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heartpascal · 1 year

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you’ll find the key

▹ — joel miller x platonic!f!reader

▹ — summary: part five of if the door wasn’t shut — after feeling hopeless, you decide it’s time to heal

▹ — a/n: guys, i apologise for the wait! usually it doesn’t take me so long to write but this was a bit of a struggle!! i hope it lives up to any expectations :( i love you guys sm <3 pls leave ur thoughts + feedback and if u would like to see anything else in this series !!!

▹ — warnings: bad mental health, arguments, like two much needed hugs, so many apologies (my brain is failing so please tell me if there’s anything i’m missing!!!)

▹ — general taglist: @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @erensloveinterest @dazedshoon @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @sleepygraves @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @ilybbg @rvjaa @oliest19xx @pedropepsi @sunflowersdrop @truthfuleeyours

masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

check out howl’s song associations!

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It was still storming outside.

Snow was coming down in heavy bouts, swirling all over the place with the force of the wind, and it was almost a goddamn blizzard. The ground was covered in it, and if it weren’t for the people already out in the streets, using shovels to dig away the snow in front of doorways, you were sure everyone would’ve gotten snowed in.

Not that you were going anywhere, anyway.

You hadn’t left Jesse’s side since you had gotten back to Jackson, after Tommy had a talk with you. They told you he was going to be absolutely fine, that all he needed was rest and to keep the wound clean. You still worried about him.

Part of you, despite knowing that what happened wasn’t your fault, still felt guilty. Out of the two of you, you were the more experienced one, and you should’ve known better, right? Should’ve caught wind that something wasn’t quite right sooner? You should’ve done something, protected him better, maybe?

You didn’t know exactly what you could’ve done differently, and you tried not to think of the possibilities, because the last thing you needed was to drown in guilt when you already felt bad enough.

Tommy’s chat with you hadn’t helped, either, and you know it was only because he cares, but it still hurt. The way he had looked at you, so angry, and scolded you for going back out there, for going after Joel when you and Jesse had barely made it out yourselves. He had called you irresponsible, which you would’ve argued against, if you hadn’t felt so guilty over the events of the day, if you hadn’t been worrying about Jesse.

You didn’t want to think about him being right, about how you could’ve gotten Jesse killed today, or yourself, god — Joel could’ve died, trying to save you. But was that really your fault? You wondered if everyone blamed you for Jesse getting hurt, as much as you blamed yourself.

“Are you really brooding, right now?” Jesse croaked, startling you from where you stood at the window beside his bed, staring out at the swirling snow. You turned to him, seeing his raised eyebrows, and felt almost thankful about the annoyance that arose when he looked smug, like he was right. “Unbelievable!”

“I’m not brooding, you asshole.” You murmured, unconvincingly. Jesse grinned, shaking his head at your denial.

“Oh, you so are.”

“I should’ve let them finish the job.” You responded flatly, breaking into a smile when Jesse laughed. The quiet lingered for a moment, both of your smiles slowly falling as the weight of everything that happened registered between you. “I’m sorry.”

Jesse’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you, his fingers picking at the edge of the blanket settled over him. “For what? Saving my life?”

“No, Jesse, I should’ve never put us in that situation. Especially after Pete left. I know better.” You replied, stepping towards the guy who had quickly become your best friend. You shook your head, eyes flickering around the room, until they settled on him. “Tommy took me off patrols, anyway, so.”

“What?” Jesse questioned, mouth hanging open. “Why?”

You stared at him, blinking in your confusion, and you tilted his head back to check his eyes were focused, that he wasn’t concussed, or something.

“Do you not remember what happened?”

“I remember just fine, thank you.” He responded, eyebrows creased as your hand left his forehead. Both of you wore incredibly confused expressions, neither knowing what the miscommunication between you could be. “Why would Tommy take you off patrols?”

“Jesse, you could’ve died.” You said, watching his face for the reaction, as if the information was new to him.

“Yeah, but that wasn’t your fault! You’re the one who saved me, who got me out. I don’t understand.” Jesse said, voice raising as he got slightly heated. He lowered his voice when he sat up, and pulled at his stitches, hissing in pain.

“No, I got us into it, and I was lucky to get us out.” You told him, as if it was a confession, and you frowned. You didn’t want to think about what could have happened to Joel, didn’t want to say that for once, the world had been on your side, letting you get him out, too. You didn’t voice it, but you don’t know what you would’ve done with yourself if he had died, trying to save you.

Jesse shifted, voicing your name, but you stopped him, smiling tightly in his direction. “It’s fine, Jesse. It’s for the better. Besides, means I’ve got more time to do my pottering.” You teased, though the words didn’t quite reach the way your teasing usually sounded. “Anyway, Dina showed up.”

“What? Why? Did she actually?” Jesse asked, his eyebrows raised as he looked to you with suspicion, like you were about to be making fun of him.

“‘Course she did. Whole town knows what happened, and she was worried about you.” You said with a grin that didn’t meet your eyes.

“The whole town?” He questioned, shutting his eyes and dropping his head back with a groan when you nodded your confirmation. “My family are so going to kill me, aren’t they?”

With a laugh, you reached forward to mess up his hair, “Oh, Jesse, you sweet thing. We’ve already devised a plan on how we’re going to do it.”

He slapped your hand away, glaring, but a smile pulled at his lips. He knew it wasn’t true, knew you were just entertaining his dramatics. What he didn’t know, was that his family had already been in, had already scolded you for getting their golden boy into trouble.

You moved back to the window, seeing a man across the road had given up on shovelling the heavy snow away from his door. Something heavy had settled on your chest, and you took a deep breath to try and get some oxygen past it. You didn’t blame Jesse’s family for what they had said to you — if you had been in their position, you probably would’ve been the same. They hadn’t quite approved of you, anyway, so you didn’t take it too personally. You were more than aware of everything you had done wrong.

Somebody cleared their throat in the doorway to the room, and you turned away from the window to see Joel stood there. He nodded his greeting to Jesse, a tight smile on his face.

“C’mon, kiddo, Tommy wants you to head back to the shop.” Joel said, repressing the sigh that wanted to leave his chest when you only nodded, stepping away from the window with a final glance outside.

“Well,” You said to Jesse, trying to muster up your best smile, “Duty calls, I guess. Feel better soon, okay?”

He called your name when you walked away, passing Joel as he stood beside the door, but you ignored it, feeling that weight grow heavier. Joel followed after you, a frown on his face.

You knew the route out already, and figured Joel was just the messenger, but he followed along, a few steps behind you as he limped on his injured leg. The wind was harsh when you opened the door, and you shivered when snow was immediately blown in your face. You lingered in the doorway, both hesitant to go out into the awful conditions, and feeling bad for leaving Joel hurrying on his bad leg.

Joel didn’t say it, but you knew he was here because Tommy didn’t want to see you. You couldn’t say you were surprised — not after just how angry Tommy had gotten. His face had been red, the steam pouring from his ears practically melting the snow around him, and it was the first time he had ever yelled at you.

“You doing okay?” Joel asked, hesitantly, as he paused in the doorway beside you, watching you as you wrapped your coat tighter around you. He knew that nothing was fixed, not even close, but there was something.

“I’m fine, Joel.” You replied, and he could hear the exhaustion in your voice, the way it pulled on your words. It was easier to hear than it was to see, but he just caught the slump to your shoulders, the way you held your eyes shut for a moment, before going to brave the snow.

He walked beside you as you headed towards the ceramics shop, your pace a touch slower than usual. You shoved your hands in your pockets, eyebrows creasing when you realised you must’ve taken your gloves off at some point. You tried not to sigh when you realised that they were probably lost, and just decided to chalk it up to another disappointment in an incredibly frustrating day.

When you arrived at the ceramics shop, it was a mission to get through all the snow that had started blocking the door. You would probably be snowed in, by nightfall. Joel helped you get rid of as much of it as possible, his gloved hands doing most of the work after your bare ones become too numb to continue.

