using her power when absolutely necessary or when business required it. But it wasn't all bad, she had a better accommodation, a steady cash flow, a lot of useful contacts and very little conflict with other demons. It was also incredibly lonely. Because of the fear around her name, very few people were willing to befriend her.

Then, on top of that, was the pain of her memories from life. Knowing that all if this is ultimately her fault. All because she just wanted power. How was she to carry on. Then it hit her, she has the power to do what she pleases. She can be whoever she wants to be down here, and to start this she needed to forget everything that haunted her.

Alastor landed in hell four years after y/n, after being shot in between the eyes. Not many know how his rise to power happened, but it was merely overnight. Tormenting the citizens of hell, kidnapping powerful overlords that few would dare to mess with, and giving a new reason for sinners to fear for their lives. The radio demon was born, and it didn't take long before his radio broadcasts displayed what had happened to his unfortunate victims. No one was safe.

"Miss l/n! Todays demand for Satan is big today, I don't think we will be able to get through all of them" a small, fishlike demon ran up to her, struggling to keep up with her pace through the corridors.

"Its late, imp. I will deal with them tomorrow. Prioritize the simpler requests, none of that fame or millionaire shit." Y/n bit back, eager to leave.

"But ma'am, The sin of wraith isn't very happy with how the number of souls are dropping"

"uh huh, uh huh. I'll see you tomorrow, imp" The door slammed in his face, and the handle was too high for him to reach.

"I'm not an imp" He mumbles under his breath, watching the overlord walk away in the windows of the door.

Y/n had a coffee date with one of her closest friends, Zestial. One of the few overlords who still had his head attached to him. They had arranged to talk about the affects of the new tormentor, needing a plan to put their people at ease and to protect the skin on the bac of their necks. Usually, she'd have someone accompany her. But this occasion was far too private.

The night had progressed fast, the crimson sky darkened and street lamps struggled to do their job and lighten the streets. Y/n was almost at her destination when she noted a faint buzzing sound in the back of her head. It definitely wasn't there before. She stopped at the end of an alley she had just walked through, and assessed her surroundings. No one, not a soul in sight. Behind her, again no one. A strange feeling made its way into her throat, as if her body sensed danger. The sound getting louder, louder. Street lights seemingly struggling even more, and eventually going out. One by one. The street was pitch black within seconds. Y/n couldn't do anything but remain in their position, against the wall of the alley.

A small, voodoo doll like creature ran passed the entrance of the alley. Paying her no attention, and laughing as he went. He was barely audible as the static became more insufferable in her ears. But she knew something was after her, she just prayed to lucifer that it wasn't who she thought it was.

"Not even going to try and run, dear?" The static stopped, the voice sounding like it was in the air. Having no body attached to it. Then he materialized seemingly from the shadows. His slim body accompanied by a tailored red suit, and an eerie smile refraining his face from showing any sort of emotion. The radio demon. He was here. Her face was barely visible in the darkness he had created, only the glowing from her eyes was an indication of life.

"Come on, give me a chase. Make this interesting. I'll give you a head start" He taunted, slowly getting closer. Leaning his cane at his side, making it hard for y/n to get out.

"No? I guess this will be the easiest kill yet" His smile widened a the seams of his mouth, being pulled by an invisible string like a doll. His form followed in lead, being hoisted up and enlarged to intimidate his prey.

"Don't touch me freak." Y/N finally spoke, kicking his cane over and materializing into the ground. Becoming nothing more than a shadow that cant be touched. He watched at she disappeared into the night, almost in disbelief. He's heard that voice before. But it can't be, there's no way she is down here. She can't be. His smile never faltered, and he decided to leave this chase for another day. Street light finally flickered back on, and everything remained as it was before. Other than Alastor's new knowledge. Their story wasn't over yet.

#fanfiction #hazbin husk #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #hazbin x you #hazbin x y/n #alastor x reader

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saradika · 8 months

Text

— BLEED FOR ME | part ii

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 3.4k

haunted hoedown prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 1 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death, shared memories, light angst

He fills the doorway, as silent as he was downstairs.

Lingering there as you try to keep your breathing under control. A second where you wonder if he saw, if he suspected - your hands clasped together on your lap to stay the tremor.

Preparing for his wrath.

Not ready for the way he waits, his low voice asking for your permission to enter the room.

For the way he comes quietly to you after - the glove that finally reaches, touches. Tipping your chin up again, like she had.

So carefully, a knuckle curved under your chin. As if he’s afraid you’ll break.

His helmet tilts, the smallest movements as he takes you in.

“You don’t have to do this.”

The Mand’alor’s voice is low - soft and distorted through the helmet. Not what you were expecting, but the words make your blood turn to ice.

Don’t have to do what? Your stomach churns as you think that he did see you - the twitch of your hand as you wonder if you could manage, if you could reach-

“I chose you,” His voice breaks the silence again. “But if you’re unwilling, I won’t feed. If it’s money you need, I’ll see that you’ve taken care of. I’ll find someone else.”

It’s so entirely unexpected. A nervous glance sent his way - and for a second, you wished there were eyes to meet. An opportunity to truly read him, for why would someone so heartless offer an alternative?

But you need him to take it. To take you - his armor shed and his defenses down, so you can put an end to this.

You deserved it, didn’t you? Revenge on the man who had stolen your home from you. The cozy life you had led, in the little cottage at the edge of the village.

It’s just a pile of stone, now.

Too much time had been spent getting to this moment for you to accept his offer, even as tempting as it is.

Because you couldn’t live here, surrounded in this finery. Playing a pet, while they depended on you.

The ones who had found you. Choking on smoke and half-dazed at the edge of the forest. Helping you up from where you were slumped against the base of that old, oak tree.

Swept until their wing after the destruction. There had been no place left for you, as the morning dawn creeped into afternoon.

You had barely escaped with your life.

And soon after, the plan was formed. If you could take down their leader, the rest would fall. Their whispers reeking of vengeance, sinking its talons into your skin.

Convincing you that you deserved it, didn’t you?

Uncertainty has kept you awake, in those days as you had thought it over. Because things could be rebuilt. The world was a vast place - you could start over.

But then they told you that this happened, often. That the vampires would crush small towns like yours, looking to feed. Leaving behind only silent memories and ghosts.

That is what got you. And it’s that thought turned into a knowing, a certainty.

You can’t let that happen to someone else.

Days of training turned into weeks, and then months. Then, a year.

Because it had to be you - there was too much history for any of the Slayers to do it. They’d be recognized a mile off.

Learning how they fight, until the weight of the silver dagger on your hip brought comfort.

“Wait until he’s distracted.”

“Do whatever it takes, just make sure-”

“Make sure you don’t trust him.”

“Not a single word.”

And finally, it had been time. You had three moons - until the winter solstice. After that, the vampires would keep inside for the Long Sleep, and not be seen until Spring.

If you did not complete your task in time, then you’d be trapped with them. If you succeeded too late, you’d freeze in the cold before you got far.

The sharpened piece of wood had been shoved into your hand, this morning.

“Run this through his heart.”

“Rip off his head. Burn him.”

“Trap him with the sun.”

Their advice hummed beneath your skin, as you had approached the castle. Your plans had been a heavy weight in your stomach, twisting with the unease at what you have to do.

To offer yourself up to a vampire was no mere feat.

But when that vampire was a Mandalorian, encased in that shining armor, it was all but madness.

It was no secret that he sought blood. That offerings were brought to him, almost always turned away.

No one could sate his thirst. He had paid no mind to the others that were ushered in with you. You had wondered if he could smell your deception, clinging to your skin.

But he had chosen you.

And if this is how you had to pay them back, you would.

Your head shakes, as you make your decision, "I… I am willing."

There's a second of silence, as if he wants to press. As if he's not sure, himself.

But then he's carefully tugging off the rust-tipped gloves, lowering himself onto the ottoman near the desk. Leaving the leather to rest on his thigh armor as his hands come into view.

You hold your breath.

But there’s no sharp claws, no blood caked under nails, no fur or scales.

It's just a hand. Tanned skin and human, as far as you can tell.

It eases some of the apprehension, though your heart still races from almost being caught. At the thought of this next part - the pain of the bite and the fire in your veins.

You had been told to be brave. To grit your teeth and work through it - that it was something you'd have to learn to bear, if you were to get close to him.

But the thought of it, that anticipation, has your muscles strung tight. It takes more effort than you'd like to admit for your head to tilt to the side, for you to bare your neck to him.

He takes your wrist, instead.

A large hand wrapping around, his thumb pressing against the place where your pulse pounds. Something hot and electric arcing through you at his touch, though his skin is cool against yours.

"Thank you." The Mand'alor tells you, and there’s a depth to his words as he's lifts the edge of his helmet.

Just to his nose, and no further. He's human here, too - a pretty curve of lips framed by dark facial hair. Your eyes linger, realizing this is a sight that near-none had seen. Curiosity sparking, until those lips are parting.

And the two sharp fangs come into view, instead.

It has you tensing, as his grip tightens - that thumb smoothing over your skin. Almost soothing in its movement, though you can't comprehend why.

"Just a pinch." He murmurs, "You'll be alright."

You huff a breath at his words just as his head dips down to your wrist - and then, he's biting down.

There's a sharp ache as his fangs pierce your skin, and you wait for more. For the feeling of being sliced open, the burn of the venom, for your bones to crack beneath his teeth.

But, none comes.

Just the sensation of pulling, the buzz of his mouth against your skin as he groans, deep in his chest. The sound sends heat to your cheeks, it feels too intimate a noise for someone you just met.

For someone so cruel.

The pain was no more than the accidental prick of a finger against a dagger. That brief pain soothed by the continuous sweep of his thumb. A strange sort of contented drowsiness passing over you instead, tempting you to close your eyes.

And then, you do.

There's flashes. The pulse of lights that glitter like stars, mimicking the beating of your heart. A snapshot of images, flickering briefly in your mind.

Some, you recognize. Your old bedroom, the garden outside. Tulips swaying in a summer breeze. A second later and it's tilting - crumbling beneath your steps.

There's a child, their eyes round and black. The flash of something black, crackling with a bright light. An ocean, beneath the ground - dragging you under.

A sensation of being lifted. The warmth of your cheek pressed against ice. A soft bed of grass, the bark biting into your shoulder.

The pulse in your throat drops down, down, down. Settling somewhere low, between your thighs. Your breath feels trapped in your chest, and when you let it loose, it's a soft moan-

You gasp, then - and your eyes are opening. He's pulled away, fingers smearing red across his lips - the peek of a pink tongue as he licks them clean. Hiding himself away again under the mask, as your wrist lies limply in your lap.

"You did well," He tells you, "I know that was a lot. It will get easier."

The images are still flashing in your mind. Ones that you know well blending with others. Had you been sleeping? Was more of your memory from that night unlocked?

There's a soft pressure against your wrist, and you jerk. Coming back from your thoughts, looking down to see him swipe a cream across puncture marks that were still raw and oozing.

An opened jar sits on the table, indentations in the pale salve where his fingers had been. Your mind feels hazy as you watch the way he works it into your skin - as the residual bit of throbbing wanes, the deep marks seeming to lessen before your eyes.

"They'll be gone in the morning." He tells you. There's a rough edge to his voice that wasn't there before, as he pushes himself up. Leaving the salve where it is, as his hands disappear behind the gloves.

Extending one though, to help you up. A little wobble to your step as you take it, as you let him guide you to the bed. It's soft beneath your touch, the mattress dipping as you sink back into it.

"Would you like anything?" The Mand'alor asks, "Food? Water?"

You feel... drained. Which is a humorous little thought, in your exhausted mind. A small smile, an echo of that low, thudding pulse as your legs push together, as you stretch.

"No, I'm just-" A yawn splits your face, coming from deep in your chest, "Sorry, just tired. It was a long journey."

It's easy to play the willing companion now, when you're fighting exhaustion. Your shields down with the promise of sleeping in a real bed, knowing you're not strong enough to fight tonight.

Tomorrow, you can try again.

"Of course." He stands at the foot of the bed. In your current state he almost looks awkward, with the cocked tilt of his hips. Looking as if he's ready to bolt, "I'll have Fennec bring you food when you wake."

Fennec. It must be the woman you met earlier. She had never given you her name.

Your nod is slow, a cracked open eye fixing on his helmet. In the light of the hallway he doesn't seem quite so big as he did before. Still broad, but you're no longer fearing what lies beneath.

"I'll be back tomorrow night." He tells you, "Not to feed, but to check on you."

You don't answer this time, already toeing the line of sleep. Missing the way he lingers for a long moment in the doorway. Before the heavy wooden door is closing, and you're left alone to dream.

Leaving you to wonder, as your eyes close - as you slip beneath the blankets, curling up. You knew he'd keep you alive. How else was he to feed?

But you never anticipated this, this...

This kindness.

You keep waiting for that veneer to crack - for that monster to be released. But it never does.

There is breakfast, the next morning. Then, lunch.

The skin on your wrist is smooth again by mid-morning, almost as if it never happened. A seamstress in your room by the afternoon, her eyes glittering as you’re measured for new clothes.

“You can’t be seen with the Mand’alor with only these,” Vera had all but giggled, a manicured finger flicking towards the small pack of clothes you had brought.

Too plain. Too worn.

You dress in soft linens now, in shades of crimson and slate. That brass rack along the wall filled to the brim with new finery.

Intricate beadings and rich fabrics and when the Mand’alor visits you that night, he’s quiet.

And with the new clothes, soon you do not look so out of place when you wander the empty halls during the day.

Unable to sleep while the sun is shining. Refusing to board up your pretty windows, to mimic a semblance of night.

You live stubbornly between two worlds. Out of sync from the rest of the castle for your first week. Bidding a good morning to Fennec as she eats her dinner. Skirting around her shadow - a broad man in dark green armor.

He no longer startles you, like he did in the beginning. Another Vampire Lord from across the sea, though there seemed to be no end to his visitation.

His eyes were always dark, always watching. He did not wear the helmet as the Mand’alor did - you would watch each expression flicker across his face, before it flattened.

A different kind of mask worn.

It has you curious, in spite of everything. Even though it takes you a few more days to pluck up the courage.

“Did Boba chose you, too?” You ask Fennec one evening.

Morning, for you now, you suppose. You have been trying, lately. The bread soaks into the dregs of your soup, as you swirl it along the bottom.

“In a ways.” She smiles. That rough edge softening over the days you’ve been here - her hackles lowering when it becomes clear that you were a little different than the others.

That you were the same you as you were before.

If only she knew in what way.

“It wasn’t like yours. And it was years ago.” She continues - an elbow digging into the wooden table, a palm cupped under her chin, “I was dying, and he found me.”

It’s not what you were expecting, the hunk of bread lying forgotten in your bowl.

“I suppose you could say he saved me.” A shoulder raises, and then drops, “I’d mistrusted someone. Slipped up, and found myself nearly gutted. No one could survive a wound like that.”

You don’t think you’ve take a breath since she started speaking - there was so little you knew about vampires. Only what you had been told, the bit you had gleaned from the books in your room.

“Boba found me, and he gave me a choice.”

“But,” You blink, “But you’re human, still?”

She ate, like you did. Did not stand with the same eerie stillness, not even taking a breath.

“He did not change me.” Fennec confirms, “But his blood healed me. And I’ve followed him since.”

“I did not… I did not realize vampires cared that much for humans.” You admit with embarrassment.

She gives you a knowing look, one that you do not understand. But a voice joins yours, low and laced with humor.

“We were all human, once. And you have not seen her on the battlefield, ad’ika.”

She smirks, as Boba fingers tap against the table, where he’s come to lean.

“Yes, it’s not my charming personality that has you keeping me around.”

He huffs a laugh, and there’s something like camaraderie between them.

A friendship.

It leaves you more confused than ever.

It’s morning, when he comes next.

The gentle knock at your door startling you awake. Most of the castle was asleep by now. You’re still trying to reset your internal clock - thinking that by now, you should be making an effort.

Not expecting him to be outside, as you pulled your robe a little more tightly around yourself.

It's been four days since he last fed, though you've seen him often in that time. The dip of his head when he passes you in the corridors. Watching him from the plush seats in the throne room - his helmet just barely tilting your way when he's not being spoken to.

You wonder if he's been watching you, too. If he thinks you will bolt - if he harbors any suspicions.

"Forgive me for not thinking of this sooner." He tells you, as you step aside to let him in, "I should have been doing this from the beginning."

"Doing what?" You frown, as you move to the bench by the window. A spot you've occupied the last two visits, preferring the wide bench to the narrow wooden desk chair.

"You're still getting used to this. Visiting you as the evening falls isn't helping you adjust." The Mand'alor explains, as you tug up the sleeve of your robe, baring the skin of your wrist.

His suggestion is thoughtful. As time has passed you've grown stronger, more used to the feeling. No longer sleeping right away, able to fight that sense of drowsiness.

It extends to the during, as well. If you concentrate hard enough, parts of those visions that flashed behind your closed eyes come into focus. And if you try really hard, the images fade to just sensations.

You couldn't explain if, if you tried. It certainly hadn't been something divulged during your training. In fact, a tiny part of you wondered if any of them even had knowledge of being a companion. Everything so far has felt... off.

Distorted by a degree, as if the road you were traveling had split, but still followed their path.

"You are the Mand'alor," You shrug, trying to brush off his consideration, "I am bound to follow your wishes."

He makes a sound, a low hum. It's as close to a laugh as you've heard, as he lowers himself to the bench next to you.

"I think we are past titles, seeing as I've tasted you." His voice is low, rough behind the helmet, "You may call me Din, when we're alone."

There's a heat in your cheeks at the innuendo, though he can't possibly mean it that way. His hands are already bare, fingers pressing against your skin. Feeling how your pulse had jumped at his words.

His helmet tips higher, this time. Resting on the bridge of his nose, his full lips on display.

It’s still too hard to watch - your eyes closing as he bites down. A small inhale of breath in anticipation, but you’ve gotten used to the impact.

Your eyes fighting to stay open this time, to stay in your own head. Unable to help risking a glance, then.

At the wash of red against full lips. The scruff of his jaw, the patch of hair missing - you imagine your thumb pressing against it.

Wondering if his face would feel like face, or it would be cool marble, like his hand.

His throat bobs, with the softest groan.