You opened the door, feeling heavier than you had in months, and left the door open as you moved to the back of the shop, turning on the heater that sat there. You let your hands linger in front of it, just gritting your teeth at the sting that followed from warming them too quickly.

Joel lingered in the doorway, frowning at you, and furrowed his eyebrows as he called your name, watching your turn to face him. “I’m sorry.”

You gaped at him, stunned.

“You should have gotten a choice. It wasn’t my place to decide that for you, or to leave without havin’ a conversation.” He continued on, his words jumbling the slightest bit. “I still think you stayin’ was the best thing for you, the safest thing, but for whatever it might be worth, I am sorry.”

When your silence lingered, Joel nodded tersely, and stepped away, smiling tightly as he left the shop, shutting the door behind him. You blinked at the closed door, unsure what to do, unsure if you should have said something. But even if you should’ve, what would you have said?

It wasn’t okay, not in the slightest, and everything around you seemed to be crumbling. Tommy wasn’t speaking to you and Maria would be more than upset with you, too. Jesse was in the infirmary, and that was on you. And even as you looked around the ceramics shop, all you saw was cracked paint on the walls, and dust that settled no matter how many times you wiped it away.

Hell, even the misshapen plates and bowls on the shelves just made your chest hurt. You didn’t feel any sort of pride for this place, anymore, and it was painful. It stung at the deepest parts of you, and you just settled down on the dirty floor in front of the heater, holding your head in your hands as you blinked back tears.

Why did you think you could do this?

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Initially, you didn’t intend on avoiding Jesse.

In fact, you had plans to go and visit him the day after everything went to shit. It was just that when you opened the shop door, the outside looked far too unfriendly, and you knew his family would be in his infirmary room.

Perhaps it was a cowardly move, staying at the shop, locking the door and pretending the outside world of Jackson didn’t exist. Really, you were going to go and see him the next day. Swore to yourself that you would. But when the next day came, you didn’t even attempt to unlock the door to leave, figuring that it would be best to just leave him and his family to it. Dina was probably with him, too, so your absence wouldn’t be felt all too much.

Each day you said you would go, started with you justifying your staying in the shop. It went the same way, waking up and thinking you should go and see him, but the moment you got into the front of the shop, you thought better of it.

You blamed it on everything but what it actually was. Whether that be the snow, the heater in the shop that broke, the concept of him having quality time with his family… you used it all to reassure yourself that he didn’t need you by his side.

Besides, you knew he wouldn’t be in the infirmary for long. And by the fifth day, there was a knock against the shop door, barely heard over the howling wind outside. You remained in the back room, telling yourself it was probably nothing important, and after the heater broke, you couldn’t afford to open the door, anyway.

Even with the door closed, your breath misted in front of your face, and you had to rub your hands together more than once to generate heat, especially considering you seemed to have misplaced your gloves.

On day six, you kept all the lights off, and didn’t bother to poke your head around the doorframe to see who was knocking at the front door. After a few moments of loud knocking, his voice called out your name, and you were sure he was likely squinting through the shop window, trying to catch sight of you.

You barely even noticed the way you held your breath so it wouldn’t cloud the air, and alert him to your presence. You pretended the harsh exhale after he left was just a sigh of exhaustion. In some ways, you guessed it was.

By day seven, he knew what you were doing.

“Open the door,” Jesse yelled, still knocking wildly against the wood, and you were sure he was peeking in the window, too. “I’ve been to Tommy’s, the dinner hall, the greenhouses, the stables, hell — I even went to Joel’s. I know you’re here, stop hiding.”

You stayed in the back room.

After a while — much longer than you expected, especially given the still-awful weather — Jesse gave up, leaving the door at last. You frowned at the empty can of food in front of you, chest aching from the cold and everything that had happened over the past few days.

You hadn’t left the shop in the past seven days, surviving off of the short supply of long-life food in the cupboards. But that was your last can of it. As much as you knew you would have to leave, have to go get some more food in order to survive, you still didn’t want to. You didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want them to see the shame that was so visible in the curve of your frown, the dip of your brows.

It made it easier to hide, knowing Jesse was the only person looking for you. There had been no sign of Tommy or Maria, which pained you, but didn’t surprise you. Part of you wondered if they’d ever speak to you again, but you didn’t want to linger on the question, too afraid of the answer.

It was day eight that you had no other choice — the temperatures were dropping even further, and with no heater it was becoming too cold for you to take. The need for heat and food led you to the dinner hall, which was surprisingly empty, and you settled at your usual table with a plate of cooked food, feeling the chill that had begun to settle in your bones fade.

Most people would be staying inside their homes, the cold too much to bear, so you were surprised when Ellie waltzed into the hall, eyes scanning the room as she made her way over to grab herself some food. You dipped your head when she began looking in your direction, and clutched at the fork in your hand, holding your breath.

“So you are alive.” Ellie drawled, settling down in the seat opposite you with her plate in front of her. “You know your friend has been coming ‘round for the past few days, won’t leave us alone.”

You shrugged, not knowing how to respond.

She sighed, poking at the food on her plate. “Thanks for going back for Joel, by the way.” She pretended not to see the way your head snapped up, eyebrows furrowed as you looked at her.

“I wouldn’t leave him to die out there,” You said, after a moment, the words hesitant as they left you. “Especially when he went to try and help me.”

Ellie nodded, shoving food into her mouth, and you quickly followed her action. The silence between the two of you stretched uncomfortably, and you hated how everything had changed. Why couldn’t they have just let you come with them? Why did they have to push you so far away?

“He’s a good guy,” Ellie said, a frown on her face. “He makes stupid decisions, but only because he cares about us.”

You looked at her, wondering when the two of you had grown up. You remember the jokes you had shared during your travels, the way she had been able to make you smile even when doing so seemed impossible. She had made life in the apocalypse almost bearable, and now here you were, sat at the same table, but miles apart.

“Maybe, but you were right about one thing. I don’t know what happened, so if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” You told her, instead of acknowledging her words about Joel. You didn’t want to think about him. You didn’t want to think about any of it.

It would be painful, you were sure, to hear about everything they had experienced. You could guess that a lot of it wouldn’t be pleasant, and it would likely hurt to hear about all the things you had missed out on, all the things that maybe you could’ve protected them from. But you were willing. It wasn’t forgiveness, it wasn’t a ticket back to being in each other’s lives, but it was progress.

And progress was all that you could offer, so it would have to do.

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.” Ellie said, a tight smile on her face as she looked at you, her eyebrows slightly raised in surprise at your words.

You nodded, and the two of you ate in silence.

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After stocking up on some more long-lasting cans of food, you were prepared to hunker down in the shop for a while longer. You hadn’t been able to trade for another blanket like you had hoped, but you weren’t all too surprised. With the stormy weather, everybody wanted more warming supplies.

You had survived worse conditions, though, in worse places. One harsh winter in Jackson wouldn’t kill you, even if your heater was broken, and you still hadn’t found your gloves.

The shop door was locked once again, and you had taped the bottom of it to try and stop the cold draft from seeping into the room. You considered bunkering down in the back room, taping the door shut and staying in there with all the blankets and layers you had, but you thought better of it. You wanted to be able to hear the front door with ease, still on edge after the ambush with Jesse, especially considering the raiding attacks that had slowly begun to ease off.

Despite whatever had gone wrong, however angry Tommy may be, you knew he’d rely on you if the time came. You were sure of it. Everything the two of you had built couldn’t have been toppled by this one event, right?

Your gun was still laid by the shop door, and your ammo never left the jacket you always wore. Just in case. If anything were to go wrong, you wanted to be ready.