It’s natural, you tell yourself. You’ve groaned while eating the freshly-baked bread in the kitchens. Though it’s funny to think of yourself as the meal.

Idle fingers play with the edge of the heavy curtain, slipping through the fringe.

It’s then that the thought hits you. How distracted he was, at this moment.

How it’s morning.

How the whole castle is asleep.

Your fingers pinch down on the tassel. Testing the tension as you eye your desk, across the room but no more than a quick dash away.

All it would take is the slightest tug.

The morning sun would pour across his bare neck, the lower half of his face. Burning him, enough of a distraction that you could go for the stake. Fit it between his ribs, in that soft spot under his armpit.

You inhale a breath, to steel your nerves.

At the movement, his fingers stroke against your wrist. A means to soothe you.

And you find…. that you can’t do it.

Not right now. Not yet.

And this morning marks the beginning of that funny feeling that starts in your stomach. An unease, though it feels like you’re drowning in it.

Is it from wearing his colors? Is it your visions, or the echoing thud that tipped towards something carnal?

Is it because the thought of your revenge was so much easier when he was nameless?

Or is it because you’re still not sure what stayed your hand?

It’s not something you can think about, now.

You just need to play your part.

thanks so much for reading! 🥀💕 if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!

(tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella)

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin imagine #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown

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dancingtotuyo · 5 months

Text

3. pick up your clothes and curl your toes

Woman | Joel Miller

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settle into a routine.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (Reader is 42, Joel is 56). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: swearing, talks of & references to grief, death (child and spouse), and suicide. Anxiety. Reader has a panic attack. consumption of alcohol. Angst. Hurt. Comfort. SMUT. Explicit sex (P in V). Unprotected sex. Oral Sex (F receiving). Let me know if I missed anything.

Note: THANK YOU TO MY BEAUTIFUL BETA READERS @planet-marz1 @pamasaur & @kajashe

Words: 8926

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT OR READ.

Joel Miller is going to hell in a handbasket. He already was, but this is the seal on the envelope, the pretty red ribbon tied neatly around it. He felt relieved that your husband is dead. What kind of person feels relief over someone’s misfortune? Their grief? A bad one. A person headed straight for the gates of hell.

He lets out a huff of air, staring at the spinning ceiling fan. He tries not to think of you across the street, laying in bed in that fucking matching pajama set, but with most things the harder you try not to think of them, the more it’s at the forefront of your mind. The picture of your legs in those shorts jumps to his mind. He remembers those fleeting charged moments from tonight. Desire stirs in his gut drifting downward.

He groans, flipping onto his stomach. He buries his head in the twenty-something-year-old pillow as he takes deep steadying breaths. He won’t do this. It can’t happen. You’re a friend. A connection to the past. A connection to his Sarah. He’s not gonna fuck that up.

He falls asleep definitely not thinking of you and that fucking pajama set. Pictures of you definitely don’t invade his dreams. Joel Miller can only see you as a friend, and friends don’t do the things he does to you behind his eyelids.

The next evening, Joel finds himself hardly waiting on his steps, worried he missed you until you step out tonight in jeans and a sweater. For that, he’s all too grateful. A smile stretches across your face. He stands his lips tipping upward as he meets you in the middle of the road once again.

“Howdy, neighbor,” Joel says.

You push back the small shiver that runs down your spine. You chalk it up to the lower temperatures. “Look at you, adjusting to the Jackson way of life.”

“Learnin from the best, Sweetheart.”

The chills hit again and you chalk it up to the chill. Spring is breaking through, but winter still clings to the darkening air. You settle in your route. The crunch of Joel’s steps is familiar next to you, comforting even in the silence between the two of you.

It’s Joel who speaks first tonight. “It’s weird,” he says. He’s more eager to talk tonight. “Being here- safe. I keep expectin’ raiders to ride in or infected to pop out.” He looks over at a small cluster of trees.

“It takes a long time.” You watch the sun creep down, closing the gap between it and the mountain tops. “I’m not sure when it happened but one morning I just realized I’d stopped looking over my shoulder or listening for footsteps.”

“It happens though?” He asks. You catch a glimmer of hope in his eyes. It barely peeks through the weariness he wears like a badge.

“Eventually.”

“Not that I ever thought it was an option, but I’m not sure I wanted to find peace- to be still like this again.”

You cock your head to the side, but you don’t have to shed a word for him to tell you more.

“Spending life on the run was easy. Always lookin’ toward the next haul, the next run. Didn’t leave any time for thinking.”

You nod. You understand from the other side. You lived alone for years, wild, haunted by your friends, rattling around an empty house with only your thoughts and memories. Somehow, you’d found peace here, a family even.

“What about now?” You ask.

On good days, you can push back the when of it all. When will the world take another person from you in a new way crueler than the last? When will your son’s innocence be stripped away? When will it be you who’s taken? On the bad days, you shut yourself in your room, only to be dragged out by Carter’s small voice or Maria cooking in your kitchen. Today is an especially good day.

Joel studies the horizon. He takes in a hawk riding the air currents. It all mingles together in his chest: the grief, the joy, the pain, the acceptance. It’s hard to put words to it. “It still hurts. Can’t even say it hurts less… but I don’t fight it anymore. I think making room for someone else helped.”

You bite your lip. A pang shoots through your heart. You fight to push the door to your heart closed. You can allow him to exist in your life, but anything more than neighbors is too much. You think you feel the door latch, but you don’t catch Joel’s foot wedged in the door jam.

“How did you and Ellie cross paths?”

Joel spends the rest of your walk recounting his and Ellie’s adventures across the United States. You find yourself hanging on every description. You didn’t travel a lot before the world ended. Your parents had been die-hard Texans. You weren’t sure your dad had left state lines before meeting your mom. There were the yearly trips to your grandparents' house in the mountains surrounding Jackson, one trip to Disney World in 8th grade, and you’d gone to Mexico for spring break your junior year of college. That encapsulated your traveling days.

After Joel tells you about Silver Lake, he stops in his tracks. You look back at him. He’s staring at the darkening horizon again. His eyes gloss over. “When things like that happen- I find myself relieved that she’s not here- that she doesn’t have to go through it- do all the shit we do.”

You suck in a breath. In some ways you understand it. As a parent who willingly brought a child into this world, you often wonder if it was the right choice or just a selfish one. You nod.

“And then I feel guilty all over again. Because I would give anything to have her next to me, and see her smile. I mean, what kind of parent is relieved their child isn’t alive?”

You give the words a minute to roll through your head. You’re not sure of the best words because there really are none, but you pull from your own experience.

“I think that’s the reality of being a parent in this world. You feel guilty if they’re here because the world is fucked up, but you feel guilty if you’re relieved they’re not.”

Joel makes eye contact with you. “Bein’ around you makes me feel closer to her.”

Joel is not sure where the confession comes from. He barely talked to you before last night and hasn’t seen your face in 20 years, yet the words just slip out. Something in him says you’re safe and he thinks maybe, he might just have room for you too. The air between you charges like it did the night before.

It sends a hum of electricity through your veins. It’s one you recognize all too well. It feels good and exciting, the thrum of desire, but it’s dangerous. It’s something you cannot afford. You look away, breaking the connection, but mellowing currents still wrack over your body in waves.

“You raised a really great kid, Joel.” You force a smile. “and the world fucking sucks.” You kick at the dirt as everyone’s faces flash behind your eyes.

“You helped.”

Your head snaps back up, confusion on your brow. “I doubt that.”

“It’s true.” The memories flood to the surface- the ones you forget exist in the depths of your mind drowned by years of survival and trauma. “You helped her with all that stuff I was too awkward to boys, her period, shopping for her 7th grade banquet. I would’ve sent her in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.”

“I don’t think Sarah would’ve let you do that.” You manage a laugh. You appreciate Joel’s attempts to make you feel better even when he’s hurting. There’s a beauty to the way sadness and laughter coexist in the space the two of you create.

Joel shrugs. “I’m just saying, you helped. A lot. Even if you don’t realize it.”

“You should give yourself more credit.”

“So should you,” he says, eyebrows raising.

You fight against the smile that wants to sprout on your face. He’s just as stubborn as you remember and probably more.

As your walk draws to an end, you find yourself searching for anything to draw it out. You watch him walk up his porch steps, desperate to keep him in the street with you but his door shuts before you find the words.

Joel joins you the next night and the night after that, and the night after that it rains. You catch the disappointment, trying to let it go. Carter won’t settle, too intent on watching the rain hit the window. After 30 minutes, you give up, pulling a light sweatshirt over his head.

“You wanna sit out on the porch?”

Carter nods and you kiss his forehead. You see the sleepiness in his eyes, but you don’t have the energy to force him to sleep tonight. He grabs his two toy cars following behind you. You pull the blanket off the couch, opening the front door.

“Oh my god.” You jump, heart rate spiking for a second. Carter runs into the back of your legs, promptly falling to his bottom.

Joel Miller stands in front of you with a sheepish look on his face. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You turn around, picking your toddler off the floor. “You just hanging around on stranger’s porches now?” A grin starts to crowd the edges of your smile.

“I’d hardly call you a stranger, Sweetheart.” Joel grins.

That familiar feeling begins to seep through your chest, making you feel like a college student and not a woman in her 40s. Before it can completely overtake you, you push it down, clearing your throat.

“I don’t think you’ve gotten the chance to meet Carter yet.” You nod toward your son.

Carter waves. “Hi.”

Joel smiles back at him. “Nice to meet you, little man.”

Carter holds out his toy cars for Joel to admire. Joel’s eyes glance over the faded and chipped paint of the old Hotwheels. “Those are very nice.”

Carter looks toward you with a big grin. He’s a kid of few words but big expressions. You smile back with a nod and he slides out of your arms.

“He wouldn’t go to sleep so we came out to watch the rain.” You hesitate a minute, but the pull of Joel’s familiarity wins out. “You’re welcome to join us. The porch swing is a little rickety, but it does the trick.”

“I was hoping you’d want some company.” Joel pulls a bottle of dark liquor from under his arm. You notice his rain-damp hair and shoulders for the first time. A few droplets slide down his curls.

“You getting used to me, Joel Miller?”

“You could say that.” He cocks his head to the side, smirk playing on his lips.

You turn your head so he doesn’t catch your own grin, but he does anyway. Spreading the blanket on the porch for Carter to play on, you disappear inside grabbing a couple of glasses.

When you come back, Joel is on his hands and knees with Carter, both making race car noises with their lips. It knocks the wind from you, and you brace against the door frame. You’d imagined this lost moment a thousand times. Sometimes you swore you could see Gabe sitting on the floor with Carter, the proudest smile on his face, but this is real and it’s not Gabe.

Carter makes a screeching noise, learning them from some racing movie they showed a few weeks ago, crashing his car into Joel’s. Joel makes his cart flip over and combust into flames. Carter laughs. There’s a piece of your heart that seems to mend, and another that seems to break. Gabe feels further away, a more distant past. Yet, you’re focused on what’s in front of you.

When Joel catches you watching, he smiles, says something to Carter, and rises to his feet. It feels like a scene from a movie where you don’t hear anything, but the single look is the most significant part.

Joel says something, taking the glasses from your hands. His lips move but you don’t hear him. His back is turned before you realize it, shaking your head to wake up your senses. “Sorry- what did you say?”

Joel chuckles, pouring a couple of fingers of whiskey into each glass. He hands one to you. “I said, I’m getting too old to get on the ground like that.”

You accept the glass, letting the liquid warm you. This feels so easy, too easy. It sends warning bells through your head, but you don’t want to deal with them. They're too easy to push away in Joel’s familiar presence.

“You didn’t have to.” You move to the end of your porch, easing onto the swing.

Joel’s eyes inspect the old swing with years of training before he decides it will hold for one night and settles next to you. “Nah- it was fun. I haven’t played cars in a long time.”

You take a sip of the whiskey to hide your grin.

“He doesn’t look a thing like you.” Joel teases.

“Spitting image of his father.” You laugh. “Gabe always said his genetics would win out. I can only imagine the gloating I would’ve heard from him.”

“He never knew him?”

You shake your head. “Gabe was infected while out on patrol when I was 7 months pregnant.”

You leave it at that. You don’t expound on one of the darkest times of your life, and Joel doesn’t ask. He’s being trained for patrol now. He knows a bite earns you a bullet in the head and your body burnt to a crisp. You sip from the glass, taking a little too much whiskey. It burns away the tears.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Joel says. You turn to meet his gaze, eyebrows raised. “Survive out here all those years alone. I wouldn’t have made it.”

“You did.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, I had Tommy and some friends along the way. And that almo- it wasn’t enough.”

He turns away subconsciously presenting his profile. You catch the scar on his temple. You’d never given it much stock until now. It hits you like a brick to the chest. Your fingers drift toward it, brushing over the old wound.

“After Sarah died- I didn’t see much point in going on.” His eyes land on yours again. Your fingers stay. “I flinched when I pulled the trigger. Missed”

He searches your eyes for judgment but finds none. He’s certain all he finds is understanding, a silent assurance that you know that hopeless feeling too.

Your fingers edge toward his hairline. The rain seems to fall heavier around you, creating a mist under the overhang, but it all seems far away with Joel Miller right in front of you. You’re both still, scared to spook the other, waiting for a sign you refuse to give yourself.

“Joel!” Clumsy footsteps clamber up the wooden steps to your home. Ellie appears with a lopsided grin and soaked hair. “You’ll never guess what I traded for, morherfucker.”

The tension snaps away until nothing. The space on the porch swing is seemingly greater than ever.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her, arms crossed over his chest.

Carter looks up at the intruder, taking stock before returning his attention to his cars.

“Oh, what? Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” you say, possibly too fast. You don’t leave time to consider what was potentially interrupted. You latch on to Ellie’s joy instead. “What did you get?” You ease back, casting Joel a teasing look. He doesn’t look your way this time.

“I knew I liked you, Nurse… er- Lady.”

Joel opens his mouth to supply your name but you beat him to it. “That’s me, Nurse Lady.”

Carter points at you. “Mommy.”

Ellie looks you dead in the eye. “I’m not calling you that.”

You laugh.

“What did you get, Ellie?” Joel asks, a little more give in his frame than a few seconds ago.

Ellie pulls a big, atlas-looking book from under her damp sweatshirt. “It’s pictures of space! Ones I haven’t seen before!”

“Space?” Carter’s head shoots up and a smile spreads across your face.

“Yeah!” Ellie exclaims, opening the book toward him. “See! Isn’t it cool?”

Carter ventures toward the new person carrying a book of great interest to him. “You like space too?”

He nods, watching with wide eyes for a few more pages, and then grabs Ellie’s hand, pulling her toward his blanket. “Sit.”

She listens and Carter climbs into her lap. “More.”

Ellie laughs. “Sure thing, bud.”

You go to tell Ellie that she doesn’t have to listen to the two-year-old. She can take her book home and enjoy it in peace, but you stop yourself. Something tells you that Ellie wouldn’t stay if she didn’t want to. She reads the words in the book with the same fascination that shines in Carter's young eyes until he falls asleep.

Joel stays next to you, the swing creaking rhythmically, the moment hidden away from the rest of Jackson by the cover of rain and a setting sun.

You and Joel go back to walking the next evening.

A couple of days later, Maria sits at your kitchen table when you come in from your walk with Joel. A steaming cup of tea sits in front of her and another caddy corner from her. You furrow your brow. The last time she’d greeted you with tea was when she told you she was pregnant. This welcome was usually reserved for serious conversations.

“Carter wake up?” You slide into the chair, taking the mug into your hands.

“No, just wanted to talk to you. It’s been a couple of days.” She eases back, hand resting atop her swollen stomach.

“I saw you at the clinic this morning.” You raise an eyebrow.

Now 7 months pregnant, you’ve monitored Maria and the baby closely. Tommy and Maria are so excited. You see it in their eyes every time it comes up. You’re trying your hardest not to let your fears cloud it, but you won’t be able to make it if something happens to Maria.

“We haven’t really talked though. Not since Sunday at dinner and Tommy has the guys over for Poker tonight.”

“You miss me after 3 days? I thought I was the codependent one.” You smile up at her with a laugh.

Gabe would have called it a sparkly smile. Maria clocks it immediately, and it stays, lingering across your features. She gasps. She’s seen nothing but glimpses and flickers of it since his death and now here it is on full display.

“Did I grow a third head or something?”

“No, just haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

“Like what?”

“Happy, Smiling.” Maria tilts her head to the side. “I thought I was imagining it this morning. Tommy mentioned it too.”

“I smile.”

“Not the sparkly kind.”

You pause, heart clenching at the thought. You know it’s what Gabe would have wanted. He loved your sparkly smile- given it its name. It feels like it should feel wrong for someone else to bring that out of you, but it doesn’t. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy.

“This have anything to do with your new walking partner?” Maria says over the lip of her mug.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You feign innocence, looking out the window. Joel’s porch light glows across the road. Your wedding band is cool against your fingertips as you twist it. A smile pushes against the borders of your lips.

“You act like your route doesn’t cut directly through town and past everyone’s houses 3 times.”

“We just walk together, Maria.”

She raises a suggestive eyebrow.

You roll your eyes. “Just walking.”

“More than walking is okay too.”

You cross your arms. “I thought you didn’t like Joel. It was all I heard about after he came through the first time.”

“He’s my brother-in-law. I have to try.” Maria bites her lip. “And he grows on you.”

You sigh trying to push away the thoughts that crowd your restless mind. Your attachment to him is beginning to feel inevitable like you never stood a chance because it had always been there. A holdover from before. It reminds you of the way you and Tommy bonded when he came to Jackson, that invisible tug from a former life tying you together, but there is something different with Joel. The all-encompassing crush from your early ears creeps up like a blush. You won’t say it lingered, but you know something is forming now as much as you try to ignore it.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you motion around you. “Building a life with someone just for the world to rip it all away.”

“That’s not-“

“Not what, Maria? You know it will happen.”

“Might not.”

“Might happen tomorrow.” You square your shoulders. Joel goes on patrol for the first time tomorrow. It’s a short shift for him to get the lay of the land, but so was Gabe’s. you’re terrified, and you’re terrified to admit you’re terrified.