The call of your name shook you from your racing thoughts, the contemplation of everything that could happen pausing as your head snapped up. Maria’s voice was loud, and she hadn’t knocked. You didn’t have a surname — didn’t know whoever came before you long enough for them to tell you, didn’t know everyone who came after long enough for them to share their own. So she settled on your first name, yelling it loudly.

“Open the door!” Maria demanded once again, kicking the bottom of it with her foot. “Come on, open it. You’re not fooling anybody, and it’s freezing out here, little Troy can’t stay out here too long.”

With a sigh, you stood. She knew how to get to you — bringing baby Miller was a harsh plan, especially because it gave you no choice but to let her in. Not that it was much warmer in the shop than it was outside, but she didn’t know that.

You unlocked the door, pulling it open just to fit yourself into the crack of it. Facing Maria was terrifying, because you didn’t know what to expect. Even as she held on to baby Troy Miller, who was bundled up in more layers than you could count, she was totally unpredictable. She could be in a motherly mood, or that merciless Jackson council member.

“Hi,” You said, nervously. “What’re you doing here?”

She raised her eyebrows, stepping forward until you’d opened the door for her to step inside of the shop. Maria’s stern expression immediately fell, and you could feel nerves building in your stomach.

“Is your heating out?” She asked, turning on you suddenly, harshly. When you nodded meekly, she handed Troy over to you, not faltering even when you opened your mouth to voice your confusion.

He babbled at you, a toothy grin on his face, and you held on to him tighter. It hit you then, how much you actually cared about these people. Your brain short-circuited when you thought about something bad happening to this family, and it made you feel sick. Suddenly, you were regretting the meal you had eaten with Ellie.

“Well, I think Jeremy should be able to fix it up.” Maria sighed, standing from where she had crouched down to inspect your broken heater. “But he’s way busy with other heater issues. Come on, you’ll stay with us.”

“Maria.” You urged, repeating her name another time when she didn’t answer you, too busy thinking about options and solutions, as always. “I’m fine. Go home.”

She sighed heavily, turning to you with that stern look she’d been wearing since the moment you were left behind in Jackson. “I know you and Tommy are going through a rough time, but he loves you, and if he knew you’d been living here with no heat?” Maria shook her head with scoffed laughter, not reaching for Troy even as you offered to hand him back, instead moving to pack some of your clothes into a bag. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“It’s not my home, Maria,” You said softly, perhaps the softest she had ever heard you.

It was disquieting, at the least, for you to behave in such a way. Throughout the whole time Maria had known you, you had been sharp edges and bitten words, even when you had grown to care for them, that hadn’t changed all that much. It was a constant, your stubborn attitude and harsh nature, always slamming doors shut too hard, always charring food when you were unsupervised, because you’d turn the heat up too high. You were impatient, practical, realistic. You weren’t soft.

Maria’s face curved into a frown, and she stopped her presumptive actions in packing up some of your things. She looked at you, looked at the lines that were beginning to dig into your expression, looked at the way your shoulders slumped as you held on to her son.

“Maybe not,” Maria offered, and looked around at the shop that was not as pristine as the last time she had seen it, before looking back to you. “It could be, though.”

You shook your head, sighing but not finding any relief from the action, only feeling the same tightness to your chest. “I’m not a Miller.” You said, and it was true, because the space behind your name remained as empty as ever, that absence something you had felt your whole life.

“You’re as much a Miller as I am, as he is.” Maria reasoned, gesturing towards her son in your arms as she looked at you. She didn’t want to say too much, didn’t want to overwhelm you, but you had practically been adopted by the two Miller brothers. Two men who were so far from perfect, who made so many mistakes that they almost lost you, who cared too much. Hell, even if you weren’t consciously aware of it, you had adopted their mannerisms and tendencies.

It showed in the way you held Troy, the same stance that Tommy used. It showed in the frown on your lips, that looked far too much like Joel’s to be a coincidence. The furrow between your brows reflected Joel and Tommy’s own, a crevice built from worrying and frustration and anger. You reminded Maria too much of how Tommy had been when they first found him — eyes glassy, lost, and without purpose.

She had seen the change in you since you had been left in Jackson, so many ups and downs, but you had been doing better. And now, here you were, looking more lost than you ever had.

“That’s not true, Maria.” You replied, tense. It wasn’t true — Troy was a Miller by blood, and Maria was a Miller by marriage. Both choices that Tommy had made. It wasn’t the same for you, it couldn’t be. Tommy had never chosen you — Joel had dropped you in his lap before running away, and didn’t that make you the furthest thing from a Miller?

“It is true.” Maria refuted, stepping forward to hold a hand firmly against your face. “You’re a Miller, no doubt about it. Now come on, we’d better get going. Got a lot to talk about.”

She was finishing shoving your things inside of the backpack at her feet in a few moments, and was swinging it over her shoulder before you could protest, making her way out of the door. Holding her son, what choice did you have but to follow?

The two of you were silent on your journey to Rancher Street, and you felt the nerves bubbling up from your stomach, leaving an unpleasant tingling in the back of your throat. It was tense, though that could have been all from you. You were still holding Troy, having him half buried in your jacket to make sure he wouldn’t be cold, despite the fact your jacket wasn’t the warmest.

When you arrived to her house, Tommy wasn’t there. She didn’t say anything, so you didn’t mention it, much preferring to ignore the issues that would likely arrive whenever he returned. Instead, you settled Troy down, removing some of his layers at the rush of warm air that came the moment you stepped through the door.

Your hands were tingling, in a strange state between feeling and numb after the sudden temperature change. You settled them under your legs when you sat down on the couch, Troy at your side as Maria clambered about the kitchen, having already dropped your bag down beside the sofa.

When she came back, it was with a steaming mug that you recognised — one of your very own design. It was a dark green, close to black, and had your poor recreation of a bear on it. You remembered thinking it was going to come out brown, remembered the shock when it was green.

She handed it over, and you used the hand with slightly more feeling to take it from her, holding it close to your chin to allow the steam to flow over your features, warming your nose. “So,” Maria said, drawing your attention from where you’d been keeping an eye on Troy, keeping the hot mug away from him. “First, you and Tommy fight, and then you ignore your best friend?”

You stared at her, teeth clenched in shock, and recalled the way Ellie had mentioned the boy. Clearly, he was pestering everybody who knew you. Maria’s eyebrows raised, looking expectantly at you.

“‘M not ignoring anybody.” You murmured, voice catching in your throat as you spoke, and you took a sip of boiling hot tea to get rid of the lump that had formed. The burn soothed you, in a strange way, warming your insides the slightest bit as you breathed steam.

“Mhm, is that why he’s been ‘round here, bugging us ever since he got out of the damn infirmary?” Maria asked, expression tightening slightly as you winced, and knew she had got you.

You shook your head, moving your other hand from underneath your leg to cradle the mug in both palms, breathing a relieved breath at the warmth finally reaching your fingers. “Doesn’t know how to stop, does he?” You said, moving your eyes to the swirling drink in the mug, not looking up even as Maria hummed. “I’ll tell him to leave you be.”

“Ah, but that would require talking to him, which you clearly haven’t been doing.” She told you, a slight teasing lilt to her voice, to make it seem less serious than it truly was.

Maria remembered the night you and Tommy had arrived home, with you shoving at his shoulder whilst he laughed loudly, a bright teasing smile on his expression. It was probably the lightest she had ever seen the two of you, with Tommy not feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders for just a moment, and you smiling like you hadn’t faced unspeakable things. She remembered the way you had scrambled to correct Tommy’s statements, whacking a hand against his forearm when he interrupted you.

She remembered Troy waking up from where she hadn’t long settled him down, and remembered the way you had immediately gone to calm him down after hissing a “Look what you’ve done now!” at Tommy, who had only laughed.

Maria remembered the way her head had settled against her husband’s shoulder, exhausted to her very bones, motherhood feeling much harder than she remembered. Especially with her aged bones, keeping up with a baby was more difficult than she remembered. She didn’t want to think about what it would be like when he could actually run around. Maria had just been grateful to have you there, to be able to rest with Tommy, trusting you to look after her son.

You challenged her motherly instincts, sure, but Troy was on another level — it was a lot more to deal with when your child wasn’t basically self-sufficient.

“I’m going to,” You said, though there was doubt in your voice. “I am.” You repeated, as if that would solidify your statement, as if it would make it any more truthful.

“Listen,” Maria sighed, saying your name, and waiting for you to look up from your mug before she continued. “I know what happened on that patrol. I know. And it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, so why are you ignoring Jesse?”

You swallowed, scratching a fingernail over a small crumb of clay that hadn’t gotten smoothed down before being fired. “I just… I care about him, and he could’ve died, Maria. Tommy was right, I—I was irresponsible, and I could’ve gotten us both killed.”

Maria shook her head immediately, picking Troy up when he began to fuss, and she stopped you. “No, Tommy was speaking from a place of anger. Of fear. You did everything right.” She affirmed, staring intensely at you, as if daring you to argue against her. “Except, maybe, going after Joel, but I know why you did that. I get it. If I had been in your position, if it were my…— I would’ve done the same thing.”

“I just didn’t want him to die, because of me.” You said, voice quiet again, and Maria’s heart ached for you, something squeezing so tightly in her chest that it physically hurt. “I don’t want Tommy to hate me forever, either.” You added after a few quiet moments, eyes following a bubble around the edge of the mug.

“He doesn’t hate you, kid, not at all. He was scared, he didn’t want to lose you.” Maria reasoned, but you still didn’t feel better, not after just how angry he had gotten. Not after he had practically shoved you out of his sight, the moment he was done yelling, unable to even look at you. Not after he had sent Joel as a messenger, refusing to speak to you himself.

“Maybe,” You offered, because it was the best you could do. You couldn’t agree with her, couldn’t disagree, either. The only person who would actually be able to decide those things was Tommy — and he was nowhere to be found. “I’ll talk to Jesse.” You decided to say, in the end, hands gripping tighter on the mug. Just saying it aloud made it seem all the more real, and you regretted it a moment afterwards, thoughts stuck on what Jesse would say, what his family would say.

“Good.” Maria said, nodding at you, “He’s a good kid, he deserves to know his friend is still here.” She stood to her feet, heading to the kitchen with Troy in her arms, waiting for her to feed him.

Twenty minutes later, when Maria had gone upstairs to put Troy down for a nap, the front door banged open, a rush of cold air being let in.

“Maria!” Tommy yelled out, his voice panicked, and you could hear him shuffling through his bag in the still-open doorway. With furrowed brows, you placed the cold mug down on the floor beside the sofa, standing up and making your way to peek into the hallway. “Maria, you here?” He shouted again, more desperate this time, and when you finally saw him, you saw that he had snow still clinging to him, and he had brought clumps of it in on his boots, slowly melting puddles on their floor.

“Tommy?” You questioned quietly, both not wanting to speak to him, but also getting increasingly concerned by his behaviour. His head snapped up to you, and he blinked in surprise, his shoulders slumping and hands pausing in their rummaging.

“Oh, thank god.” Tommy said, approaching you quickly and wrapping his arms around you tightly before you could get a word in. You blinked, shocked, and slowly wrapped your own arms around the man, who just held your head closer to him in return. “You scared the shit outta me.” He admitted, a slight tremor to his voice. He breathed out a heavy sigh, arms squeezing, and you wanted to look at him to express your confusion.

“Is everything okay?” Maria asked, a slight panic to her own voice, but she relaxed at the image before her. Tommy’s eyes opened as he rested his head on your own, and he looked to his wife as he nodded gently.

He moved away from you slightly, hands moving to hold your shoulders tightly, finally able to see your confused face. He sighed, his shoulders dropping like they had been holding the weight of the world. “I went to the shop, wanted to apologise. Couldn’t find you or your things, and it was freezing.” Tommy told you, his head dropping until his chin rested against his chest for a moment. “Thought you left.”

His arms pulled you back to his chest, and you didn’t resist him, though your heart was racing in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

Maria frowned, “I didn’t know you were going. The heater’s broken, so I told her to stay with us.”

Tommy nodded again, his breath held in his chest as he let his heart rate calm down. You let him hold on to you until he was ready to let go, just keeping your face hidden in his shoulder as your arms wrapped loosely around him, fingers numb from the cold once again.

When he finally released you, you took a small step back, cheeks warm with remaining shame from your last conversation with the man. The rest of you, however, was freezing, especially since you had removed your multitude of layers in the warm house. Tommy frowned as you shivered, cursing under his breath as he turned to shut his front door, his frown deepening when he saw the water covering the hallway in front of the door.

He waved Maria away when she gave him a stern look, and she nodded once she saw his expression, smiling tightly at you before heading back upstairs to settle Troy back down, after he had been fussing from his father’s shouting.

Tommy turned to where you stood, hands wrung together to try and generate some more warmth between your digits. He sighed again, a seemingly very common thing for him at the moment, and he stood up straighter to talk to you.

“I’m sorry,” He told you, his voice reflecting his words in its apologetic tone. “I should never have spoken to you the way I did. Wasn’t fair of me to blame you for things that weren’t your fault. Or for me to judge you for doin’ exactly what I would’ve. What I should’ve.”

You stared at him, at the way his hands clenched and unclenched into fists at his sides, a slightly nervous habit, you had noticed.

“Tommy, you were right,” You responded, continuing on even as he shook his head, “I messed up, and I could’ve gotten Jesse, or Joel, or even myself killed.”

“No.” He said firmly, reaching out and holding onto your shoulders once again, his grip tight as if you might slip away. “I was wrong. You hear me? I should have been proud, proud that you were so brave, that you saved your friend and your— and Joel. I should have been proud that you made your way back, that you did it without some old shithead tellin’ you what to do.” He rambled on, shutting his eyes and looking almost regretful.

You ducked your head, feeling far too emotional, a lump formed in your throat at his words. Just somebody who you looked up to, who you trusted, telling you that you hadn’t done anything wrong… it was almost too much.

As many mixed feelings as you may have had over the whole situation, the most prevalent one was guilt. It had been surrounding you, weighing so heavily on you, hell, you didn’t even realise how much it had been pulling you down until Tommy came in, lifting it all off of your shoulders.

“You did good, kid.” He told you, squeezing your shoulders, and you hated the way your lip started trembling.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”

Tommy laughed, the sound watery and almost broken off, “You can cry as much as you want.” He pulled you in, feeling your arms squeeze around his middle as he held on to you so tightly, he was almost sure he’d never let go again.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Your closed fist was raised up to the door, a hair’s width away from making contact with it, but you had frozen. And it wasn’t because of the cold.

There was something that had settled heavily in your stomach, making your whole body feel heavy and slow. You felt, distantly, like you might throw up with the way it was sitting, but tried not to think on it too much. You were aware of the way your chest was rising and falling, almost too aware, and you tried to put it out of your mind as you attempted to steel yourself.

“You gonna knock, or are you just gonna keep standing there, looking stupid?” A voice asked from behind you, making you spin on your heels, fist pulled away from the door. You held a hand against your chest, breathing a heavy sigh as you saw the culprit of the scare.

“You’re an asshole.” You murmured, eyes studying your beaten up boots that were covered in melting snow. You looked up to him, and felt some relief when you saw Jesse crack a slight smile at your reaction. It faded far too quickly for your liking.

“So?” He prompted, eyebrows raising at you.

You frowned, repressing the urge to grumble at him, but you knew that he should’ve been the one angry at you. Hell, he probably was. “I just came to say… I’m sorry.”

“For…?”