She stares into your eyes with a still determination searching for any cracks to slip through as your impenetrable walls rise back up. All evidence of the sparkly smile is gone, erased from your face. Maria sighs, slowly rising to her feet, her cup of tea dried up.

The two of you say nothing as she moves about your kitchen with easy familiarity. She’s moving slower these days and for good reason. It eases your anxiety to know that she’s listening to you in that department.

She sets her cleaned mug on the dish wrack, drying her hands with a towel. You sip on your tea letting it warm you from within. It does nothing to ease your racing mind.

Maria’s firm, caring touch lands on your shoulder, drawing your attention up toward her. You know she can see it behind your eyes. It’s that same wild look she saw in you when she met you. You can only hold her gaze for so long until you have to look away. She can see too much in you.

Maria squeezes your shoulder. Her hands slide around your shoulders as she pulls your reluctant frame closer to her. She’s warm and comforting like a well-worn sweater. When her warm breath hits your temple followed by the soft kiss of a concerned parent or older sibling, you let your eyes flutter shut and inhale deeply. Your body relaxes as your sympathetic nervous system accepts the easy pressure of her embrace and your mind seems a little more quiet. You lean to the side, temple pressed to your best friend’s forehead.

“I’ll see you at Sunday Dinner,” Maria says. She’s using her soothing mom voice, and it works.

“Okay.”

She gives one more squeeze before releasing you. Your hands wrap back around the mug, searching for the warmth you lost.

Maria grabs her coat. “Oh, I invited Joel and Ellie too.”

You snap your head around. Maria wears a knowing grin but gives you a shrug. “They’re family now.”

You roll your eyes. Maria’s laugh is the last thing you hear before the front door clicks behind her. Silence falls over your home. When a tear falls from your eye, you swipe it away, stuffing down all the feelings rising to the surface.

The next evening, Joel isn’t on his porch when you come out. The worry you’ve pushed down all day bubbles over before you can stop it. Your heart beats in your ears as you stare at Joel’s front door, hoping, praying it opens. In the minutes you watch for him, you beg the world for a sign that Joel is okay, nothing happens. The house is still with no signs of life.

Anticipation melts to dread. They haven’t gotten back yet. That can only mean bad things. The same resolve hits you over and over. You can’t let this happen, not again. Stepping into the street, you try to go on as usual. Same path. Same pace, but the further you get from his front porch, the more you fight against the tug pulling you toward it- toward him. It wraps tight up your ankle like a vine. You think you can snap it with enough force and distance.

Instead, it climbs your leg further, piercing through your stomach. It constricts around your lungs like a snake and its branches encircle your heart. Your breathing quickens and shortens until you can’t see more than 2 feet in front of you. You can’t do this. Can’t let this happen. Your fingers bite into a tree as you stumble forward, grasping for stability. Bark digs under your fingernails. A sob releases from your throat, the one that sounds otherworldly but you’re all too familiar with, and you realize it’s tears that blind you because you refuse to give the world another person to tear from your arms, yet you fear you already have.

A warm hand lands on your back. You whip around in a fury of tears and ragged breathing. He recognizes it instantly. It’s the same look he used to see every time he looked in the mirror. He sucks in a breath and takes a step back.

You think the space will make it easier to breathe, but the panic sets in deeper. You don’t want him to go. It’s not fair. You thought you were stronger, but it only took days for Joel Miller to demolish the walls you worked so desperately to build. He had pinpointed the weakness in them as if he’d built them himself and came in swinging.

Your hand shoots out, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. You’re a dear in the headlights, unsure if you should flee for your safety or stay and get hit by what’s coming.

Joel’s hand slowly covers yours. It’s warm. It settles your breathing. His heart beats under your palm a little faster than his calm demeanor lets on.

You sniff back the tears. You realize you were so focused on the traps underfoot that you didn’t realize you walked right into the mouth of one from the very beginning. The moment you leaned into Joel’s familiarity, it snapped shut with no way out. Joel cautiously reaches out, swiping away the tears on one cheek. When you don’t shy away from his touch, he wipes away the others.

It’s a spacious trap. There’s room to roam around. You don’t feel confined, and Joel is in it with you.

“I don’t have to walk with ya tonight.” His voice is quiet. His eyes are soft and understanding. “I understand if you need some space.”

Despite offering you space, he squeezes your hand tighter and leans in, and godamnit, you like it.

“No.” You shake your head. “Stay. I like the company.”

His brow furrows. “You sure, Sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” You nod. His shirt eases back around his chest now crinkled from your grip, but your hand stays. “Believe it or not, I enjoy having you around.”

You force a smile.

“Yeah…” He smiles softly. “Me too.” He takes a step backward. You ignore the soft pang in your chest at the increased distance.

You and Joel settle back into the path as you have the past two nights, but he’s closer tonight. His shoulder brushes yours every so often. He keeps the conversation light. He doesn’t ask about your anxiety attack.

At the end of your walk, Joel’s arm slides around your waist pulling you against his chest. Your breath catches as his other hand slides across your shoulder blades leaving a trail of fire behind it, landing at the base of your skull. He comes over you like a wave, heavy and disorienting when it hits but peaceful once it settles. Your eyes close, resting your head against his chest.

His fingers knead slowly at your skull, releasing built-up tension. Sparks ignite low in your belly. You don’t try to extinguish them this time.

“Sleep well, Sweetheart.”

You swear you feel his lips on your forehead, but he’s gone before you have time to consider it further, back behind his door leaving you to wrestle with that moment all night.

On Thursday morning, Joel works in the barn fixing the big swinging door when Tommy strides in. Joel is so focused on his craft, the long-forgotten feel of wood beneath his touch that he doesn’t catch the grin etched on his younger brother’s face.

“What’s going on, big brother?” Tommy says with a prying tone.

“Can you hand me that hammer?” Joel says, sweat beading his forehead.

Tommy chuckles, handing it to Joel.

Joel turns an eye toward him. “You’re in a good mood.”

“A little birdie told me something.”

Joel lifts an eyebrow. He doesn’t have time for Tommy’s antics. There’s a door to fix and he knows his brother gets more joy drawing things out. Joel does not. “What?”

“Oh come on- you have to guess.”

“Tommy, since when have I played along with your games?”

Tommy sighs. “Buzz kill.”

Joel chuckles.

“Rumor has it, you’ve been walking around with a certain babysitter.”

Joel’s face falls stoic. “She’s not the babysitter anymore.” He sets down the tools with a sigh “What’s it to you?”

“Oh come on, Joel. Is that why she’s been smiling so much lately? You giving her a reason to smile?” Tommy grins.

Joel looks at Tommy through the corner of his eye. “You askin’ me if I’m fucking your dead buddy’s widow?”

It flashes across his face, the pain of losing someone so close before his smile is back in place. Joel doesn’t have time to feel bad for it.

“Not to sound crass, but he’d be happy if you were.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Joel lets the tool drop to the ground, giving in to Tommy.

Tommy sighs. “When I came to Jackson, she smiled all the time. Reminded me of when we’d get back from a job and she and Sarah were up to no good.” Joel’s nods. He’d felt the same pull toward you. “Gabe- he kept her smiling. I know we’ve all been through some dark shit, but she went at it alone. Since his death, her smiles have been few and far between ‘til now. He didn’t want her to go back to how she was before. Told Maria that much.”

“Maria?”

“Yeah, they were out on patrol together when he got infected.”

Hit stomach hit the ground. If Maria was with Gabe when- “Shit,” Joel breathes. “I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah…” Tommy says but doesn’t let the silence linger. Gabe’s demise is still a sore subject for him. “Gabe, all he wanted was for her to be happy, for her to smile. You’re doing that, and it’s a big deal.”

Joel hopes his brother doesn’t catch the stutter in his breathing, the way his thoughts drift back to you. He doesn’t need anyone’s permission. You’re grown adults, but it’s there. Gabe wanted you to be happy- they all want you to be happy and somehow, he’s one of the people that does that. Tommy’s not judging him at the possibility of being interested in a woman 13 years his junior. If anything, he’s encouraging it. Joel feels easier and lighter. In it all, he realizes just how much he wants you.

The following evening, Joel is almost embarrassed at how quickly he clocks the missing gold band on your left knuckle. His mind races with possibilities. He knows you don’t wear it when you work at the clinic, but he hasn’t seen you without it outside of the clinic. Granted, the only time he’s noticed was on your walks. Did you forget it? His heart leaps a little. Did you do it on purpose? And you’re wearing those damn matching pajamas again. The same ones that got him here in the first place.

There’s something in the air tonight. The hairs on his arms stand on end. He walks closer to you. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable or make things weird, but the whole time his eyes keep drifting back to your bare knuckle. What does it mean? And he wants to know if you feel the same.

He can't feel the way your skin burns, heat exploding like fireworks across your body blooming and fizzling one after another. You’re tempted to pull him off your beaten path early, dragging him in front of the whole town across your threshold after just the first lap, but you resist and spend the next lap wondering if he’s walking closer tonight, talking slower tonight. Even the timbre of his voice seems to change, conveying the burning need of desire. Still, you hesitate to confirm it. Maybe you’re wrong about it all. What if you’re wrong about it all?

Joel follows you to your porch tonight. Maria’s suggestive remarks fill your brain. More than walking is okay. It puts out any doubts filling your head. You glance up at Joel, you read it in his expressive eyes. Eyes you’ve come to know so well. You’re fighting the fire blazing its way through your body with logic and reasoning. Neither is good at fighting fires, and your limbs burn with desire.

Joel waits at the bottom of your porch steps. You rest against the support beam watching him with a careful eye.

He gives you an easy smile. “I enjoy our walks.”

He makes no moves toward or away from you. He’s leaving this in your hands. You’re not naive. Just sex in this world comes with its own set of risks. It requires trust in a world without STD testing, treatment, and contraceptives. You’re still well within childbearing age. Maria’s pregnancy is a constant reminder, but you trust Joel. You always have.

He stands at the bottom of your porch steps, hands in his pockets as you lean against the support beam. He’s staring at you with that look you’ve caught glimpses of this past week but it’s on full display now, burning into you like a raging wildfire.

You tip your head up, catching a glimpse of the moon under the awning. A smile plays on your lips. You’re buzzing like you’ve spent the evening sipping on cocktails at the bar. “I shouldn’t tell you this- but here we are.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. “Tell me what?”

His voice is smooth and bold like a cup of morning coffee. You can taste it on your tongue- bitter but full of life. You laugh to cover up the embarrassment flooding to the surface, but you feel alive for the first time in a long time. You wonder if he’s seen the desire in your eyes too. You know it’s been there. You want him, and you intend to have him tonight.

“I had the biggest crush on you in high school and college.”

Something about putting the words out there doesn’t seem as embarrassing as it did 5 seconds ago. You’re a grown-ass adult and that was 20 years ago. Joel chuckles and you join him again, laughing under the moonlight like he’s dropping you off after a first date and you’re playing with your keys.

Joel’s boots hit the first step, hand gliding over the worn railing. “You did? Must’ve done a damn good job at hiding it.”

“Or maybe you were just blinder than a bat.”

“Were you trying to make moves on me then?” Joel comes up the second step. His body heat is just out of reach.

“No. Wouldn’t have been appropriate. I knew that much.”

Joel rises to your level. You can smell him now- pine. It's one of the three scents you can trade for in this town. You didn’t imagine differently. Joel didn’t strike you as a Lavender or Lemon kind of guy. His hand rests above your head as he invades your space. You feel his body heat close in. You stand straighter, meeting his searing gaze. The air is thick between you as your breathing deepens.

“And what about now? Would it be appropriate now?”

His voice is low and husky. Just how you imagined it would be all those years ago, but you still catch the hesitancy in his eyes, the restraint pulling at his throat. It sets a fire burning across your skin.

You step back, ducking out of his space. You miss his proximity immediately. You catch the slight embarrassment that flashes across Joel’s face. He looks around nervously like he didn’t just read the situation completely wrong. You feel almost bad as your hand touches the door knob and you look back at him.

“Are you gonna come in?” You open the door. He looks relieved. “I think the neighbors are gonna talk, but I’d rather keep them talking than put on a show.”

You turn your back to him crossing the threshold. You try to calm your beating heart. His boots are heavy on the porch. Before you can comprehend it, the front door shuts. The hardwood presses against your back, and Joel’s hands rest against the door on either side of your head. You feel the heat radiating off him, but he doesn’t touch you. Your hands hang in fists at your side refusing to touch him first. You meet his wild gaze.

He leans in and heat rushes through your body settling in your core. You squeeze your legs together and wonder if he catches it. You tilt your chin up to meet his lips. They come so close but circle just out of your reach. His hot breath hits your ear making your toes curl. You want to fuss at him. You almost do, but resist. You’re wet and he has yet to touch you.

“Tell me this is okay. Tell me you want this.” He’s still hovering, refusing to touch you.

Your head turns to meet his gaze. He thinks he’s doing something wrong. “Joel, I’m a 43-year-old woman, not some naive-”

“Tell me.” There’s a force behind it, a desperation.

You look at his eyes, blow wide with lust. It shortens your breath. Your limbs feel heavy with need.

“I want you.”

He surges forward, lips crashing into yours. Your teeth nash against each other, but you don’t care. Threading your fingers in his thick curls, you pull him closer, craving him. Desire pumps through every ounce of your being.

His hand settles over your hip slipping under your pajama shirt. Your nipples harden as his hand glides over your skin, going up until he cups your breast. His thumb circles over your clothed nipple and you gasp into his mouth. He smirks pressing you further into the door. Your leg instinctively hooks over his hip and his hard cock presses against your core.

“Joel.” You moan, moving your hips against him.

A moan falls off his lips as he sucks on your bottom lip. “You’re killing me, Sweetheart.”

He moves to your neck. His fingers wrap around the back of your thigh guiding your other leg around his waist. He squeezes your breast again and your legs squeeze around him. He bucks into you.

Your head falls back granting him further access to your neck. You need to be out of your clothes. You want Joel out of his. You don’t care if it’s here or in your bedroom or somewhere else. It needs to happen and it needs to happen soon.

Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. There’s an urge to rip it open and let the buttons scatter across the floor like you’d seen in movies, but you don’t. Resource management is still essential even in the throws of passion.

The first two pop open. He’s sucking on your neck, nipping like a herd dog. “You tryin' to mark me, Miller?” He pulls your Texas draw out like honey.

He doesn’t respond, teeth grazing your collarbone, making you gasp. His hips jut forward and his name rolls off your tongue.

He pulls up your shirt, groaning when your sports bra comes into view. He’s not getting you out of that while you’re against the door. It’s like you can read his mind. “First door at the top of the steps.”

He glances up the staircase behind him. You think he’s gonna let your legs drop to the floor and drag you up the steps. Instead, his fingers dig into your ass. Before he can lift you away from the door, he realizes you’re not wearing underwear under your thin pajama shorts.

“How long have you been walkin around without panties, Sweetheart?” His cock brushes over your core. You’re sure you’ve left a wet spot on his jeans by now.

“How long have you known me?” It’s out of your mouth before you have time to think it through. Your cognitive function has been reduced to one goal: getting Joel Miller into your bed.

Joel considers the implication. For a split second, you think it might make him bolt. Remind him that he knew you as a teenager, but he groans, leaving you putty in his calloused hands. He presses hot, open-mouth kisses on your neck. Your fingers tangle in his hair to keep his mouth on your flesh. His hands adjust under your ass and he’s carrying you up the steps.

It doesn’t matter how fit survival made you, going up the steps with the extra weight of a toddler was hard enough, much less your entire body. It’s far from effortless on Joel’s part. He gives up on the third step. You applaud his efforts through your laugh.

“Come on, old man.” You wink, dragging him behind you up the remaining stairs.

“Who you calling old man?” He growls, crowding behind you.

He kicks your bedroom door closed and you pray it doesn’t wake your sleeping child.

You pull off your shirt. Joel backs you onto your soft mattress. Before you have a chance to catch up, his fingers are in the elastic of your flimsy pajama shorts sliding them down your legs in haste. Letting them fly across the room. Your bra joins them in quick succession.

He’s crawling over you so slowly, eyes raking over your bare body as he does. You burn under his gaze and he’s still not touching you, not in all the places you crave.

His jean-clad thighs push against yours, spreading your legs slowly. They’re rough against your thighs, but in the way you love. You reach up, allowing your fingers to play in his hair again. He pushes into your touch, eyes fluttering closed as his lips leave soft kisses over your palm.

His hand starts on your hip. You push into his touch a soft moan vibrating in your throat as you bite your lip. You’ve always loved the feel of your hips being touched. He chuckles, sliding his hand up your sternum. He comes just under your breast before ghosting his fingers back down. He repeats the path but this time with his lip. They leave a fire burning across your body in their wake. You watch him under heavy lids and low hums.

He doesn’t stop under your breasts this time. His tongue slips out as he makes it to your nipple, going over it with one smooth swipe. It pulls a sweet gasp from you. He repeats the process with your second breast. You roll your hips as his name rolls off your lips.

He groans nipping up your chest again. Your hands roam up and down his back. You catch the faint catch of scarring every now and then, but it’s all a part of Joel. It tells his story and you’re a part of that now. If it’s just tonight, that’s fine. If it’s more- you won’t think about that.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, pulling you back into the here and now. He doesn’t slow down as he ascends your throat crawling higher and higher until his lips are on yours. Your fingers are in his hair. He slides his tongue into your mouth and his hand over your breast, tweaking your tight nipple every third interval.

You push your pelvis against his. You’re slick and desperate for relief, and his jeans are still on.

Joel chuckles, squeezing your breast as he devours your mouth. Your hands make their way down his chest to the fly of his pants. You pop open the button before Joel pulls back. You try to capture him again, but he slips away.

You want to whine and throw a temper tantrum. “Joel.” You fuss, pupils blown wide.

He chuckles deeply. “I know, Sweetheart.”

He brushes over your hips with his fingers dragging them down your thigh. Before you can spread your legs for him, he pushes your knees up revealing your slick cunt.

You expect more teasing, for him to lean in and pull back right away, but he doesn’t. He leans in, nose running through your wet folds. You moan out his name trying desperately to get closer to him.

His hand drags down your stomach, spreading your lips. He eased down again, dragging his tongue through on his second journey.