“Are you kidding?” You asked, annoyed. But when his expression didn’t budge, you sighed through your nose. “Okay. I’m sorry for ignoring you after the infirmary, and I’m sorry you got put into the infirmary at all.” You said, looking back down the where the melting snow was seeping into the hole at the side of your boots. You should probably get new ones.

Jesse didn’t say anything for a moment, and you picked at your fingernails while you stared at the ground, your nerves sending your pulse into a fluttery mess.

Finally, you heard him snickering, and your head snapped up. “Well, I just can’t believe this. You, apologising?” You glared as his smile slowly grew, though you knew that the whole thing wasn’t quite solved, at least it was good to know that Jesse was still acting his usual asshole self with you. “Come on, you little asshole.” He said, gesturing for you to follow him. You did.

He glanced at you every so often, shaking his head at your stoic expression.

The two of you arrived at the dining hall soon enough, standing in the queues silently whilst waiting to collect food, until Jesse nudged you and led you over to the table you so often shared.

“You do realise I would never blame you for something that happened on patrol, right?” He asked, eyebrow raised as he awaited your response, shovelling food into his mouth as if he was starving. He reminded you an awful lot of Ellie, in that way. You wondered if they had met.

With a roll of your eyes, “Well, now, yeah. Do we have to talk about this? I said sorry, didn’t I?” You murmured the last part, shovelling your own food into your mouth, refraining from rolling your eyes again when Jesse snickered at you.

“How could I forget? You prefer to brood rather than talk about your feelings.” He responded.

“Okay, I don’t brood—”

“Yes, you do—”

“And do you enjoy talking about… feelings?” You said, ignoring his interruption. He stared at your raised eyebrows, the expectant look on your face.

“Sometimes, I do.”

“Maybe when it comes to—”

“Dina!” Jesse said in a high pitched tone, cutting you off and looking at you with widened eyes. You looked behind you, seeing the girl of the hour approaching your table, an amused look in her eye. She nudged you with a grin as she walked past, sitting on your left and smiling widely at Jesse’s surprised expression.

After settling down, she looked back up to meet Jesse’s eyes. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

You snorted out a laugh, not expecting to hear such an old expression coming from her — it sounded like something Joel might say. Jesse glared at you, unamused by the grin you and Dina shared.

“Yeah, Jesse.” You goaded, smiling at his indignant huff. “Not want to talk about feelings, anymore?” You asked. You leaned backwards as he swiped his arm out, trying to knock the cutlery from your hand as it was heading towards your mouth. Dina laughed at his failed attempt.

“So you two are talking again, then?” Dina said when her laughing faded, and you glared at the way Jesse grinned, unhappy with the fact he was telling her such things. You supposed that you couldn’t blame him — after all, you had spoken to Maria about it. It just so happened that Jesse was your only friend your actual age.

“Unfortunately.” You grumbled, eyes narrowed at the man.

“Unfortunately,” Jesse mocked, making a face at you. “Somebody finally came to their senses!” He said, after he was done poking at his food as he frowned at you.

“Somebody is having regrets about it.” You responded in turn, smiling sarcastically at him.

“Back to normal, then.” Dina concluded, smiling when the two of you nodded. She didn’t know you all too well, but from the time she had spent with you in Jesse’s infirmary room, she was a fan. You clearly cared about Jesse, way more than you would admit, and she could admire that.

You looked at Jesse, “Back to normal.” He echoed, smiling at you.

You pretended that the sigh you let out wasn’t one of relief.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“You should really clean this place up, you know.” Jesse commented as you unlocked the door to the pottery shop, his eyes scanning around the room, the chill to the air making him shove his hands in his pockets. He looked at the dust covering the surfaces you usually cut clay on and raised his eyebrows.

“Well, I’ve been a bit busy.” You replied, moving to the newly fixed heater that Tommy had brought over when he walked you back to the shop that very morning.

“Oh, yeah, avoiding me.” Jesse said, grinning mischievously when you shot him an annoyed look over your shoulder, focusing on turning the heater on, placing your freezing hands in front of it when it finally started shooting out some warmth. You sighed at the sting, just glad to feel your hands once again.

You sat down on a dusty stool, turning to Jesse when he sat down beside you, relishing in the heater that was finally working. “Okay, so maybe I’m not the best with… feelings.”

“No kidding,” Jesse snorted, his smile fading when you stared at him, deadpan. “Sorry, go on.”

“But I can say that I do care about you. Sometimes. When you don’t piss me off.” You told him, drawing in a shaky breath that filled your lungs with cold air. “I just… relationships are complicated, you know? And painful, a lot of the time. I didn’t wanna go through that again, I guess, but you’re persistent.”

Jesse smiled as you spoke, somewhat amused by your words, but even you could see the softness to it. The absence of that teasing edge his grin usually held. It was reassuring.

“If this is about Joel—” Jesse attempted, shutting his mouth when you cut him off.

“—It’s not about him.” You interrupted, quickly, the back of your neck feeling hot despite the heater being quite far from you. “Or maybe it is, I don’t know.” You added on, after thinking about it for a second. You generally tried not to think of Joel, or the whole situation with him and Ellie, but could it really have effected you that much? It’s not like Joel was the first person you had lost.

He was the first to walk away without a fight, though.

A small part of you fought that fact, because he came back. Did that not mean anything?

“Can I speak yet?” Jesse asked, a slight teasing lilt to his voice. It brought you out of your thoughts, and you smiled despite the topic at hand. With a nod from you, Jesse went on, “Thanks. I’m just saying, maybe Joel isn’t all that bad. I’m not defending what he did, but the guy clearly cares about you.”

“So I should just— just forgive him? For leaving me?” You asked, looking at Jesse as if he had all the answers.

“I don’t know, that’s up to you,” He said. “Maybe you don’t need to forgive him. Maybe it’s time to just… move on with your life. Forget about what he did, and focus on what he can do. You miss him, don’t you?”

You frowned, looking away from the intensity of Jesse’s gaze. The two of you were friends, yes, and he was the closest friend you’d ever had, maybe besides Ellie. But being so open, it was strange. Likely the effect of the apocalyptic world you lived in, and perhaps it was another difference between that world and the little safe haven of Jackson, Wyoming.

“‘Course I do. He and Tess… they were everything I had.” You replied, your eyebrows creasing at the thought of the woman, at the memory of your life in Boston QZ. It made you realise that it had been a while since Maria had cut your hair, and Tess would’ve chastised you for not reminding her to cut it if you had let it gotten this long in Boston.

It all felt so far away.

When you thought of Tess, your heart ached. Though, it wasn’t quite the same as it had been on your journey with Joel and Ellie. You felt her absence, maybe more than ever, but it wasn’t all bitter. You felt… appreciative of her. She may be gone, but at least you got to have her for a time.

You really wished that she could’ve seen this place, though. You often wondered if she would’ve liked pottery.

Joel would probably know.

“Tess may be gone, but Joel isn’t. Not anymore.” Jesse reminded you, hesitant in his words. You realised that you had never really told him, or anyone, about Tess.

“Y’know, if Tess were here, she’d probably tell me to get over myself,” You laughed at the thought, a sad, watery laugh, but Jesse smiled with you despite not knowing the woman. “She’d kick Joel’s ass, though.”

“Is that even possible? Joel’s like… badass, man.”

“Nobody was more badass than Tess. She was awesome. Used to boss Joel around, all the time, she ran half of the smuggling underground at Boston.” You smiled when Jesse raised his eyebrows, surprised. “And she used to cut my hair. Always told me it was better to keep my hair short, even though she had long hair.”

“Bit hypocritical, isn’t it?” Jesse asked, humour in his words.

You shrugged, “Think she was just trying to keep me safe, in her own way. Tess didn’t want to keep me, to start with. Joel convinced her.”

The more you thought about it, the more you realised that it really was because of Joel that you were allowed to stay with the two of them. You remember hearing them argue on a few occasions, something about a great family that Tess knew nearby. But Joel had never let you go too far.