Your moans grow louder. You tug on his curls. When he pulls your clit between his lips, your legs snap, trapping his head between your thighs. There’s a tug in your stomach. Joel continues to work the sensitive bundle over and over and over. Your pleas turn to encouragement until they’re no longer words at all. Please. Yes. Yes. More. More. More. The sounds marry together with your body, an extension of sensation until warmth spreads throughout like water soaking through a paper towel across your entire body in a crescendo long laid dormant.

Joel works his way back up your body with hot opened mouth kisses as you pant, catching your breath. Your fingers brush across his back in smooth trails. He shivers against your touch.

“So beautiful.”

Heat races toward your cheeks as if the previous minutes weren’t worthy of that. He smiles, dipping down to touch your lips.

Your hands work toward his waistband. You shove his pants down as best you can. Joel tuts your name softly but helps in your pursuit. His pants and underwear fall to the floor, his cock standing tall. You ogle it like it’s water in the desert. “Someone’s eager.”

“Wanna take care of you too.” You pant, still fighting for breath.

Joel's head falls back. “Fuck, not to tonight, Sweetheart.” His hand tangles in your hair.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw and then another and another. “I’m not gonna last long tonight and I wanna make sure I get the chance to be inside you.”

It is the damn truth too. Joel hasn’t been with anyone in almost a year. He hadn’t had the chance for much other relief while traipsing across the western states either. His body is only starting to come down from the constant alertness and tension that came with being on the outside.

You spread your legs out, your dripping pussy on display for Joel. He swallows, crawling over you. You hook a leg over his waist. Joel takes his time, igniting small fires over your skin. You whimper with impatience, making him laugh.

“Please, Joel.”

“So goddamn impatient for me.”

Does he know how goddamn patient you’ve been? That this picture embedded itself in your mind 25 years ago? A picture you labeled never gonna happen.

Finally, he eases into you, slowly, like he’s savoring it. Watching his eyes roll back in his head confirms that he is, sending shivers down your spine. You force your hips toward him, forcing him further into you. You’d forgotten the satisfying stretch of being wrapped around a man. Your moans tangle with Joel’s as he enters you fully, sweat forming across your abdomen.

His fingers intertwine with yours on the mattress. His eyes lock with yours, sending more shock waves across your skin. Your walls clench around him of their own volition. He falls forward with a hiss, catching himself on his forearm. “Fuck, Sweetheart. It’s been a long time. I ain’t gonna last if you keep doing that.”

You squeeze his hand and trail your fingertips down his chest and stomach. He shudders at your touch. It sends another thrill, another wave of electricity straight to your bones. You squeeze him again, and he gasps. You’ve forgotten what it was like to have this effect on a man.

“You gonna fuck me, old man?”

He groans, burying his face in your neck. Hot breath spreads across your skin in an uncontrollable blaze. Finally, his hips rock against yours, setting sparks off where his skin connects with yours. You moan, arching your back and baring for skin for him to consume. He nips at your neck and collarbone, teeth scraping behind. Your breath catches and Joel notices. His eyes sparkle down at you with mischief.

He nibbles at your ear lobe. “I’m going to keep that tucked away for later.” and then he picks up the pace, pulling out and pushing in over and over. Your stomach clenches at the promise of more. More than one night. Nights. You shut your brain off there. Any further and you’ll spiral.

You focus on the thrust of his hips. In and out. In and out. Your hands land on his hips, thumbs caressing the skin there. A bead of sweat falls from Joel’s brown. His lips land on yours again. You can tell he’s close, the tension of your orgasm building.

You slip a hand to your cunt, reaching for your clit. Joel smacks your hand away, replacing it with his own. “That’s my job, Darlin.”

Your nipples tighten. Your walls clench around him, your head swimming with incoherent thoughts and words as the sweat builds across your flushed body. Joel barely touches your clit before you’re crying out, muscles tightening before releasing with pleasure. It crashes over your body like much-needed waves after years of drought.

“Fuck,” Joel hisses, pulling out of you completely.

His lips connect with yours, soft and tender this time. His calloused hands cradle your face as small cries come from your mouth as words still fail to form.

“I know, baby. I know.” He kisses your forehead, pushing back your hair until you come back down.

Your limbs tingle and your body buzzes with a relaxing energy. You’d forgotten what the high was like- the comedown. You feel lighter than you have in months, years even. A smile begins to spread across your face, the bubbling of laughter in your chest. You run your fingers through Joel’s hair and he smiles back.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing really.” But the soft rumble of your chest continues.

“Is that so?” Joel’s crow’s feet crinkle making your heart clench. He presses another soft kiss to your lips, another to your forehead.

“That’s so,” you hum with contentment.

He chuckles. “We should get you cleaned up.”

Joel eases off the bed, entering through the open door of your en-suite bathroom. You take a second to appreciate his bare form before your gaze travels to your own body. Your brain finally registers Joel’s warm semen, sticky across your stomach.

You send up a prayer that Joel had the wherewithal you didn’t in the moment. You’re almost embarrassed how long it took you to realize he finished on your stomach.

Joel steps back into the room, washcloth in hand. “Thank god for modern amenities.” He winks at you as he sits on the edge of the bed, bringing the warm cloth to your stomach.

“I’ve got it,” you say, pushing Joel’s hand away as he tries to clean you up.

“I don’t mind cleaning up after myself.” A smirk plays in his eyes but flickers away when you don’t reciprocate.

You lean away from him, shoulders tensing. “I prefer to do it.”

His fingers glide over your bare thigh as you wipe away the last of him, setting the cloth on your nightstand. Goosebumps raise in salute with each of his motions. Your back rests against the headboard as you both sit in naked silence.

Not a word passes between you. His fingers continue across your thigh. You watch him, his profile, his fingers until the anxiety sets in. Your stomach twists in knots. Your frame is rigid. You pick at the sheets, unable to look Joel’s way.

He knows it. He feels your walls go up before you can’t look his way so he withdraws his hand, collects his clothes- all but the flannel lying downstairs- and kisses your forehead. Then he waits.

He’s waiting for you to look at him. His eyes watch your profile, burning it until you can no longer bear it. You push back the tears, meeting his eyes.

He smiles softly, understandingly. “Same time tomorrow?”

Your stomach clenches and turns in a ball of excitement and dread. “Same time tomorrow.”

With the reassurance, he kisses your head for a final time. “Sleep well, Sweetheart.”

Then he leaves for the night like you told yourself you wanted.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller #TLOU #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #woman #woman (joel’s version)#woman (joel miller)#pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

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‘I feel like I’m in a episode of Scooby Doo if it was injected with several pounds of crack.’ You said to yourself as you pressed yourself against a bookshelf, listen intently to the sound of armour clanking clumsily towards your aisle.

‘How is this like anything from Scooby Doo?’ Ashley asked, wondering how you and Leon could make commentary at the most inappropriate of times, as though what you were facing wasn’t fully capable of killing you both.

You shrugged, ‘ya know, the black knight’s ghost.’

Ashley only looked at you.

‘The suit of armour that’s haunted?’

She still says nothing.

‘That speaks in old English?’

The blonde only blinks in response.

You huffed, closing your eyes tightly, ‘from the James Gunn’s Live action Scooby Doo; Monsters Unleashed movie starting Sarah Michelle Gellar, Freddy Prince Jr, Matthew Lillard of Scream fame, Linda Cardellini and Neil Fanning as the voice of Scooby Doo.’

Ashley’s eyes widened as a smile spread across her face in recognition. ‘Oh yeah! That movie! Why didn’t you say so in the first place.’

‘I did but I keep forgetting you’re too young to understand what I’m referring to.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘Wait, is it just me or has the room surely grown silent?’ You asked when you couldn’t hear the sound of armour shifting anymore.

‘Now that you mentioned it…it has gotten a bit too quite.’ Ashley adds as your sudden awareness only made the grand library even more quiet, to the point where the only thing either of you could hear were your breaths and other parts of the castle that were considerably more active then yours.

Knowing that you’d only be hindering the mission by standing there, awaiting for something to happen, you moved out from the bookshelf, flashlight in one hand and gun in the other, as you scanned the area for any potential threats before you felt yourself being tackled to the floor; which knocked the air from your lungs and scattered your flashlight and gun away from your hands.

‘Y/n!’ Ashley cried out in terror as she watched you wrestle the person off of you before pinning them to the polished floor instead with your knees pining their hips as your hands pinned their wrists above their head.

‘Ashley, gimme some light over here so we can get a good look at the son of a bitch.’ You commanded slightly out of breath as Ashley obeyed and came to your side and shed some light onto your attacker, only to reveal…

‘Leon?’ You both asked in unison.

‘Hello to you too,’ Leon grunts, not wanting to openly admit to liking his current position beneath you a little more then he probably should. ‘I’m not one for getting roughed up but I’m pretty certain you bruised my wrists, partner or mine’ Leon, said but immediately regretted everything when he saw the unimpressed look upon your face.

‘You prick.’ You cursed as you released his wrists and got off of him, not even bothering in lending him a hand in getting up as you moved to leave. ‘I thought you were those infested knights or something.’

‘Not funny dickhead, not funny.’ Ashley said, also unimpressed with his stunt, before throwing the flashlight onto his stomach, causing him to grunt as she then followed after you, leaving him behind.

‘Thanks for helping me up guys.’ Leon huffed as he hauled himself up off the floor, flashlight in hand as he followed after you both, knowing that he’s going to be receiving the silent treatment here on out.

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valeskafics · 6 months

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"Haunted House" - Tom Bennett x Wife!Reader (AHS Roanoke AU)

Summary: Not everything is as it seems in your and Tom's new home.

TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns, spooky ghost vibes, mentions of ptsd, fingering, p in v sex, breeding kink

Word Count: 2,280 words

Rating: MDNI, 18+

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the World On Fire characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

You and Tom truly thought it was a dream come true when you found your new home. It was a bit older, built back in the 1800s, and in the country. It was absolutely gorgeous, everything you had ever wanted. You always hoped to live in a house like this, to raise a family in the country, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. You smile as Tom parks the car in your new driveway and takes your hand, kissing your palm gently.

“Are you excited?” you ask him, “We can finally start our lives together here.”

Tom nods, a lazy grin on his face as he leans over and kisses your cheek, the faint scent of cigarette smoke on his breath as he replies, “Yes. It’s a beautiful house and I can’t wait to make it our own. Our place.”

The two of you get out of the car and you let out a yelp as Tom lifts you into his arms, carrying you across the threshold, making you burst into laughter, “Tom!”

“I just wanted to carry my dear wife to our new abode,” he teases, setting you down at the front door to grab the keys from his pocket. He opens the door and the two of you step into your new home, bright smiles on your faces. Tom steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and murmuring in your ear, “Well, here we are, Mrs. Bennett. What do you think?”

“Hm,” you turn in his arms to face him, “I think we ought to christen every room in the house, Mr. Bennett.”

Tom’s grin widens as he all but runs up the stairs, dragging you along with him, the two of you giggling like the newlyweds you are, “That sounds like an excellent idea, Mrs. Bennett. Let’s start with the bedroom.”

His arms wrap around you, your lips meeting his as you make your way to your new bedroom, clothes being shed little by little along the way until you’re both completely bare by the time you land on your backside on the bed. Tom cradles you in his arms, kissing your neck, nipping at your collarbone playfully, his hands grasping at your thighs, kneading your soft flesh as he moans against your skin. You wrap your arms around him, smiling at him softly, pressing your lips to his forehead, indescribably happy at this moment, wishing time could just freeze here and now.

The two of you fall asleep after making love, your head resting on Tom’s chest, lulled to sleep by the steady thumping of his heart, your breathing deep and even. He runs his hand through your hair, admiring the way the moonlight illuminates your skin. You look like an angel come down to earth - his angel. Every day when he was at war, it was your picture in his jacket pocket, the memory of your sweet voice that urged him on, saying that you were back home waiting for him to come back to you.

Tom yawns, sliding out of the bed, taking care not to wake you, heading to the kitchen to fix himself a late night snack. As he sets about making himself a sandwich, he can’t help but feel like he’s being watched. He glances over his shoulder, checking to see if you’ve followed him out, but there is no sign of you. He tries to shake it off, telling himself that he’s just being silly. This is your house, where you’re going to build your life together, have a couple of kids, everything that the two of you ever talked about. He feels a shiver go up and down his spine and a sinking feeling in his gut as he walks back toward your bedroom, hearing the floor creak.

Someone’s in the room with you. He races into the room, terrified for you, and sees a shadowy figure standing at the foot of your bed. Tom freezes in place as the figure reaches a hand out, stroking your cheek as you continue slumbering peacefully.

“She’s mine now.”

Tom’s eyes go wide as he lunges to tackle the figure to the ground, only to run into your nightstand, the figure evaporating into thin air. You wake with a start, looking at your husband in concern, getting out of bed and helping him up.

“What happened, love?”

“You didn’t see it?” he asks, pushing you behind him as if to protect you from the intruder, “Stay behind me, darling.”

“Tom, sweetheart, there’s no one here,” you say, resting a hand on his shoulder, “Let’s go back to bed, yeah?”

“I heard someone,” he protests as he lays down in bed beside you, pulling you into his embrace, holding you tightly, “Are you sure you didn’t hear anything?”

“It’s an old house, Tom,” you say gently, nuzzling against his chest, “It was probably the wind in the floorboards or something like that. Go to sleep, you have your first day at the new job tomorrow. You need your rest.”

Tom nods, falling into an uneasy sleep, knowing that he wasn’t imagining what he heard, his normally pleasant dreams now becoming nightmares.

The next morning, Tom wakes up to the smell of bacon and eggs, a smile on his face as he realizes you’re making breakfast. He’s usually been the one to do so, but it seems you wish to spoil him a bit on the first day at his new job. He walks down the hall into the kitchen, pressing himself up against your backside, making you giggle as you feel his rather obvious hard-on rubbing against you.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bennett,” he murmurs in your ear, lips caressing your neck as he squeezes your hips, “You look beautiful.”

“Morning, Tom,” you turn, pecking him on the cheek, “Breakfast will be ready soon, just sit down and relax. Want today to be a good day for you.”

“How can it not be? Perfect wife, perfect house, perfect breakfast,” he teases, giving you a light swat on the bum, chuckling at the squeak you let out.

Then, the two of you hear the sound of something crashing to the ground. You look over at Tom, turning off the stove and heading toward the living room. There, you see the framed picture of the two of you on your wedding day laying on the floor.

“I hung those perfectly,” Tom frowns, quickly grabbing a broom and pan, “Don’t come in here, love, there might be broken glass.”

“Tommy, what happened to your face in the picture?”

Tom looks at the photo, seeing that there is now a crack in the frame, running along his face. He feels his blood run cold, looking at the photo of what was the happiest day of your lives. His hands tremble as he stares at the broken frame, placing it on your table as he begins cleaning up the mess. Tom is a rational man, he doesn’t believe in ghosts. But right now? He’s fucking terrified.

“What’s happening?” he asks, looking up at you, an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his eyes.

“Darling, nothing’s wrong,” you assure him, kneeling on the ground beside him and embracing him tightly, “Just relax.”

He leans into your touch, desperate for comfort, “You know me. I don’t get scared easily, but something is wrong here, love. I… I’m scared.”

You rest your hands on his face, speaking in a calm, even tone, “Tommy, breathe for me. In through your nose and out through your mouth.”

Tom takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but the feeling of something dark lurking in your new home doesn’t go away, “Don’t you feel it? Like something is watching us.”

You peck his cheek playfully, whispering in his ear, “The only thing watching me is you, Mr. Bennett.”

He chuckles at your words, the two of you heading back to the kitchen. You panic when you see that the pan you were cooking in is now on fire, the stove having been turned on to full. You shriek, grabbing it and tossing it in the sink while Tom uses a towel to air out the smoke.

“I swear, I turned off the stove,” you frown, hands on your hips.

“I know you did,” Tom replies, “Darling, there’s something in this house.”

“Tom,” you murmur softly, “You’ve been through so much.. A new house is a big change for someone with PTSD, we’ll get used to it. I promise.”

He nods slowly, “You’re right,” he gives you a weak smile, “I’m going to get dressed for work. I… I’m sorry.” Tom swallows thickly, his eyes watering, “I’m sorry you have a husband who gets scared every time he hears something go bump in the night.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” you say firmly, “Not to me. Not for that. Now go on and get dressed. I’ll remake breakfast. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tom replies, walking back to the bedroom, checking the closets, under the bed, everything he can, terrified at the thought of leaving you at home alone for the rest of the day.

It’s hard for Tom not to panic when he calls you from his workplace’s phone on his lunch break and you don’t answer. It’s storming outside, worse than he’s ever seen. The roads are going to flood, so he and his coworkers are being sent home early. He breathes a sigh of relief when, on his third attempt at calling, you pick up the phone, greeting him in that sweet voice of yours, apologizing that you were putting dinner in the oven.

“Darling, it’s storming, are you alright? All the windows shut tight?” he asks, concerned for your safety, and not only because of the storm.

“Mhm, don’t worry. Everything is fine here. You coming home soon then? They’re saying on the radio that the roads are going to flood.”

He nods before rolling his eyes at himself, realizing you can’t see him and replies, “Yes, I’m leaving right now. Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t open the door for anyone before I get home, yeah?”

“Okay, Tom. Drive safe, I love-”

He hears you let out a gasp and the line goes dead. Tom drops the phone, racing to the car. He tears down the street, driving faster than he should. He can’t possibly be expected to drive safe when you’re in danger.

Every second that ticks by feels like an hour. He just wants to get home to you. To make sure that you’re alright.

He’s surprised to see you, sitting outside on the front steps, completely soaked from the rain, two suitcases on either side of you.

“The house is haunted, you were right, let’s go.”

Tom raises an eyebrow, hugging you tight, helping you load the car, “What finally convinced you?”

You pause before telling him, “Whatever it was called and pretended to be you after the line went dead. Offered to do the laundry tonight. You don’t even know how to do laundry.”

The two of you look at each other and burst into laughter at the ludicrousness of the situation. The ghost or whatever it was tripped himself up by overestimating Tom’s domestic skills. The two of you drive away from the house, toward a hotel just outside of town, leaving your haunted house out of sight and out of mind.

When you get up to your room, the pair of you are soaked by the rain, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt happier or safer than in your husband’s arms. The two of you settle into the bathtub, you seated between his legs, your back resting against his chest. Tom’s hands rest on your thighs, one hand venturing to stroke your bare pussy, smiling at the soft moan you let out, your head falling back against his shoulder. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, loving the way you squeeze around him, loving the way you trust him with your body, with your heart, with your love. He knows he’s hit your sweet spot at the little mewl you let out, the way your hand flies to the back of his head, your neck craning back as you kiss him. He moves his free hand to squeeze one of your tits as he brings you closer and closer to your peak, giving you a cheeky little smirk as you cry out his name, reaching your peak.

You turn around, straddling Tom as you sink down onto his cock with a soft moan, water spilling from the tub as you bounce up and down on him, letting him fill you. He bucks his hips up against yours, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, thanking whatever god may exist that you’re here and safe with him.

“Want you to cum inside me, Tom,” you whisper in his ear, “Want you to fuck a baby into me. Want everyone to know I’m yours and only yours, my sweet husband.”

Your words unlock something in Tom as he grabs your hips, rutting against you, water splashing as your lips clash in a fiery, passionate kiss, each thrust bringing both of you closer and closer to your end. Tom’s mind runs wild with the image of your swollen breasts during your pregnancy, your round belly, the idea of his child growing inside of you.

He spills himself deep inside you, feeling your walls fluttering around him as you reach your own peak.

It’s amazing how things can actually work out if the other person in the couple actually believes their new house is haunted.

#tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x you #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fluff #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennet x reader #my writing #tom bennett oneshot #halloween fic #ahs au #tom bennett

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 1 year

Text

Surprise

Summary; Eddie didn't expect to fall for Henderson's sister but when she joined the gang in The Upside Down a bond was forged between them, they spent more time together after Vecna was defeated, and they begin to fall for each other.

But How does he tell Dustin that the girl he's in love with is yn? Especially as the gang begin to find out. One by one.

Warnings; Fluff 💞 teeny bit angst, Murray makes an appearance and an observation ;) slight shenanigans. 18+

I don't give anyone permission to copy my work.

Likes/reblogs are always appreciated ❤️

Ever since the defeat of Vecna and The upside down was destroyed peace had returned to Hawkins.

After living in fear for their lives since Will first disappeared and the reveal of the Upside down it was time for everyone to rest and find a little joy.

Eddie hadn't expected to find both joy and love at the same time but since helping Dustin and his friends defeat Vecna, he wasn't just introduced to monsters and the supernatural.

When he first went on the run and Dustin and his friends found him he had also met Dustin's sister for the first time.

It was crazy that he had known the little shrimp for months but his sister was elusive to him, spending her senior year working with Nancy on the school paper.

Their paths rarely crossed and when they did he didn't realise she was the sister Dustin raved or ranted about depending on how well they got on that day.

So you can imagine when she came along when the gang found him at Reefer Ricks...

Yn had been suspicious of her brother's activity for years. Unlike some people in Hawkins, she didn't have her head in the sand about what had been going on for years now.

Strange shit was afoot. Especially last July with all those deaths at the mall... Will Byer's disappearance in 1983, her brother has nightmares where he screamed out about The Upside down.

Whatever that was she was sure it was connected to what was going on in Hawkins for a while now.

So when she noticed Dustin heading to Family Video with Max she discreetly tagged along.

She was worried as well as wanting to find out what was going on. There had been news of a death at the trailer park, Chrissy Cunningham, Hawkin Highs golden girl and head cheerleader, Max was saying something to Dustin about his friend Eddie.

Dustin would be pissed when he found out she was following him but she had to know that he wasn't walking into danger.

Okay... so it wasn't so discreet to bring a baseball bat with her but she wanted something to protect herself, Dustin and Max with if there was danger.

After Family Video she followed Steve's car to a house in the woods, Reefer Ricks place.

What the hell did he want with Reefer Rick? and why was Steve taking her brother there?

Curious and trying not to get angry she heads around the back of the house and sees the gang heading into the shed.

After about ten minutes of waiting, she grows worried when they don't come out and heads inside.

"Shh, someone's coming!" Robin hisses and it's all quiet. She hesitates knowing Dustin will be super pissed but she has come this far now.

Pushing the door open she storms inside and glares at her brother.

"Dustin Henderson! What in the hell are you doing here?" Dustin gapes.

"What the hell? You followed me?" She ignores his rants.

"With good reason? Do you think I don't notice all the shit going on around Hawkins and not worry about you? Especially since I think you've been involved in most of it. Of course, I was worried"

She looks around the room and zeroes in on Eddie Munson and marches up to him.

"Is this some DnD thing you've created?" he shakes his head.

"Jesus h Christ, I wish it was but no" she frowns.

"You're not just saying that and using those pretty brown eyes of yours as a distraction?" His cheeks turn pink.

"Pretty?" he chokes out and she softens when she notices the slight shake in his hand and how his eyes look haunted, pained.

"What's going on?" Dustin groans.

"Shit again? we just explained this all to Eddie?" she levels him with a glare that makes him swear and he sighs, sits down and begins to talk.

💞💞

Eddie was lost in a daydream by the time she woke up, their first meeting still fresh in her mind.

After she found out about the Upside Down and all that it entailed she was thrown into the world that her brother had known about for years.

Being in the Upside down, seeing Steve dragged underwater by the vines in Watergate, hearing about Vecna, fighting off Demobats and seeing Eddie almost killed by the bats, gave her nightmares at times.

With The Upside Down closed and Vecna defeated peace had descended over Hawkins but the memories still remained.

She knew Eddie struggled at times and she was there for him and him for her whenever needed, she was the one along with Dustin who helped treat Eddie's bites, every day for weeks until they healed.

She held him through every panic attack, every nightmare.

Spent nights wrapped up beside him and they would talk about anything and everything, their hopes, dreams, likes, and dislikes.

They formed a deep, emotional connection as well as an intense attraction that was growing stronger and stronger by the day.

The only thing was telling her brother that she was in love with his idol. Dustin hero worshipped Eddie, especially after the events of the events with the demobats.

Eddies lips press to her shoulder and he wraps his arms around her waist, spooning her.

"Hello little spoon" he jokes and she giggles as her plays with her hair.

"Hi"

"What are you thinking about princess?" she sighs.

"Christmas, also how to tell Dustin we are dating when everyone else knows" he smoothes her hair.

"Yeah, think Robin and Steve had a shock huh?" he looks amused and she grows flustered at what happened the other day.

...💞💞

"Eddie" she giggles and he grins as he lays her on the back seat of her car which str brought in for service to the Munson's auto shop per Eddie's request.

The minute she saw him in that mechanic uniform, his hair in a bun and grease on his cheek she couldn't resist him.

The outfit never failed to make her aroused and she wanted him there and then.

Unfortunately, they didn't realize that Wayne had booked in for Steve to get his car fixed, and in her and Eddie's passionate haze they didn't hear Robin and Steve come in.

"Shit" Eddie's tools clattered to the floor and she shrieks as she caught Steve staring and Robin babbling looking anywhere but at her or Eddie.

"Steve what the fuck dude!" Eddie huffs and Steve looks flustered. Eddie notices her mortification and has her mostly hidden as she was laying down.

Flustered she grabs her dress as Eddie tells Steve and Robin to turn around so she could get dressed.

"Oh my God, you and Eddie! I knew it, I and Nance had a bet going but Steve didn't think you two were seeing each other Nance and I knew the entire time so obviously, we notice more than Steve does" Robin exclaims very fast, so much so that Steve tells her to breathe.

"Does Dustin know? Eddie, dude. The little butthead is gonna freak" Steve whistles.

"No, but we will tell him you just gotta give us a little time," she asks Steve pleadingly and he looks a bit uncomfortable at the idea.

"Okay, soon though, I don't like lying to the little butthead" she and Eddie agreed and now they just had to figure out how to say something.

💞💞

El, Nancy and Max guessed straight away, Lucas catching on quickly after that. Mike was the only one who didn't know along with Dustin and Will so movie night was very awkward.

What she didn't realise at this particular movie night hosted for them by Joyce and Hopper was that Murray who was Joyce and Jim's friend would be there and he had an...apt for weedling out couples so you would say.

His attention had turned to them when Eddie kept making excuses to be next to her, see her for a few minutes to discuss some bullshit reason he made up.

That's when Murray starts laughing gleefully.

"Gosh, you two are adorable aren't you?" she exchanges an alarmed look with Eddie who frowns.

"No idea what you mean dude" Murray bursts out laughing.

"I thought Jonathan and Nancy were obvious and don't let me get started with Jim and Joyce but you two? You couldn't be more obvious"

Dustin looks confused as turns to her and Eddie wearing an expression that plainly says what the hell is he talking about?

Shit! This is not how she wanted to come clean and she glares at Murray who looks like he's thoroughly enjoying himself.

"May I suggest that you two go away and find an empty room and get it over with because you're distracting me from the film"

Steve snorts. "Dude, you have no idea but that's already happened" Eddie's eyes narrow and Steve makes an uh oh face.

"Thanks, man" Dustin jumps up and looks between them stunned and she bites her lip trying to work out what to say.

"Dustin, I'm so sorry I never said anything or Eddie but the truth is I love him" Eddie gently grasps his shoulder.

"I love her too Dude, I hope you're okay with this because you mean a lot to me man, even if you are an annoying little shrimp"

They wait with bated breath but Dustin instead of being mad laughs.

"Dude, I know you're in love with my sister and I know she's in love with you. The two of you were so mind-numbingly obvious" she gapes.

"You little shit! You knew all this time and didn't say anything" he shrugs and settles back down beside Lucas.

"Suzie and I had a bet on how long it would take you two to crack. Just saying" so that was that.

Eddie glares at Dustin then shrugs and kisses her forehead.

"Ahh well, cats out of the bag now princess. At least we can be open about how we feel. I can kiss you whenever I want" a mischievous look crosses his face and she smirks.

Dustin looks afraid. Very afraid.

"Ugh, gross dude. I knew about you two but it doesn't mean I need a visual" Eddie pulls her close to him and grins.

"Oh, we'll see Dustybun" Dustin turns to you and looks offended.

"You told!" he whines and she grins.

"Mmm, he hasn't heard your favourite song has he Dustykins?" Dustin's eyes widen.

Robin snorts. "Oh, dont do the whole Never Ending Story thing again "

Eddie laughs and turns to him.

"Dude really?" Dustin huffs.

"It's Suzie and mines thing okay dude? are you going to gang up on me with my sister. Really??" Eddie throws his arm around Dustin.

"Henderson, I'm going to be around for a long long time"

❤️

*Not me wanting to write a fic set a few years later and Eddie is now Dustin's brother-in-law and the hijinks that would ensue. 🙃😂

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson angst

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omkookie · 9 months

Text

Blank Canvas.

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Yandere Malleus, Broken F!MC, mentions past abuse and character death. 15+

Is it a fleeting dream or a nightmare? You hold the one dearest to you but her face is blank, blank like the dark night sky with no stars in it. An empty canvas with no expression, but potential for you to create one expression? Or as many as you please?

Can you draw on your canvas? turn it into whatever you want, and be pleased with the final result?

He feels like there is nobody like you.

You are his one and only one.

Even if your expression is blank, your face no longer showing emotion after being broken down so many times. Could he dye you back to normal?

You were his pretty little thing, a sweet woman who unfortunately refused to be by his side and used all means necessary to avoid him. You were his property, his doll. His little dress-up thing which he happily came to torture night after night, To the point where you were broken down and desensitized to anything he did. Getting far too used to him and his cruelty, your face remained blank and unfazed whenever he did something. Sure, you’d shed a few tears and cry here and there, but aside from that you were like a soulless being, a body moving around with no purpose in life, and without a drop of ambition.

He sighs, frustration getting to his head as he observes your blank face at the dining table.

It’s been a month, and yet he hasn’t made any progress in turning you back to normal. You used to be so lively and cute, trembling and afraid of him to the point where you’d burst intotears whenever he did as little as touch you.

Why can’t you just go back to being the way you were? What was this nightmare that you were making him live in? Your current state was both a dream, and a haunting nightmare. Your eyes were cold, slowly boring into his as you stared at him.

He started hating it.

A fleeting dream would be one where you finally submit to him the way that you did now, But a nightmare was your current state. Your blank stare, unfazed demeanour, lifelessness. You no longer had a spark to you, and he was getting mad.

Why didn’t you just go back to how you used to be? You were so fun back then.

Even if you always tried to run away from him and you made him angry. You were way better back then, than you were right now.

He glares at you, his eyes reflecting his fury as you remain quiet, not uttering a single word to him.

The atmosphere was heavy, your doll-like painted face looking glum as you reached for one of the peaches on the table.

He drank his wine, making the flame of the candle dim and flicker as he abruptly set his glass down.

He got up, refusing to look at you for even another moment as he made his way out of the dining room and walked back to his chambers.

He’ll find a way to turn you back to normal sooner or later… All he needed to do right now was be patient. Patience is key, a key which he very much needed so that he wouldn’t rip your throat out. You annoyed him far too much, and seeing you first thing in the morning started turning into an unpleasant sight..

As much as he loves you, You are getting boring.

And he doesn’t like boring things. If he can’t paint you back to how you originally were and return the spark back to your lifeless eyes, then he’d have to get rid of you.

As he walks through the hallways, passing maids and servants he considers that.

What if he got rid of you? Could he get rid of you? His heart feels heavy and about to shatter just by thinking of it.

He couldn’t simply throw you away… you meant so much to him.

His twisted head and his lost heart argued, one trying to reason that you had become useless, a broken, lifeless ragdoll. Meanwhile the other tried to remind him of just how much he loves you, what he’d done for you, where he took you.

All of his twisted feelings were being doubted and questioned.

On one hand, if it weren’t for his cruel treatment towards your fragile little female mind and body, You would be normal. On the other, It’s your fault for being so weak and boring him.

You shouldn’t have changed.

This whole situation was your fault, and your fault only.

You seduced him, Tempted him into falling in love with you by wearing those skimpy little skirts that showed your legs, and revealed too much of your body.

You were at fault.

He was innocent.

He simply fell victim to your provocations, and because of you he was miserable right now.

He clenched his fists, his resentment towards you only growing as he picked up the old school-photo of you from NRC.

Back in Night Raven College you were nice, you were fun.

Now, You’re neither of those.

In a fit of anger, he throws your framed picture at the wall, shattering its glass frame into pieces.

He should get rid of you.

It’s the only thing that would make him happy.

Yes.

He can’t paint a blank canvas if the canvas had tears.

His only option was to throw it away, and throw it away he chooses to do.

You still sit in the dining room when he returns, and you only look back at him because you heard him slam the doors.

Your eyes don’t look afraid at his raged state, in fact you almost look pleased with yourself.

He grabs your arm in his tight hold, dragging you toward one of the castle’s highest towers as he contemplates just what to do with you.

He could slit your throat open, throw you off the tower and watch you plunge to your death, or he could burn you in his green flames.

All options appeal to him, as in his crazed state he digs his fingers into your skin, His nails sharp like claws drawing blood from you. His hold on you is relentless as he drags you up the stairs, like a broken toy about to be abandoned in the attic.

When he flings the doors open, your body flinches.

The air in the tower was freezing cold, making you shudder as it chilled you to the bone. For a moment he stops, It’s as if he realizes that you are indeed not a lifeless doll and can still feel things. His mind wavers, and he considers bringing you back down because there was still hope for you to return to normal.

His stubbornness however, quickly pushes that train of thought to the side. He tried everything he could to bring you back to normal. He beat you, burned you, strangled you, and let you be free… Nothing worked.

He pushes you into the dark cold room roughly, making you fall and scrape your knees against the floor's hard stone.

He can’t find it in himself to kill you despite his earlier resolve, so he’ll leave you.

And leave you he does.

He shuts the heavy doors behind him and locks them, leaving you alone in the cold room of the highest tower in the castle to die.

Malleus has no regrets in finally getting rid of you…

Until his crazed mind comes back to his senses and he returns, finding you dead a mere day later.

#twst #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere x reader #malleus draconia #malleus twst #twst malleus #yandere malleus draconia #yandere twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland imagines #malleus twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #cw;yandere❤️

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fiorella-a · 9 months

Text

A secret to be kept

Streamer! Aged up! Future! Kenma x Reader

Concept:

-While playing a horror game full of jumpscares, he blurted out something– and that something was supposed to be a surprise for you.

Info:

-Gn! Reader

-Fluff

-Some cussing here and there

•Kodzuken is online

•Kodzuken's stream will start in 1 minute!

•Kodzuken is now live, click to join!

"Hello Everyone. Good evening, afternoon or morning to each of you here. Today we are playing a game called?"

"The hunt!" You say excitedly, "Me and Kenma are in a call because I'm currently visiting a friend."

Kenma smiles at the camera while nodding at your words.

Chat:

:LMAO THOUGHT U KICKED THEM OUT 😭😠

:Heard that's a scary game

:Start! Start! Start! ✊✊✊

Kenma pauses while reading the chat, "alright Calm down and let's play the game, Y/n do you wanna read the game's information?"

"This game is in beta and is currently being observed for issues or bugs, please leave your reviews on what should be changed or whatnot.

Warning: this game will contain jumpscares out of nowhere. For those with weak hearts, please exit the game immediately.

You and your friends (recommended to play in multiplayer) decided to go camping out in Icho Woods, that's famous for it's haunted stories. Finding out there is no such thing as Icho Woods, you are now stuck in the middle of nowhere and desperately surviving. But hey! At least the haunted stories are true, though.

The game is fictional, anything that references in real life is pure coincedence."

After reading, you breathe in and out, "that was breathtaking. Now let's go on, shall we?"

Kenma nods his head before replying to you, "let's go."

Chat

:GOODLUCK YA'LL

:Hi! One of the developers here, hope you enjoy it :)

:NO WAY

:GET THE SCREENSHOTS YA'LL

:Blessing to be in this stream fr 😩

:(2)

"Okayyy we spawned in" you say in a surprised tone

"One of the creators of the game is here. I recommend adding a short cutscene of how we got here." Kenma looks at the camera and smiles politely.

Chat:

:The smile‼️‼️

:We're working on it! We're also planning on adding more lives for the players.