He’d told you about Tess’s family, though it wasn’t really his place to do so. He had done it in an attempt to comfort you one night when you were young, after you had gotten upset at Tess disregarding you yet again. Joel had explained that she didn’t like getting attached to anybody, especially kids, after she lost her own child. He had told you that it was what they had bonded over, at the start.

“Sounds like this Joel guy really wanted you around, huh?” Jesse said teasingly, only grinning when you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Shut up, you asshole, when the hell did you get all wise?” You asked, glaring at him as he feigned an innocent look. You cracked first, smiling at his expression, feeling a softness to the grin as he matched it with one of his own.

“Distance makes the heart grow wiser, I guess.”

“It’s fonder, Jesse. It makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Shut up, I’m the wise one here.”

You looked at Jesse then, as the two of you shared a laugh, and you wondered if this is how friendship felt before the apocalypse, or if that warm feeling in your chest was exclusive to post-apocalyptic relationships.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“Didn’t think you’d be coming back here.” Joel commented gruffly as he made his way to the kitchen with a nervous energy about him.

“Me neither,” You said idly, watching him fumble around the kitchen. You wondered if it was just a Miller thing, being terrible in the kitchen. It certainly seemed like something Joel and Tommy had in common, but you hadn’t really thought about it when Joel had asked if you wanted some tea, in a bit of a panic at your presence.

He didn’t say anything in response to that, seemingly mulling your words over. Joel didn’t really know what to make of your presence, certainly not expecting to see you at his front door when he opened it.

“Oh, wait,” You said suddenly, causing him to look over to you in the doorway from where he had been about to put tea in the two mugs in front of him. You pulled your backpack around on your shoulder, digging through it for a moment before pulling out a bag. Joel’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked between you and the bag, waiting for an explanation. “Look.” You said, handing it over to him.

He took the bag, opening it up and unable to help the grin that broke onto his face at the sight of coffee beans, the scent of them immediately soothing some of the man’s tension.

“Where’d you get these?” Joel asked you, his voice lighter than you had heard it since Boston. The sound of it made you grin, despite everything.

“Found ‘em on a patrol, a while ago. Been hiding them from Tommy, so don’t tell him.” You responded, realising that this was probably the lightest conversation you and Joel had held for a very long time. How long had it been?

“Wouldn’t dream of it. He’s a thief, always has been.” Joel said, smiling. “Right, the tea.” He said after a moment, placing the bag of coffee beans beside the mugs he’d set out.

You snickered as you noticed the mugs, grinning as Joel turned to you in question. “Seems like Tommy’s not the only thief in the family.” You said, gesturing toward the white and orange mug he’d placed down, recognising it from the batch you’d given Tommy and Maria.

Joel, at least, had the decency to look slightly embarrassed about stealing the orange coloured owl mug you had made and gifted to his brother. Either that, or embarrassed about getting caught. It had slipped his mind, really, more of a habit to grab it out of the cupboard, considering it was the one he used all the time.

He opened his mouth to try and craft some sort of defence, but felt any words he might’ve had die on his tongue as he turned to you. Seeing you smiling, well, it wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar sight. You often smiled at Tommy and Maria when he caught sight of you with the two of them, hell, you smiled a lot around that friend of yours, Jesse. Joel even remembers the times you would smile back in Boston, even though life in the QZ was much harder than life in Jackson.

But it had been a long time since Joel had seen you smile in his presence.

Each time you and Joel interacted after he had left you behind, your face had a way of falling, of crumpling in on itself before it hardened, staring at him with an expression of stone.

It had his heart aching in his chest, finally seeing you smile around him. He hadn’t realised quite how much he had missed it.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, after he stayed silent for a moment too long, the smile on your face fading into something of confusion. Joel shook himself out of his melancholy thoughts, clearing his throat and offering up his best smile in return.

“Nothin’,” Joel answered. “Nothin’ at all.”

You let his response linger in the air between the two of you for a few moments, and it seemed that the both of you were thinking of how life used to be. You were a long way from Boston.

“I could’ve made you your own, y’know.” You said, after a the silence stretched on, reaching out and picking up the mug he had stolen, looking at all the imperfections that had seemed invisible, all that time ago when you had made it. You’d like to believe you were much better in your craft, now.

“I like this one, just fine.” Joel responded, plucking it from your hands with a raised eyebrow. You snickered at his actions, moving to look around the kitchen, missing the soft grin stretched over the man’s face.

“God, you fixed that?” You asked suddenly, taking a wide step to look at the slight imperfection on the countertop, where you remember carving a deep gash in the material one night by shattering a particularly heavy plate upon the counter. You were almost sure it wasn’t fixable, that perhaps it could look better, but would always be extremely noticeable.

Joel nodded, back to his task of sorting out tea, but spoke when realising you were faced away from him. “Oh, yeah. Took me a couple tries, though.”

You hummed in response, going back to looking around the kitchen that you remembered so well. Most of the damage you had caused on the room had been fixed, which created a strange feeling in your chest, though you couldn’t tell quite what it was. Relief? Disappointment?

It wasn’t as hard to be in this house as you had expected it to be. You were awaiting that crushing feeling in your chest, that emptiness that left your ribs aching. Surprisingly, you felt… light, almost.

Joel didn’t know exactly what to expect.

On one hand, he wanted to feel hopeful, to belief that this would be the beginning of your relationship with him healing. But then on the other hand, he was reminded of just how much he had hurt you, of the tears that had spilled from your eyes when he had left you behind, the grit of your teeth when he had returned. He tried his best not to expect anything at all, to just remain… happy that you were here, in this moment.

Even if there were no other moments like this one.

He tried not to focus on how much that thought hurt.

“You and Ellie settled in, then?” You asked, trying to fill the silence in the room. There was also that part of you that wanted to know, that wanted to know everything.

Joel repressed the sigh that built in his chest. “Gettin’ there. She, uh, she’s had a tough time, but you know Ellie. She loves to be gettin’ into everybody’s business.” He refrained from looking in your direction when he asked you the same question. “You settled in alright here?” He wanted to add more on, but thought it best not to try his luck.

“I guess so.” You responded, thinking of how different your life was now, to how it was back in Boston, or even to how it was when you were on the road with Joel and Ellie. “It was… tough at first, but Tommy and Maria were good to me. And I got the shop, so.”

“And that boy?” Joel asked, trying to remain casual, though you heard the suspicion.

You smiled at his question, at the way he avoided looking at you. Back in Boston, when you had been much, much younger, Joel had tried to get the thought into your brain that boys were bad. He was protective of you, and distrustful towards the world. You couldn’t blame him.

“Jesse? He’s, uh, he’s my best friend.” You told the man, shaking your head at the way his shoulders relaxed the smallest bit. “He’s a good guy, you know. I care about him.”

As protective as Joel was, though he knew that he didnt really have any right to be, he couldn’t deny that it was nice that you had a friend your age. That you could count on someone, could trust someone, out of your immediate circle. He remembers that you had been lonely in the QZ, with only him and Tess for company, nobody your age that you could speak to or trust.

It had been a relief, almost, when you and Ellie had developed a friendship on the journey. Joel only hoped that the two of you could have that again.

“I’m happy for you, kiddo.” Joel responded, the nickname coming out almost like a reflex, like it was involuntary. It was what he had always called you, though, so you weren’t surprised.

“Jesse, uh— it was actually Jesse’s idea for me to come here.” You said, and Joel couldn’t deny the relief that spread through him when you didn’t immediately reject the nickname, or pull away at the sound of it.

Joel floundered for a moment, looking for something to say, eventually settling on uttering a quiet, “Sounds like a smart kid.”

You smiled, taking the mug off of Joel as he finally finished making the tea, avoiding your eyes. “I guess.” You replied, cradling the warm ceramic mug tightly in your hands. “Somehow, he seems to know what I need to hear, before even I know.” You said, humour coating your fond tone.

Joel smiled. “Sounds familiar. Tess was always like that, with me.”

It was one of the first times Joel had openly mentioned her name since she died. For some reason, it made your shoulders feel much lighter, like the burden of not being able to talk about her had been weighing you down.

“I miss her.” You confessed, looking for his reaction.

“I do, too, kiddo.” Joel admitted, his words softer than you had ever heard them. You thought about what it must’ve been like for him, to lose the companion he had held as close as he dared for close to two decades. You couldn’t imagine.

You hesitated, opening your mouth, before closing it again, only going ahead when Joel gave you a reassuring nod. “You knew her much better than I ever did.”

“I suppose.”

“Do you think you could… I don’t know, just— just tell me about her, one day?” You asked, the hope in your words making Joel’s heart ache.

“‘Course. I’ll tell you whatever you’d like to know.” Joel said, smiling gently at you, nodding his head towards the living room, a soft look on his face as he sat down beside you on the couch. “Ask away, kiddo.”

You were quiet for a moment, feeling lighter than you had possibly your whole life. “Do you think she’d like pottery?” You asked, sharing a knowing smile with Joel. He laughed at the concept, something so amusing about the idea of Tess Servopoulos, the renowned smuggling boss, sitting in your shop and making dinnerware.

“If it was with you, I reckon she’d have liked anything.” Joel responded, something truthful to his words.

You smiled, and asked more about her.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

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zepskies · 10 months

Text

Love Actually - Part 1

Paring: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.

AN: Here’s my last entry for the TGWRC: Christmas in July event! It’s set in the same world as “Break Me Down,” and set before “Checkerboard.” But this can be read as a stand-alone! Hope you enjoy…

Theme: Christmas movies Prompt: “That’s a poor excuse for a tree.”

Word Count: 3,100 Tags/Warnings: SB being himself, wee bit of angst, potential fluff overload!

Part 1: "Humbug"

He was late.

It was Christmas Eve, and your boyfriend was late.

With a large bowl of popcorn in your lap, you sunk further into your favorite corner of the couch, drumming your nails on its arm.

Your favorite Christmas movie played on the ridiculously large flatscreen Ben had insisted on when you two moved into this apartment. But you couldn’t get into the story like you normally would.

It was the first Christmas you and Ben were spending together since he’d started working with, instead of against Supe Affairs and the CIA. In fact, he was on an extended mission—hunting down a rogue supe in Idaho, of all places.

Freakin’ Idaho. Goddamn potatoes, you thought irrationally, shoving another handful of popcorn into your mouth.

While he’d been gone, you went all out in decorating the apartment: red and white candles, stockings, various ornaments, multicolored string lights, and poinsettias. You’d even found a nice little tree that fit in the only free corner of the living room.

Well, you’d had to rearrange some furniture to make that happen, but in the end you’d succeeded. It felt like you were living at the bottom of a snow globe.

You hadn’t heard from Ben at all in over two weeks. The day he left you outside your office in the Surveillance department replayed often in your mind.

Two weeks ago…

“Don’t give me that face, baby doll.”

Ben quirked a smile at your concerned frown, and he propped a gentle fist under your chin. You crossed your arms.

You knew he had to go. Butcher and the rest of the guys were waiting outside the S.A. office. And you were proud of him for what he was doing, genuinely trying to put in the work on this “hero” thing. But you didn’t have to like the timing. It was only two weeks until Christmas.

“Fine,” you agreed. “Just get this guy quick. I don’t want to hear my aunt’s shady-ass sniping. Every time I show up to a family gathering by myself, she starts plotting my arranged marriage to her fucking pediatrist, her divorce attorney—mind the irony there—or even the guy who packages meat at the grocery store—”

“All right, Christ. I’ll be back in fucking time,” said Ben. He grabbed your arms to stop your verbal flapping. Then with a grin, his hands moved to the curve of your waist, down to get a healthy grip of your ass.

“’Sides, I’m the only one flingin’ meat around here,” he said with a deepening smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile threatened to take over your frown as he pulled you flush against him, trapping your hands against his broad chest. You found purchase on the hard fabric of his uniform.

“You’re so gross,” you said. But you pulled him down for a searing kiss. If you weren’t going to see his handsome face for a while, then you were going to make the most of this moment.

And it seemed your boyfriend felt the same way; his arms wrapped around your frame like steel bands. Your fingers swept through his hair as your tongue slipped into his mouth, making his grip on you tighten with a pleased hum.

“Oi! Sid and fuckin’ Nancy,” Butcher called from down the hall. “Got a fucking job to do. Today, if you don’t mind.”

Ben broke away from you, just enough to frown in irritation over your head.

“Calm your fucking tits, Churchill. I’ll leave when I’m good and damn ready.”

You couldn’t help but giggle into his chest.

Now, it was quite literally hours away from Christmas Day.

You would be seeing your family tomorrow, regardless. You and Ben were supposed to go to your mother’s house for dinner. But you were starting to think that he might not make it tonight, let alone tomorrow.

And if you had to deal with your aunt nosing into your personal business again, your hand might just “slip” while pouring yourself a rum-filled eggnog, so you wouldn’t be held liable for your actions when you inevitably snapped on the bitch.

Sighing, you continued munching on some popcorn while you focused on one of your favorite parts of Love Actually. Hugh Grant was shaking his ass to “Jump In” by the Pointer Sisters.

The music was infectious, and you found yourself doing a little shimmy yourself on the couch in time with one of your favorite rom-com Brits.

With the TV volume as loud as it was, not even the door of your apartment unlocking could stop your mini-jam session.

And the door soon opened, revealing a dusty, soot-covered Benjamin, still in his supe suit and tactical gear. He took a small step back when the gaudy Christmas décor assaulted his eyes, but he blinked through it as he turned his head.

His lips curved at the familiar sight of you—bundled up in your pajamas and a fuzzy blanket on the couch, bopping to the beat of some shitty ‘80s song he actually recognized. You were alternatively mouthing the words and eating fistfuls of popcorn.

Shaking his head, Ben stepped into the apartment and shut the door with some force. You finally perked up at the sound, your smile alight with happiness when you realized he was home. That alone made him soften a bit.

“Ben!” You paused your movie and bounded over to greet him with a warm hug and a deep kiss.

He brushed your hair back and allowed himself to revel in the familiarity of you in his arms.

“Aren’t you a fucking sight,” he murmured.

Ben was still getting used to having someone to come home to, but it was grounding. This place was his home now, mostly because you were in it.

“You okay? How did it go?” you asked, wiping off some soot from his cheek.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Ben offered you a cocky smile. “We smoked that pyro bitch.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You what?”

“Relax, the supe’s alive,” he said, rolling his eyes, as if it grated him to admit it. He wouldn’t tell you that the supe had two broken arms and probably a crack in his skull. “Being shipped off to prison as we speak.”

You nodded with a smile. “Good. I’m proud of you.”

His lips pulled at a grin. But then you took his face between your hands with a hard slap (though it didn’t even sting, the point was made in your annoyed frown).

“You’re late,” you said. Ben raised a brow.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“You heard me. You’re fucking late,” you repeated. “Go take a shower. I already started the first movie without you.”

You tugged him by the hand and all but pushed him into the hall that led to your shared bedroom.

Ben wasn’t one to be manhandled though. He dug his heels in obstinately.

“Christ, I just got home. All I want to do is sleep…unless you want to give me a proper fucking welcome.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder with a more than suggestive smirk. He turned around and pulled you into his firm chest. His hands smoothed down your back and squeezed your hips, with his thumbs dragging under the hem of your pajama top.

While your lips threatened a smile, you had to wonder how he had enough energy for reunion sex, but not enough to watch a simple movie.

Still, his offer was all-too tempting, making heat prickle along your skin wherever he touched. Nonetheless, you managed to remain stubborn and pushed gently against his chest.