:AYO THE DEVELOPERS ARE SO NICE

A crawl was heard along with the sound of cracking bones. "What the hell was that? If i could be an emoji, it'd be the crying one" You say as you laugh nervously

Kenma chuckles at you, "No need to be af– THE FUCK?" Kenma swears as he gets killed.

Chat:

:We're working on that bug! If you stay at the spawn too long it'll kill you, promise we're working on it.

:Developers sweating nervously 💀

:LMAO STOP IT 😭

"Okay, I got killed too, yay!" You say still clearly nervous.

"Alright, follow me, love. I see a shed over there" Kenma says as he goes in first before your character follows along.

"We won't get killed here, right?" Kenma says jokingly

Chat:

:Nope! ☺️

:IMAGINE IF THE ROOF BREAKS AND THEY DIE

Kenma smiles at the chats.

"There's a battery here, i think it's for a light? A car? I'm not sure." You say to Kenma and at the chat.

"Oh, is that all?" "Yeah" "Alright, let's go out."

As Kenma opens the door at the shed, the monster was lurking around and spotted them. Giving them a thrill-chase. The monster climbs onto a tree before finally ending them.

"FUCK WILL YOU MARRY ME"

"HUH?!"

Chat:

:AYO KENMA?

:As developers, we didn't expect to help in a marriage.

:BRO IS DOWN BAD

:📷📸

Kenma coughs as he realizes what he said "Let's exit the game."

"Sure, sure." You agreed and followed along with him.

Once you both left the game, Kenma spoke again "Once you get home from your trip, we can talk about what I said" He says as he turns off his camera at the stream.

"Alrighty, Love."

"I'll end the stream now, don't worry, we'll leave in a review afterwards. Goodbye, chat"

"Babye, everyone!" You say with excitement.

Chat:

:*Gets onto knees* will u marry me bb? LMAO

:STOP MAKING FUN OF HIM, HE'S CLEARLY FLUSTERED YA'LL

:Bye for the two of you <33

:Looking forward to the reviews! Thank you and enjoy your happy life ❤️

:BYE BYE KENMA & BYEBYE Y/N!

•Stream ended 13 seconds ago

•Kenma is offline

234 notes · View notes

ficnation · 2 months

Text

Chapter 8: Devour

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,3k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, canon divergence A/n: Here we go! A part of Su-zakana and we're slowly diving into our connection with Hannibal (unedited)

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

You return home with Will that night after a long day of investigating the crime scene, only to find the house empty and the shadows of night already filling the rooms. The air carries a stillness, as if the house is holding its breath in anticipation of something—perhaps in preparation for what comes next.

The dogs are sleeping peacefully by the fire, their heads lifting with perked-up ears as they sense an intruder. But once they notice their owners, they just wag their tails and shortly after, return to sleep, reassured by your presence.

“Let’s talk then,” Will says, his voice quiet yet determined as he breaks the silence that hangs heavy in the air.

Your heart skips a beat at his words, a flutter of anticipation mingled with apprehension. This is the moment you’ve both been avoiding yet yearning for—the inevitable confrontation. With a steadying breath, you gather your courage, readying yourself.

You step further into the house, shedding your coat and snowy boots, feeling the weight of the day lift as you leave the wintry chill behind.

“I thought the only thing that could haunt my dreams is my sister’s death,” you admit, your voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability as you confront the unsettling thoughts that have been plaguing you.

“Is it your father?” Will asks, his tone gentle yet probing.

“He was an asshole,” you reply bluntly, a trace of bitterness creeping into your voice as you recall the painful memories associated with that poor excuse of a man.

“I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be in my nightmares. I don’t even think about him, Will,” you insist, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, knowing all too well that it’s a lie. The weight of unspoken truths hangs heavy in the air between you both. You can’t ever tell him the truth.

A flash of understanding crosses Will’s face as he takes in your words. Unlike most people, he can see through your denial, knowing that there’s more to your feelings than you’re letting on.

He studies your expression for a moment in consideration before speaking again, his tone laced with tenderness. “You do think about him, don’t you?” he asks quietly, his eyes searching yours for confirmation.

You turn around instantly to avoid his gaze, walking over to the bed and plopping down on it with a heavy sigh, the weight of those words bearing down on you like a crushing burden. You change the course of the conversation. “It’s… It’s Hannibal.”

“He’s in your nightmares?”

“He never leaves them,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, the truth hanging heavy in the air between you and Will. The mere thought of Hannibal’s presence infiltrating your dreams sends a shiver down your spine, reminding you of the insidious grip he still holds on your psyche. “He appears as this black creature, its eyes so black they resemble holes, a giant set of antlers growing out of its skull. In one of them, it impaled my hands on them.”

There’s a spark of recognition in Will’s eyes. He used to have them too, but they subsided once you came back. He knows this monster very well; it’s engraved in his memory. The shadow of Hannibal Lecter looms large over both of your lives, leaving an indelible mark that cannot be easily erased.

“Left me hanging there, face to face with this thing. Blood running down my arms...” You let out a trembly sigh. “The worst part is, there’s no pain. No distraction. It’s just me and him.”

He knows full well what it’s like to have Hannibal’s monstrous presence seep its way into your nightmares, haunting your sleep with his malevolent presence.

“You’re trapped,” he observes softly, his tone touched with empathy, “with him.”

Will joins you on the bed with a heavy sigh. He reaches out to offer you his hand, the gesture filled with an underlying sentiment of comfort and reassurance. His hands are cold—a grounding kind of chilliness.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me into anything, Will. We’re in this together,” you assure him, your voice steady despite the lingering unease in your heart. “And we’ll find a way to face it together.”

“It’s not good for you. I see it so clearly.”

You see it too, more than clearly. Hannibal Lecter should never have entered your life, and you should never have entered his.

You’re not sure if it’s something particular he did, but it’s not just your nightmares he occupies—it’s your thoughts and fantasies. It fills your mind with immeasurable guilt because how could you do that to Will? How could you think about someone other than him like that?

From the moment you met Will Graham, you knew he was your everything. No man has ever come close to filling the void in your soul that he filled. No man has ever engraved himself in your memory like Will did. He was truly your everything. And now? Hannibal Lecter occupies your thoughts just as much as Will does—it’s unnerving.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, head bowed in defeat, so you reach out and raise it with your fingers gently gripping his chin.

“We keep moving forward, Will,” you say softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek as light as a butterfly’s touch. “If you want to help all those people then let him devour us. Let him pray we’re not poisonous.”

“Literally?”

“Not literally, you fool.”

A few days later, you find yourself in front of Hannibal Lecter’s office, patiently waiting for his patient to emerge. You hadn’t expected to end up here at all, nor did you anticipate being the one to seek him out. How the tables have turned...

The young woman exits the room just twenty minutes later. She doesn’t rush, taking her sweet time to put her coat on and greet you with a “good evening” that sounds just a tiny bit snobbish. You wish you had you had the same luxury of time to savor such small moments.

The sound of your knuckles rapping against the wooden door echoes through the corridor. You wait patiently, anticipation stirring within you as you wonder how Hannibal will receive your unexpected visit.

A faint “come in” follows from within.

You push open the door, stepping into Hannibal Lecter’s office with a mixture of apprehension and determination. The room is bathed in soft lamplight, casting long shadows across the elegant furnishings. Hannibal sits behind his desk, his posture relaxed yet attentive as he regards you with a curious gaze.

“Mrs. Graham, I didn’t expect you,” Hannibal’s voice is smooth and composed, betraying little of his inner thoughts. You offer a polite smile, though inside, your nerves are coiled tight.

“I didn’t expect to end up here today either,” you admit. It’s the truth. You don’t have any idea why you’re here.

“Perhaps you’re here to talk about Will?” Hannibal suggests, his tone measured and probing, yet not demanding. He appears content merely with your presence.

“I’m really not sure,” you confess with a quiet chuckle, the sound barely audible in the air between you.

“Would you like to take a seat?”

“I’d like that,” you respond a bit too quickly, mentally cursing yourself for the slight hint of eagerness in your voice. “If you don’t have another patient waiting, of course.”

“I’m done for the day,” he says with a smile that tells you he definitely noticed your tone. That’s not good. Or maybe it is?

You take a seat in one of the armchairs, crossing your legs and looking at him expectantly. With a deep breath, you let your shoulders relax slightly. Hannibal takes the other armchair and mirrors your posture, crossing his legs and folding his hands atop them in a manner that echoes your own.

“Something tells me you’re not here because of Will.”

“You might be right about that.”

“Then why are you here, Mrs. Graham?” Hannibal inquires, his tone soft but curious, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that makes you feel like he’s peeling back layers of your psyche yet again. “Because of our unfinished conversation, perhaps?”

“Do you consider it unfinished?” You tilt your head slightly, a ghost of a smile playing over your lips.

“Indeed,” Hannibal responds, his own lips curving into a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Our last discussion left many avenues unexplored, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I believe the last thing I asked about was the purpose of your previous visit,” you say, your tone measured and composed.

“I recall that,” Hannibal acknowledges with a nod. “A valid inquiry, indeed.”

You nod your head and look at him expectantly, feeling a quiet buzzing in the back of your head. The black creature stands behind Hannibal, expressionless and looming like a silent sentinel. You discreetly rub your eyes with your fingers, not expecting it to help, but to your surprise, it does. The monster is gone, leaving not even a shadow after its disappearance.

“Would you like me to be perfectly honest with you?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, weighing your words carefully before responding. “Yes, please,” you reply, meeting Hannibal’s gaze with unwavering determination. You brace yourself for whatever truth he’s about to reveal.

“I’ve been Will’s therapist for a while,” he begins, his hands finding their rightful place on the armrests. You can’t help but notice how majestic he looks in his domain. “You seem to be a person of significant importance in his life. Yet, I haven’t heard much about you. Not until recently, and even now, Will seems to be avoiding discussing your role in his life.”

Hannibal meets your gaze head-on, boring into your soul. His stare alone makes you want to tell him everything—things he’s not supposed to know and things he has no right to know.

You remember the words you said to Will. They echo in your head, bouncing off the walls of your skull. Let him devour us. Let him pray we’re not poisonous. They dissipate as you draw in a deep breath and release it slowly.

“Our paths to this moment haven’t exactly been peaceful,” you admit, idly playing with the edge of your skirt—not out of nerves, but to subtly direct Hannibal’s attention there.

The tactic proves effective as his gaze follows the movement, tracing down the length of your crossed legs to the black heels you wore during the dinner at his place. You’re almost certain it triggers memories of that day—the elegant green dress, the atmosphere thick with tension and intrigue.

You hold his gaze steadily, letting the silence stretch between you as you wait for him to respond. There’s a tension in the air, a palpable energy that crackles with anticipation.

Hannibal’s lips curve into a faint smile, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he meets your gaze once more. “Ah, the witness protection program,” he muses, his tone laced with intrigue. “It certainly has a way of reshaping one’s path, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does,” you agree, a hint of mystery in your tone. “You might be surprised to find out just how much.”

Hannibal’s smile widens slightly. “Not a lot of things surprise me anymore, Mrs. Graham.”

You lean just a little bit closer in the armchair, your eyes narrowing slightly as you focus on Hannibal. There’s a sense of anticipation in the air, as if you’re both teetering on the edge of a revelation.

“I see what Will sees in you,” he says, his tone soft yet filled with depth, as if acknowledging a truth that transcends mere observation.

Hannibal’s gaze holds yours, his expression unreadable yet strangely intense. It’s as if he’s peering into the depths of your soul, searching for something that even you might not fully understand.

“Do you, Doctor Lecter?”

“Indeed, Mrs. Graham,” he replies, unwavering.

The air between you crackles with tension, igniting sparks that dance between the two of you. Despite being different people, there’s an undeniable similarity that hangs between you, palpable even without knowing him intimately.

“Would you like to tell me more about your time in witness protection?”

Hannibal’s question catches you off guard. You blink rapidly, surprised by his inquiry. You had hoped he would honor the unspoken promise he made to Will, naively believing he wouldn’t pry into the matter. Wrong.

“It’s been peaceful. Tough to leave everything and everyone behind, but not working in the FBI has been a blessing,” you respond, offering a brief summary of your experience.

“But now you’re back in the field, why?”

“Curiosity, perhaps. A desire to be part of something meaningful again,” you reply, keeping your answer vague yet suggestive.

Hannibal shakes his head with a quiet chuckle. “You’re quite good at deception, aren’t you?”

Your mouth quirks up in amusement that he figured you out so easily. For some reason, it doesn’t make you sweat as it should. If he could uncover your lie that quickly, it meant he could unearth much more with just as much ease. It definitely should make you nervous.

“That’s what working in the BAU does to you,” you reply with a wry smile, hoping to brush off any further questions. “Makes lying your second nature.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, my dear.”

My dear—the nickname reverbarates in your mind, melting your brain with it’s sweet tone. I shouldn’t be here. Your cheeks flush with warmth, a sensation you’re not particularly fond of. You’re no longer a young schoolgirl harboring a crush on her professor. You shouldn’t feel like this.

Hannibal lets his eyes stray toward the elegant watch on his wrist, his lips pressing into a thin line. Hannibal sighs deeply, his gaze filled with longing as it returns to your face. Such a beautiful creature, he muses silently.

“I’m afraid our meeting must come to an end sooner than I’d like,” Hannibal explains, a regretful tone in his voice. “Time seems to slip away all too quickly in our conversations.”

Thank heavens.

“I understand,” you reply, masking a pinch of disappointment that creeps into your heart. “Thank you for your time, Doctor Lecter.”

“It’s Hannibal,” he reminds you with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Hannibal,” you murmur his name, tasting it on your tongue yet again as you stand up, smoothing out your skirt. “We’ll meet again very soon.”

Knocking on the door of the stranger’s shed elicits a cacophony of barks and screeches from the animals inside, their alarm evident. You lock eyes with Will inquisitively. You were well-acquainted with the case of Sarah Craber’s murder and the circumstances surrounding the discovery of her body. It was poetic. Not beautiful, but undeniably poetic.

When no one appears in the doorway, you let yourself in reluctantly. You follow Jack and Will inside, making a point to be the last one to enter. It generally makes you appear less threatening.

“Scare them when ya knock like that,” the manly voice is uninvating, perhaps carrying a hint of shyness.

“Apologies for the disturbance,” you offer with a polite nod, acknowledging the man’s comment and the subtle hint of shyness in his voice.

Jack simply shakes his head, still not accustomed to your courteous approach with suspects and witnesses. He’s always leaned towards a more direct method, but he couldn’t deny the effectiveness of your approach, which often yielded the best results.

“Peter Bernardone?” Jack questions.

The man in question reacts suspiciously, awkwardly turning his back toward your little group, trying to avoid your eyes.

“Sir?” Jack tries again, while you and Will exchange uncertain glances, unsure of how to react. “You don’t seem to be curious about who we are.”

“Who are you?” he mutters, barely audible. It’s evident that the question is forced out of him—an awkward effort not to appear suspicious.

“I’m Agent Jack Crawford with the FBI. This is Will Graham and Agent Avant,” he introduces you to the man. You walk around the small building, observing the various animals in cages. The place feels familiar, although you’re certain you’ve never been here before. Perhaps it’s these creatures that remind you of Will’s habit of collecting stray dogs.

“We’re here to ask you some questions about someone you may have had contact with when you worked at the Blackbriar Stables. A woman named Sarah Craber. Her body was recently found… in unusual circumstances.”

“I know,” Peter Bernardone interjects, sounding just a little guilty. “I know. I heard.”

You lean over one of the cages, locking eyes with a white rabbit. Its red eye resembles a small bead, peering straight at you yet seeming to look right through you at the same time. It’s beautiful yet unsettling. You’re glad Will takes in dogs and not bunnies.

“There was a bird in her chest. Did you hear about that?” Will looks around the shed before his gaze finds you, a small quirk of his mouth appearing when he notices you leaning over one of the cages, observing the little creature.

“Was the bird alive?” the man questions, more concerned about the animal than about the dead woman.

This question seems to catch all of your attention, as you look at Bernardone, surprised and intrigued, as do Jack and Will. Crawford wears a smugness in his expression that seems to say, “I told you so.”

“Yes.”

The man staggers, “Who— who— who taking care of the bird?”

You feel a pang of sympathy for him, for reasons you can’t quite articulate. You probably shouldn’t, but you can’t help it. You can’t fathom him strangling an innocent girl to death. Yet, the world is cruel and deceptive, and even the most innocent-looking people can be capable of terrible things. People are flawed, and God knows that His creations can act worse than animals at times.

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Bernardone. We wouldn’t leave it to die,” you reassure him, gently inserting your finger between the metal rods of the cage to stroke the soft, white fur of the animal. You smile when it doesn’t shy away.

The man’s shoulders drop a little in relief. A good sign.

“How well did you know Sarah Craber?” Jack questions.

“I didn’t know her,” Peter shakes his head, still avoiding eye contact with any of you.

Jack takes a step closer, and Peter freezes, looking like a deer caught in headlights, unsure where to direct his gaze or where to move.

“Would you mind looking at a photograph?” your boss persists.

“I—” Peter stammers once more, his voice barely above a mumble. “I know who she is. I didn’t— I didn’t know her.”

Will and Jack exchange a silent glance, piquing your interest more than the rabbit, so you decide to leave it alone. You step a little closer, joining Will by his side. His hand reaches for yours, clad in warm gloves.

“Just… take a look to be sure.” Jack reaches out his hand, holding the photograph out toward Peter.

It takes a moment before he finally extends his hand for the photo, his head turned in the other direction.

“I feel bad for him,” you whisper to Will, low enough not to be heard by the two other men.

“I do too,” Will responds softly, his voice carrying a hint of empathy as he grips your fingers just a little tighter.

Peter glances at the picture of Sarah Craber for a fleeting moment, his brain seemingly struggling to process the image before he returns it with an outstretched hand, his head once again turned away, eyes closed shut.

Will’s eyes dart between Jack and Peter, his gaze shifting rapidly as he processes the interaction, piecing together the puzzle before him. “Did you get your head injury when you were working at the stables, Peter?”

The man in question point his finger at his head. “Yeah, okay. Kicked by a horse. Boom.”

“That’s an atypical motor response,” Will concludes, taking a step closer. “Peter’s abilities to look and touch can only happen as separate events.”

It all makes sense now.

“It’s aggravated by stress, right?”

“Are you feeling stressed, Mr. Bernardone?” you inquire in a gentle tone.

“Yeah, I’m worried about the bird.”

“Would you like us to bring it to you?”

The man doesn’t meet your gaze, his head bowed and his eyes blinking rapidly. He’s clearly overwhelmed by the situation, with too many questions and unfamiliar faces and voices.

“Yes. Worried about the bird. I’m sad for her death, sad for the horse, but I…” He looks at Will then at you. “I can only help the bird.”

As you exit the building, you can’t help but hope for the chance to visit again, under much kinder circumstances. You’re sure Peter Bernardone isn’t the killer, and Will seems to share your conclusion.

“I don’t know if he’s the killer, Jack,” he says, uncertainty shading his tone. He exhales, the breath visible in the cold air as a puff of fog. “If he is, he never meant to be. And if he isn’t, he knows who is.”

“He’s not the killer,” you affirm, your voice carrying a tone of conviction stronger than Will’s.

You don’t say anything else, tucking your hands into the pockets of your black coat as you stride toward Jack’s car, a quiet whistle escaping your lips. The icy air nips at your cheeks and nose. God, I wish I were sunbathing in the Bahamas.

The Chinese food lacks its usual flavor, failing to satisfy your appetite as it typically does. Seated cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, you absentmindedly poke at your pasta with chopsticks, lacking the usual enthusiasm for your meal.

“What’s wrong?” Will asks, his posture relaxed as he sits slouched in the armchair nearby, clearly not sharing your lack of enthusiasm.

You sigh deeply, punctuating your discontent with the last stab of the chopsticks into the takeout box before rising to your feet. With a resigned shrug, you leave it perched on the windowsill behind Will’s armchair, a silent testament to your waning appetite. You return to your previously occupied spot on the carpet, folding your legs beneath you as you settle back down, the fire casting a warm glow over the room.

“Jack’s got me looking at dead bodies again. Makes me wanna throw up,” you admit, the words carrying a hint of frustration and discomfort.

Will stops his movements, chopsticks halfway in the air, his gaze shifting from the food to you.

“You were supposed to work with the witnesses and suspects only,” he says, his tone tinged with more than annoyance as he lets the food fall back into the small box and leaves it on the windowsill next to yours.

“I thought so too. Turns out Jack doesn’t really keep his promises.”

“That’s not okay.”

“It’s not,” you agree, glancing at him in your peripheral vision.

The silence stretches between the two of you as you both gaze into the dancing flames of the fire. The crackling of the fire fills the room, punctuating the quiet tension that hangs in the air. Each flicker of the flames casts fleeting shadows across the walls, adding to the somber atmosphere. Despite the warmth emanating from the hearth, a chill seems to settle in the room, matching the unease that lingers between you and Will.

“I went to see Hannibal,” you confess, your voice breaking the silence with an impulsive urgency.

Will’s expression shifts subtly, a mix of surprise and curiosity flashing across his features before he masks it with a neutral facade. “Why?” he asks, his tone carefully measured.

“I don’t know.”

“Curiosity?”

“Might be.”

Will nods slowly, his eyes studying you intently. “What did you two talk about?”

As you sit in the flickering glow of the fire, contemplating your words, Will’s attention shifts fully to you, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. He leans forward slightly, waiting for you to continue, his eyes searching your face for even a little hint.

“You and me, our paths.”

Will nods slowly, his gaze still fixed on you, waiting for you to elaborate. The weight of his silent anticipation hangs heavy in the air, urging you to delve deeper into your thoughts.

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before continuing. “Our paths, they seem to keep intersecting, don’t they? Whether by fate or some other force, we’re constantly drawn together, tangled in each other’s lives.” You pause, searching for the right words to convey the complexity of your connection with Will. “It’s like we’re two parallel lines that can never quite stay apart, no matter how much we try.”

“We’re intertwined in ways that neither of us fully understands,” you continue, your voice carrying a mixture of resignation and longing. “And sometimes, I wonder if that’s a good thing or a curse. But regardless, here we are, facing whatever comes our way together.”

The man nods silently, his expression reflecting surprise at your mention of fate. It’s been some time since you broached the topic, and he had assumed you no longer believed in its influence. Yet, as he considers your words, he realizes he’s pondered the same question himself on numerous occasions.

A blessing or a curse. Will is not offended in the slightest. You clashed on more than one occasion, burning down anything that crossed you paths at the wrong time. Yet, you always end up together, as if some unseen force continually draws you back into each other’s orbit.

You offer a small smile in response to his silent acknowledgment, realizing that perhaps there’s more to your connection than mere coincidence or happenstance. Despite the uncertainties and complexities of your relationship, there’s a shared understanding that binds you together, transcending the barriers of logic and reason.

“I love you, Will. With all my heart.”

“Well… I’m sure you can’t love me more than I love you. I’ve waited for you my whole life.”

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#hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x will graham #will graham x hannibal lecter #will graham #murder husbands #eat your heart out #hannigram #hannibal lecter #hannigram x reader #jack crawford #peter bernardone

115 notes · View notes

rafesapologist · 16 days

Text

the setback ─ rafe cameron; part seven

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: angst, mentions of alcohol, drugs, swearing

You spotted Sarah through the crowd of people, carelessly dancing to the music. Still taken aback by the encounter with Rafe at the bar, a disconnected look lingered on your face as you approached her.

"Where have you been?" she called to you over the music, still swaying as she spoke, observing the disconnected look on your face.

Navigating through the lively crowd, the pulsating beat of the music reverberating through the air, you found Sarah. There she was, carefree and lost in the rhythm, her movements fluid and uninhibited. Yet, despite the infectious energy surrounding you, you couldn't shake off the unsettling encounter with Rafe at the bar. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, and your expression must have betrayed the turmoil within.

For a moment, you faltered, unsure how to respond. How could you possibly explain the storm raging inside you while the world around you continued to spin with carefree abandon? But with Sarah's unwavering gaze fixed upon you, you knew you couldn't evade her question.

"Just… needed some air," you finally managed, your voice barely audible over the music. It was a feeble attempt at deflecting her concern, but Sarah was not one to be easily fooled.

"Are you sure? You look like you've seen a ghost!" she yelled over the music again. Her words cut through the noise, and you couldn't help but offer a weak smile at her attempt to lighten the mood. But behind the facade, the weight of the encounter with Rafe still lingered, casting a shadow over the vibrant atmosphere of the party.

"I'm fine, really," you reassured her, though the words felt hollow even to your own ears. It was a reflexive response, masking the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. But Sarah knew you well enough to see through the facade, and her concerned expression told you that your attempt at reassurance hadn't succeeded.

"Well whatever it is, forget about it for tonight, cause we're here to have fun!" Sarah's voice carried with it an infectious spirit, a melody of determination and joy. Her words ignited a spark within you, urging you to cast aside the heavy cloak of worry and embrace the fleeting magic of the moment. With a nod, you surrendered to the rhythm of the night, allowing yourself to be swept away in the whirlwind of euphoria.

Underneath the canopy of pulsating lights, amidst the throngs of revelers lost in their own reverie, you and Sarah forged a sanctuary of laughter and freedom. With each step on the dance floor, you shed the weight of the past, embracing the present with unbridled passion.

As you began to let loose, laughter bubbled up from deep within, mingling with the pulsating rhythm of the music as you danced alongside Sarah. It was a moment of liberation, a much-needed respite from the weight of what had just occurred.

Yet, amidst the euphoria, a nagging thought lingered in the back of your mind. Was Rafe still lurking somewhere in the shadows of the party, his presence a haunting specter in the midst of revelry? Or had he vanished into the night following your intense encounter?

As the intoxicating haze of the evening wrapped around you like a warm embrace, you found yourself scanning the crowd, searching for any trace of him. Each face blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors and emotions, but there was no sign of Rafe. Still, the gnawing uncertainty persisted, a silent whisper in the cacophony of sound.

Sarah's laughter broke through your reverie, her voice cutting through the noise like a beacon of light in the darkness. "Looking for someone?" she teased, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "JJ isn't here, you know!"

Her words snapped you back to the present, a playful reminder that perhaps you were letting your imagination run wild in the midst of the festivities. With a sheepish grin, you shook off the lingering unease, allowing yourself to be swept away once more by the infectious energy of the night.

As the energy levels surged and the pulsating rhythm of the music filled the air, an irresistible urge to elevate the night to new heights coursed through you. With a mischievous grin spreading across your face, you leaned in closer to Sarah, the vibrant lights casting playful shadows across your features.

"I want to make this night more interesting," you declared, your voice laced with excitement and anticipation. There was a spark in your eyes, a glimmer of daring as you shared your impulsive desire with your friend.

Sarah's own eyes lit up with intrigue, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Oh, do tell," she teased, her curiosity piqued by your bold declaration.

"Just wait and see," you smirked, the glint of anticipation shimmering in your eyes as you took one last swig of your drink, the liquid burning down your throat like a promise of excitement. With a flick of your wrist, you tossed the empty glass away, its clatter drowned out by the pulsating beat of the music.

Confidence radiated from every step as you strode purposefully toward the group of boys huddled around a table in the dimly lit living room. Your heart thrummed with exhilaration, the thrill of the unknown coursing through your veins like wildfire.

"Any room for one more?" you called out with a playful smile, your hands finding their place on your hips as you towered above them, a vision of self-assuredness and charm. The air crackled with anticipation as you awaited their response, ready to plunge headfirst into the whirlwind of excitement that awaited.

"Of course," one of the boys smirked, his eyes alight with mischief as he scooted over to make room for you, patting the spot next to him with a gesture of invitation. "Come join us."

His words were laced with a hint of intrigue, the promise of adventure hanging thick in the air as you settled in beside him. The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation, a shared sense of excitement binding you together in the pulsating energy of the room.

With a smile playing at your lips, you accepted their invitation, immersing yourself in the lively conversation and laughter that danced around the table. In that moment, surrounded by newfound friends and the electric thrum of the night, you felt alive, ready to embrace whatever the evening had in store.

Your gaze fixed on the table before you, transfixed by the clandestine ritual unfolding in front of your eyes. With a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, you watched as one of them meticulously lined up a powdery substance, its pristine whiteness stark against the dark surface.

Each movement was deliberate, almost reverent, as they leaned forward and methodically sniffed each line, their actions a silent testament to the allure of the forbidden. The air crackled with an electric tension, a palpable sense of anticipation hanging heavy in the room.

Intrigued yet wary, you found yourself drawn deeper into the scene unfolding before you, your senses heightened by the heady cocktail of excitement and apprehension. It was a glimpse into a world shrouded in mystery, a world where boundaries blurred and inhibitions faded away with each intoxicating breath.

As the powder vanished into thin air, leaving behind only traces of its presence, you felt a surge of adrenaline course through your veins. In that moment, you stood at the precipice of temptation, teetering on the edge between curiosity and caution, unsure of which path to follow.

Your mouth seemed to dry up as an urge stirred within you, a primal desire gnawing at your insides as you watched the drug-induced spectacle unfold before you. Like a hawk, you scrutinized every movement, every fleeting gesture, drawn in by the allure of the forbidden.

"You got any more of that?" The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them, a reckless impulse driving you to the brink of temptation. The boy's head snapped up, his eyes widening in disbelief as he registered your request.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant throb of the music pulsating through the room. The weight of his gaze bore down on you, a silent interrogation that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

But as the seconds stretched into eternity, a knowing smile spread across the boy's lips, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. With a casual shrug, he reached into his pocket, producing a small baggie filled with the same powdery substance that had captivated your attention moments before.

"Careful what you wish for," he chuckled, his voice a low whisper lost in the chaos of the room. And as he handed you the baggie, a surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, mingling with the heady thrill of anticipation.

In that fleeting moment, you stood at the crossroads of temptation and consequence, the weight of your decision hanging heavy in the air. But as you reached out to accept the offering, a sense of exhilaration swept over you, a silent vow to embrace the unknown and seize the night with reckless abandon.

As you emptied the substance onto the table before you, a hushed reverence settled over the room, punctuated only by the rhythmic thumping of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. Each grain of powder glistened under the dim glow of the lights, a mesmerizing tableau that held you captive in its spell.

Awe and disbelief mingled within you as you stared down at the tableau of temptation spread out before you. It was a moment suspended in time, a delicate balance between curiosity and apprehension, as you grappled with the gravity of what you were about to do.

Drawing in a deep breath, you steadied yourself, your hands trembling ever so slightly as you meticulously lined up the white powder before you. Each movement was deliberate, a silent prayer whispered into the void as you prepared to cross the threshold into the unknown.

In that fleeting moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only you and the intoxicating promise of what lay before you. With a sense of determination coursing through your veins, you leaned forward, your breath catching in your throat as you hovered over the powder, poised to take the plunge into uncharted territory.

Suddenly, just as you were about to succumb to the allure of the substance before you, a strong grip wrapped around your wrist, yanking you away from the couch with unexpected force. Startled, you widened your eyes in shock, trying to discern who or what was pulling you away from the intoxicating temptation.

As you struggled to regain your bearings, your gaze locked onto the familiar figure of Rafe standing before you, his expression unreadable yet commanding. The rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins mingled with a sense of apprehension as you braced yourself for what was to come.

"We're leaving," his voice cut through the chaos of the room, each word carrying an unspoken weight that left no room for argument. There was a steely resolve in his tone, a silent insistence that brooked no defiance.

"Rafe, what are you doing? Let go!" you protested, trying to free your wrist from his firm grip, but his hold remained unyielding, his gaze piercing through you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"What the fuck do you think you were doing back there?" His voice was low and gravelly, laced with a potent mixture of anger and concern. There was a fire in his eyes, a flicker of something dark and dangerous simmering beneath the surface as he confronted you.

Caught off guard by his sudden aggression, you faltered for a moment, scrambling to find the right words to defend yourself. But as you met his unwavering gaze, you knew there was no escaping the weight of his scrutiny.

"I-I was just…" Your voice trailed off, the words catching in your throat as you struggled to articulate the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. Guilt and shame mingled with defiance, a tumultuous storm raging beneath the surface as you faced Rafe's unwavering scrutiny.

"You were just what? About to do coke?" Rafe's voice was sharp, his eyes drilling into yours with an intensity that made your insides churn with guilt and shame. His words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the reckless path you had been teetering on.

Your throat felt dry as you struggled to find the right words, a sense of unease knotting in the pit of your stomach. The truth hung between you like a heavy shroud, impossible to deny or evade.

"I... I don't know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a feeble attempt to deflect the weight of his accusation, but the truth lingered in the air, a bitter taste of regret on your tongue.

As the silence stretched between you, a sense of resignation settled over you like a heavy blanket. There was no escaping the consequences of your actions, no way to undo the choices that had led you to this moment.

With a heavy sigh, you met Rafe's unwavering gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. In that moment, you knew that his concern was born out of love, a desire to protect you from the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

"Over my dead body am I gonna sit there and let you fucking do coke," Rafe's voice was firm, his gaze unwavering as he confronted you with a steely determination.

Your heart sank at his words, the weight of his disapproval bearing down on you like a heavy burden. It was a stark reminder of the line you had crossed, the recklessness of your actions laid bare before you.

"But you do it, Rafe," you countered, your voice laced with frustration and accusation. It was a bitter truth that hung between you, a painful reminder of the hypocrisy that tainted your relationship.

For a moment, silence engulfed you both, the air heavy with unspoken tension. In the quietude, the truth of your words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the facade of righteousness Rafe had projected. But as you met his gaze, you saw something flicker behind his eyes, a shadow of vulnerability that belied his outward stoicism. In that moment, you realized that beneath the surface, Rafe was grappling with his own demons, struggling to reconcile the contradictions within himself.

"That doesn't make it okay, Y/N." Rafe's voice was tinged with disappointment, his words a sobering reminder of the gravity of the situation.

You flinched at the weight of his admonishment, the truth of his words cutting through the haze of rationalization that had clouded your judgment. It was a harsh reality check, a stark contrast to the excuses you had been clinging to.

"Why do you care what I do, Rafe?" you questioned, your voice tinged with frustration and confusion. It was a question that had been gnawing at the edges of your mind, a desperate plea for clarity amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions.

Rafe's expression softened, a flicker of understanding crossing his features as he met your gaze. "Because I care about you, Y/N," he admitted, his voice gentle yet firm. "I can't watch you do this to yourself."

His words struck a chord deep within you, resonating with a truth you had been reluctant to acknowledge. It was a sobering reminder of the depth of his concern, a testament to the strength of the bond that bound you together.

"I-I'm fine, Rafe," you slurred, your words muddled by the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins. Your movements were unsteady, your balance precarious as you stumbled forward, but Rafe's steady hand reached out, catching you before you could fall.

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, a fleeting moment of reassurance amidst the haze of confusion that clouded your mind. In that instant, you felt a surge of gratitude wash over you, knowing that despite your protests, Rafe was there to support you, to keep you safe from harm.

But even as you leaned into his embrace, a part of you couldn't shake the nagging feeling of guilt that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness. You knew that you had crossed a line, that your actions had consequences far beyond what you could comprehend in your current state.

"But Sarah—" you began, your words slurred and hesitant, your mind still clouded by the effects of the alcohol.

"I'll tell her I took you home because I ran into you at the party and saw you getting sick. Don't worry about it," Rafe interjected, his voice calm yet resolute. There was a reassuring warmth in his tone, a silent promise to shoulder the burden of your indiscretions.

Despite the fog of confusion that enveloped your thoughts, a sense of relief washed over you at Rafe's words. It was a weight lifted from your shoulders, a comforting reassurance that you wouldn't have to face the consequences of your actions alone.

With a nod of reluctant gratitude, you allowed yourself to be led away from the chaos of the party, Rafe's steady presence a beacon of stability in the midst of uncertainty. And as you slipped into the cool night air, a sense of peace settled over you, knowing that despite the mistakes you had made, you were under Rafe's protection.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You found yourself jolting awake to a hushed voice urging you to wake up, followed by a gentle shoulder shake. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, your eyes flew open, taking in the dimly lit interior of Rafe's truck. The familiar scent of leather and cologne enveloped you, a comforting reminder of the safety and familiarity of your surroundings.

"Where are we?" you murmured, your voice still thick with drowsiness as you stretched, the weariness of the night clinging to your bones.

"We're in my driveway," Rafe answered quietly, his voice a soft murmur in the intimate space of the truck's cabin.

You sat up a bit at Rafe's answer, the fog of sleep slowly dissipating as you looked around the dimly lit interior of the truck. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the familiar surroundings of Rafe's driveway came into focus, and a sense of recognition washed over you.

"Oh..." you murmured, a drowsy smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you realized where you were. "Well, thanks."

Rafe responded simply to your comment, offering a small hum and a gentle smile before he opened the driver's door and stepped out. You moved to follow suit, reaching for your own door handle, but you were stopped short by Rafe's sudden action.

"Grab my hand," he said, his voice soft yet insistent, as he held out his hand towards you.

Surprised by his unexpected gesture, you hesitated for a moment before accepting his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. A warmth spread through you at the contact, a sense of connection that transcended words.

With Rafe's guidance, you stepped out of the truck and onto solid ground, the cool night air wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. As you stood there, hand in hand with Rafe, a sense of gratitude washed over you at his kindness.

Lost in a trance, you found yourself captivated by the sight of Rafe's hands as he fumbled with his key, the veins in his arms standing out in stark relief against the soft glow of the porch light. Each movement was deliberate, a testament to his strength and determination as he twisted the key in the lock, the metallic click of the mechanism echoing in the stillness of the night.

As the door swung open, Rafe stood there silently, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a silent plea that tugged at the edges of your heart.

Wordlessly, he motioned for you to go inside first, a gesture that spoke volumes without the need for words. With a nod of understanding, you stepped past him and into the warmth of the foyer, the soft light casting a gentle glow over the familiar surroundings.

You waited silently as Rafe walked in and ascended the stairs, his silent invitation hanging in the air like a lingering echo. With hesitant steps, you followed him, the weight of nostalgia settling over you like a heavy blanket as you climbed the familiar staircase.

The hallway stretched out before you, its walls adorned with family portraits and mementos of a life long past. Each step forward was a journey into the depths of memory, a bittersweet reminder of the moments you had shared with the Cameron siblings in days gone by.

As you reached the top of the stairs, a wave of sadness washed over you, the weight of years of absence pressing down on your shoulders like a burden too heavy to bear. It had been so long since you had set foot in this place, since you had felt the warmth of family and friendship that had once filled these halls.

The memories flooded back in a rush, overwhelming you with their intensity. You could almost hear the echoes of laughter and chatter that had once filled these halls, the echoes of a time when everything had seemed so simple and carefree.

But now, as you stood there in the silence of the hallway, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the passage of time. Things had changed, and you couldn't shake the feeling of loss that clung to you like a shadow, a reminder of all that had been lost in the intervening years. With a heavy heart, you followed Rafe down the familiar hallway, each step a silent testament to the passage of time and the inevitability of change.

As Rafe closed the door behind you, enveloping the room in a cocoon of silence, you couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension creeping over you. The space felt both familiar and foreign, a reminder of all that had once been and all that had changed.

You stood there for a moment, taking in the surroundings, the memories flooding back with a bittersweet intensity. It was a room that had once been filled with laughter and whispers, a sanctuary where you and Rafe had shared your most intimate moments.

"Do you need any clothes to change into?" Rafe's voice broke the silence, his words a gentle reminder of the bond that still existed between you, despite the distance that had grown between you over the years.

You met his gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a silent plea for connection that tugged at the edges of your heart.

With a nod, you replied softly, "Yes, please." It was a simple request, a silent invitation for Rafe to bridge the gap between you, to offer you comfort and familiarity in the midst of uncertainty.

As you watched Rafe move towards the dresser, your eyes swept over the room, taking in every familiar detail. It was as if time had stood still in this space, frozen in a moment that seemed to stretch endlessly into the past. The walls adorned with posters and photographs, the dresser cluttered with mementos of a life that felt simultaneously distant and achingly close.

"Here's a shirt and some shorts," Rafe's voice broke through your reverie, drawing your attention back to the present. You turned towards him, a grateful smile tugging at the corners of your lips as he handed you the clothes.

"Thanks," you replied softly, accepting the garments with a sense of nostalgia. Despite the passage of time, everything felt strangely familiar, as though you had never left this place at all.

As you slipped into the oversized shirt and shorts, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort wash over you. They may have been too big, but they enveloped you in a sense of familiarity and warmth that felt like coming home.

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you couldn't help but feel a pang of shyness wash over you under Rafe's intense gaze. It was as if he was studying you, his eyes tracing every contour of your face as though trying to memorize every detail.

Turning around to face him as you adjusted the borrowed clothes, you offered him a small smile of gratitude for his gesture. It was a simple exchange, but it spoke volumes of the unspoken bond that still existed between you.

Rafe returned your smile with a small nod, his gaze never wavering from yours. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension that lingered between you.

For a moment, you stood there in the quiet intimacy of the room, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. It was as if time had stopped, freezing this moment in eternity as you gazed into each other's eyes, a silent understanding passing between you.

"So, you and JJ?" Rafe's words broke the silence, causing you to look at him with a hint of shock. His question hung in the air, the weight of its implications settling over you like a heavy blanket.

"Uh... yeah. I guess so," you replied hesitantly, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. It was a simple acknowledgment of the truth, yet it carried with it a complexity that belied its simplicity.

Rafe's expression remained unreadable, his gaze steady as he studied you. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a mix of emotions that you couldn't quite decipher.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, the air heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tensions. It was as if the entire room held its breath, waiting for the next move in this delicate dance of emotions.

"I can't say I'm shocked," Rafe spoke quietly, his voice carrying a weight of resignation as he avoided meeting your gaze.

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. There was a tension between you, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities of your relationship and the emotions that lay beneath the surface.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the hurt evident in his voice, a silent reminder of the consequences of your actions. It was a moment of raw honesty, a fleeting glimpse into the depth of Rafe's emotions.

With a heavy sigh, you searched for the right words to express your remorse. "I'm sorry, Rafe," you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. It was a simple apology, but it carried with it the weight of your regrets and the hope for forgiveness.

"I can't really be upset, I mean it's been two years. I don't expect you to be single forever," Rafe's laughter was dry, lacking any semblance of humor.

His words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the passage of time and the inevitability of change. You could sense the undercurrent of pain beneath his attempts at levity, a silent plea for understanding and acceptance.

A pang of guilt washed over you at the realization of the hurt you had caused, the weight of Rafe's words settling heavily on your shoulders. It was a sobering reminder of the consequences of your actions, a recognition of the impact they had on those closest to you.

"I'm sorry for what happened, Rafe," you murmured, your voice laced with regret. It was a feeble attempt to convey the depth of your remorse, a silent acknowledgment of the pain you had caused.

Rafe's expression softened at your apology, a flicker of resignation crossing his features. "It's okay," he replied quietly, his voice tinged with sadness. "I just want you to be happy."

You looked down at Rafe, a pang of guilt piercing through you as you took in the sadness etched on his face. His gaze lingered on the floor, his posture slumped with the weight of unspoken emotions.

Approaching him slowly, you closed the distance until you were standing right before him, his form perched on the edge of the bed. His eyes met yours, a flicker of pain reflected in their depths.

"I never wanted to hurt you, but I know that I did," you began, your voice trembling with emotion. Each word felt like a dagger to your heart, a painful acknowledgment of the mistakes you had made. "I should've never agreed to do what I did, or the stuff with JJ. I... I'll never forgive myself for it. You deserved so much more."

There was a heaviness in the air as the weight of your words settled between you, the silence stretching out into the space around you. It was a moment of raw honesty, a confession laid bare in the dim light of the room. Rafe's gaze softened at your words, a glimmer of understanding shining through the sadness in his eyes.

He shook his head, his eyes still glued to the ground, his voice filled with a mixture of pain and vulnerability. "As pathetic as it sounds, I was never really mad at you for it. I was hurt, but I couldn't stay upset with you. I can't explain it, Y/N. Despite everything that happened, I was willing to look past it just so I could still have you."

Rafe's words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his confession settling over you like a shroud. It was a revelation that cut to the core of your being, a silent reminder of the depth of his feelings for you.

"Rafe..." you began, your voice trembling with emotion. But before you could find the right words to respond, he lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity.

"I know it sounds insane, Y/N," he continued, his voice tinged with sadness. "But I can't pretend that I don't still care about you. Despite everything, you've always had a piece of my heart, and I don't think that will ever change."

Before you could speak, Rafe continued, his voice filled with a mixture of remorse and vulnerability. "And besides, I've made my fair share of mistakes since you left. I'm in no position to act like a saint, or better than you for what happened. I mean, I... I lost myself after you left. Started spiraling. I got into coke more than ever, drank all the time, I even... cheated on Sofia."

You stood up straight at his confession, your eyebrows raised in shock at his admission. The revelation hit you like a ton of bricks, a wave of disbelief washing over you at the depth of his self-destruction.

"You and Sofia were dating?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

"We still are," Rafe admitted awkwardly, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he met your gaze.

His confession hit you like a ton of bricks, leaving you momentarily stunned as you processed the information. You took in a deep breath, the air heavy with the weight of his words, before finally nodding slowly in response.

"Oh... okay," you murmured softly, your voice tinged with uncertainty. It was a simple acknowledgment, a quiet acceptance of the truth that had been laid bare before you.

Rafe met your gaze with a mixture of apprehension and regret, his eyes searching yours for any sign of understanding. He seemed to be grappling with his own emotions, unsure of how you would react to his confession.

"I don't want us to be like this, Y/N. I don't want to have this complicated relationship with you where there's always somebody or something in the way," Rafe confessed, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and frustration.

Before he could continue, you interrupted him with a heavy sigh, your words cutting through the tension that hung between you like a knife.

"Rafe... there is no 'us' anymore," you stated firmly, your voice tinged with sadness. It was a painful truth that you had been avoiding, but one that needed to be said. Rafe's expression fell, his features clouded with disappointment and regret. For a moment, silence stretched between you, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air.

"What… what do you mean?" Rafe's voice was filled with confusion and a hint of desperation as he searched your eyes for answers.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the difficult conversation ahead. "I mean that it's been two years, Rafe," you began, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. "And we're both with different people now."

Rafe's expression faltered, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before he masked it with a stoic facade. "I see," he murmured, his voice tinged with resignation.

You continued, your words coming out in a rush as you struggled to convey the depth of your emotions. "Look, I regret the way I ended things with you before and how I treated you," you admitted, your voice tinged with remorse. "But I have to right my wrongs and not make the same mistakes with JJ."

As you spoke, you folded your arms tightly across your chest, unable to meet Rafe's gaze as you bit your lip in a display of vulnerability. It was a painful admission, but one that needed to be said. For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, the weight of your words settling between you like a heavy blanket. And as you stood there, grappling with the complexity of your emotions, you couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness wash over you.

"Then what was tonight about?" Rafe's voice was laced with confusion as he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for answers.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to convey the complex emotions swirling inside you. "I've been drinking all night, and I just… I'm not gonna lie and say I haven't missed you," you admitted, your voice tinged with vulnerability. "Seeing you again brought back a lot of emotions for me, and I acted on them in the heat of the moment."

Rafe listened quietly as you spoke, his expression unreadable as he processed your words.

"But I can't go down this path with you again, Rafe," you continued, your voice trembling slightly. "I already ruined the chance I had with you before, and I can't risk making the same mistakes again." There was a heaviness in the air as the weight of your words settled between you, the silence stretching out into the space around you.

"The door will always be open for you, Y/N," Rafe remarked sincerely, his voice carrying a hint of sternness that conveyed his seriousness. "I don't care if it's been two years or two decades."

His words hung in the air, a silent promise of unwavering support and understanding. Despite the complexities of your relationship, Rafe's sincerity was evident in every word he spoke.

As you met Rafe's gaze, a whirlwind of emotions swept through you, leaving you feeling both overwhelmed and nostalgic. His appearance had changed since you last saw him, his hair now a buzz cut and his body more muscular and rugged. Yet, despite the physical changes, he was still the same boy you had known all those years ago.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness and guilt as you looked into his eyes, the weight of your shared history weighing heavily on your shoulders. Memories of the past flooded your mind, each one a reminder of the bond you had once shared with Rafe.

Despite the passage of time, he still looked at you with the same warmth and affection as he had on the first night you met. It was a look that stirred something deep within you, a longing for the simplicity of the past and the comfort of familiar arms.

But amidst the nostalgia, there was also a sense of ache in your chest, a reminder of the pain and heartache that had led you to this moment. You knew that you couldn't dwell on the past, no matter how tempting it may be. The future beckoned, full of uncertainty and possibility, and you knew that you had to face it head-on, no matter how difficult it may be.

"I wish I had never left you like I did," you admitted, the words catching in your throat as you fought back tears. Swallowing hard, you tore your gaze away from Rafe, unable to bear the weight of his gaze as you spoke.

"We could've been so much more," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. The regret in your words was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the missed opportunities and lost chances that had led you to this moment. Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as you struggled to contain the flood of emotions swirling inside you. It was a painful admission, one that laid bare the depth of your remorse and longing for what could have been.

"Please don't cry," Rafe pleaded quietly, his voice filled with tenderness as he reached up to wipe the single tear off your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I hate seeing you cry."

His touch was gentle, a comforting reminder of the bond that still existed between you despite the passage of time. And as you met his gaze, a sense of warmth washed over you, knowing that despite the challenges you faced, Rafe would always be there for you, offering support and understanding, no matter what obstacles lay ahead. With a shaky breath, you reached up to grasp his hand, holding it tightly as if to anchor yourself in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Rafe," you admitted, tears streaming down your cheeks as you spoke. "I betrayed you, I hurt you so badly, and now I'm betraying JJ too. I just keep making the same mistakes over and over again, and I… I just can't stop. I deserve to be alone."

Rafe's expression softened, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. Gently, he cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him as he spoke.

"Y/N, listen to me, okay? Just listen," he urged, his voice filled with urgency and sincerity. "Stop being so hard on yourself for the past. I forgive you, okay? I'm not mad at you, I don't hate you. So please stop minimizing your worth because of something that happened two years ago."

His words washed over you like a wave, a comforting reminder of the forgiveness and understanding that Rafe offered you, no matter what mistakes you had made in the past. And as you met his gaze, a sense of warmth enveloped you, knowing that despite your flaws and shortcomings, you were still deserving of love and redemption. With a shaky breath, you leaned into Rafe's touch, finding solace in his comforting embrace. It was a silent acknowledgment of the bond that still existed between you.

"But JJ—"

"I can't sit here and say I want you to stay with him and make things right, but I don't want to be the one to put you in an uncomfortable situation either," Rafe interrupted gently, his voice filled with empathy. "So if it's any consolation, I'll never tell him what happened."

His words hung in the air, a silent promise of discretion and understanding. Despite his own conflicted emotions, Rafe was willing to bear the burden of your secret to spare you any further pain.

You met his gaze, a mixture of gratitude and sadness swirling in your eyes. "Thank you, Rafe," you whispered softly, your voice trembling with emotion. It was a simple acknowledgment, but it carried with it the weight of your appreciation for his unwavering loyalty.

"Of course," Rafe reassured you softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he gazed up at you, daring not to look away. By that point, you were standing between his lap, his hands dangerously close to your thighs as you stood before him. The proximity made your body feel hot as shyness crept up on you, his touch so familiar yet so foreign.

"So... what about you and Sofia?" you asked sincerely, your voice gentle as you peered down at him.

Rafe's expression softened at your question, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Sofia and I... are complicated. I don't know what I'm going to do yet," he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with resignation.

"Does she make you happy?" you asked bluntly, looking at him with an unreadable expression on your face. The question caught him off guard, especially coming from you.

"I... I don't know," he sighed, his voice heavy with uncertainty. It was a question he had wrestled with himself, one that had kept him awake at night as he grappled with his feelings for Sofia.

You studied his expression carefully, searching for any sign of clarity in his eyes. But all you found was a mixture of confusion and resignation, a reflection of the internal struggle he faced.

"I'm sorry," you murmured softly, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand in a silent gesture of comfort. "I didn't mean to pry."

He shook his head gently. "No, it's okay. I understand why you asked."

You offered him a small, appreciative smile, grateful for his understanding. "I just want you to be with someone who makes you happy," you admitted, fiddling with your fingers nervously as you spoke.

Your words seemed to hang in the air between you, the weight of their meaning sinking in. Rafe's gaze softened as he regarded you, a thoughtful expression crossing his features as he took in the sincerity of your words. For a moment, silence enveloped the room, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric as you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. And as Rafe continued to study your face, you couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability wash over you, knowing that your words had opened up a door to a conversation that neither of you had expected.

"Yeah… you too," Rafe replied quietly, his tone indicating that he had much more on his mind than he was letting out. You decided not to press further, respecting his privacy and not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

"I can sleep on the futon if you want," you offered, gesturing towards the nearby piece of furniture.

"No," Rafe interjected, shaking his head. "Sleep on my bed. I'll take the futon."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether it was appropriate to accept his offer. But then you remembered the unspoken bond that existed between you, the silent understanding that had always been there, even in the midst of uncertainty and doubt.

"Are you sure?" you asked, wanting to make sure he was comfortable with the arrangement.

Rafe nodded, offering you a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm sure. It's the least I can do."

"Thank you for everything you did tonight, Rafe. I really appreciate it," you said softly, giving him a small smile as you shifted away from him and settled into the bed.

Rafe watched silently as you drifted off to sleep, the weight of the day finally catching up to you. It wasn't hard for you to fall asleep once you had gotten under the covers, the combination of exhaustion and alcohol lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

As he observed you, Rafe couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth wash over him. Seeing you there, in his bed, was a sight he never thought he'd see again. Despite the challenges and uncertainties of the past, you were here now, and he couldn't help but feel grateful for that.

He admired you from the futon, making sure you were fully asleep before he allowed himself to get comfortable and ready for bed. "Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered softly into the quiet of the room, the words carrying a sense of warmth and affection as he settled in for the night. And as he closed his eyes, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over him, knowing that despite the complexities of their relationship, you were here, and that was all that mattered.

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