“Down, boy,” you said. “If I let you get your hands on me now, I’ll never get through my list.”

First it was Love Actually, then Christmas Vacation, followed swiftly by Home Alone and its sequel, Lost In New York.

Ben frowned at you. “So? Watch ‘em tomorrow.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, it’s Christmas Eve.”

You gestured to all your hard work in the form of the decorated apartment.

“Tomorrow, we have dinner at my mom’s house. So tonight, you’re gonna go shower," you said, pointing at him. "I’m going to make some more hot chocolate, and we’re watching all manner of cheesy, romantic, and downright silly Christmas movies until your Grinch-ass gets some holiday spirit.”

Ben released a tired sigh and dropped his hands away from you.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days," he said. "I’m not staying up all night again for some corny bullshit.”

You frowned in disappointment.

“Ben, come on. Please?” you tried, but he just waved a dismissive hand and continued his way to the bedroom.

For a moment, you watched him go in disbelief. Was he really going to be like that?

With a flash of hot annoyance, you huffed and decided that you weren’t going to let him ruin the night for you.

So you went into the kitchen and whipped up some hot cocoa, breaking out the actual Godiva chocolate bars you bought just for this moment. You poured out one mug initially. But you listened to the old water pipes working, knowing that Ben must’ve been taking a shower.

You knew he wasn’t just tired. He didn’t seem to be looking forward to tomorrow either, and was going along with it for your sake. Which, to be fair, could just mean he still wasn’t totally comfortable around your family. (Your sister Luisa still hadn’t totally warmed up to him.)

You also had a feeling that he just wasn’t into Christmas.

The question was why…

But you poured a mug for him anyway, adding some mini marshmallows into each one. You brought both mugs with you back to the living room and set them down on the coffee table.

Getting comfortable on the couch again, complete with your blanket, mug, and the popcorn bowl, you pressed “play” and continued watching the movie…even though you felt just a bit lonelier.

But then, a weight dropped on the other end of the couch. You flinched and looked over at your now clean and pajama-clad boyfriend, who eyed you begrudgingly with his arms crossed over a soft plain shirt.

You smiled at him warmly. “Hey, baby.”

His grouchy face was the very picture of “humbug.” Biting your lip, you set down the popcorn on the coffee table and handed him the spare cup of hot chocolate.

“I made some for you,” you said. He gave you a brief nod and took a dutiful sip. But not even rich, chocolatey goodness could curb his sour mood as he stared blandly at the screen.

You knew that face. That was his, I’ll do this for you, but I’m not gonna fucking like it—face.

When he stifled a yawn, you knew that he hadn’t been lying. He really was tired. Sometimes you forgot that while Ben was all but indestructible, even he had his limits. Chasing that rogue supe across the country must’ve taken it out of him, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

So you reached over and plucked the mug out of his hand. His brows knit together as he watched you set it down on the coffee table with yours. Then you grabbed his hand.

“Come ‘ere,” you said, tugging him toward you.

“What now?” he groused.

“Just come on. Don’t bitch,” you teased. You guided him to lay across the couch, with his head pillowed in your lap. You grabbed an extra throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him, making sure that it covered him up to his chest.

“What am I, a damn kid?” he said. But you knew his griping had no real weight. Already he was humming deep with pleasure as your fingers carded through his soft brown hair. You let your nails drag lightly over his scalp, massaging his head. Your free hand stroked his cheek.

Ben closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh through his nose. The movie continued to play, but you were no longer paying much attention. This was more important.

When he opened his eyes again, they were drawn to the small, four-foot Christmas tree in the corner of the room, next to the TV.

“That’s a poor fucking excuse for a tree,” he said.

You frowned and followed his gaze.

“I think it’s adorable,” you replied. And it was the only one you thought would fit in this cozy, but very narrow apartment.

Ben’s arms crossed over his blanket.

“I’ll go tomorrow, find us a real fucking tree,” he said.

Your frown deepened a little. “But I already decorated this one. All by myself, I might add.”

He eyed you then, a bit softer.

“All right, we’ll get a second one for the dining room,” he grumbled. “Getting the tree up is a man’s job anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at that. But you tried to see if there was anything deeper to read in his words. Not for the first time, you wondered how he’d spent his holidays in the past. No doubt with a lot of fanfare and celebrity parties during his hay day as Soldier Boy. You were more interested in his life before that.

“I remember, my mom would run the show at Christmas,” Ben said.

You blinked down at him in surprise. Without knowing, he’d opened up on your exact curiosity.

Or maybe he just knew you better than you thought.

“She’d have all the help in a damn tear around the house. Cooking, decorating, the whole nine yards. It was a perfect scene, like something out of a catalogue,” said Ben. “But getting the tree was always my dad’s job. His only job, really.”

You smiled and continued to listen with rapt attention. Your thumb continued to stroke along his neck.

“One year, he got this massive one. Must’ve been…I don’t know, twenty feet. I don’t even know how he got it through the door, but he was mighty fucking proud of himself,” Ben said.

His gaze trailed beyond you, lost in faded memories. They played in his mind like a reel, wordless, but bright and warm.

“Who decorated it?” you asked. Your voice drew his attention back.

“Me and him,” Ben admitted, surprising you yet again. “Meanwhile, Mom baked up a storm for the Christmas party they threw every year…”

It was a rare moment where Ben recalled what seemed to be a nice memory of his father. But soon enough, the nostalgia dimmed from his eyes.

He cleared his throat and swiped a hand over his mouth, as if that could erase his moment of vulnerability.

Then he turned to face the TV screen.

“So what’s even happening here? Seems like there’s four goddamn movies playing at once.”

You cracked a smile and continued brushing your fingers through his hair. You also rewinded the movie so he could actually follow the story.

“Yeah, that’s what makes this movie so classic. See, there’s Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman. They’re married, kids, the perfect life, right? But he’s actually cheating on her with a younger, sluttier woman.”

“…And this is a fucking Christmas movie?”

“Yeah, you’ll see. Then there’s Liam Neeson.”

Ben perked up at that. “The Taken guy?”

You nodded. “Yep! He’s a widower, but he has a stepson who’s got a sweet little crush. So he’s gonna try and help the kid impress the girl by helping him learn the drums.”

Your boyfriend nodded.

“Musicians get plenty of pussy, that’s for damn sure,” he said. And with a knowing grin, “Actors get more though.”

You snorted and pointed to Hugh Grant next. “He’s my favorite. He’s playing the Prime Minister, who falls in love with his assistant, Natalie. That’s her right there.”

Ben raised a brow at your choice of “favorite.” If nothing else, he noted your type for older men.

But he smirked when Natalie kept verbally fumbling in Hugh’s presence, then stared along with the Prime Minister at the woman’s ass when she walked away at the end of the scene.

“Hmm, I’ll admit. She’s got a juicy peach,” Ben remarked. You laughed and hit his shoulder playfully. It worked an amused smile onto his face.

He took your hand from his shoulder and pressed the back of it to his lips. You blinked down at him, and you warmed with a smile at seeing his more relaxed face.

He kept your hand on his chest, his thumb drawing back and forth over your wrist.

So you proceeded to explain the various angles of the movie until he was all caught up.

You two watched the rest of it together. Like always, you cried when Colin Firth poured his heart out to his housekeeper, Aurélia, half in his mangled Portuguese and half in English. You cried again when Emma’s character finally confronted her cheating bastard husband.

And you held your breath when Hugh and Natalie kissed as the stage curtain fell down, revealing their relationship to the world.

By the time the credits rolled, you were an emotional mess. You were happy though. Typically you’d watch this movie with your sister, but it was nice to share the holidays with someone…

Someone who loved you enough to curb his Grinch attitude about cheesy romantic things, like tree decorating and watching rom-coms with hot cocoa.

You glanced down, and sure enough, Ben was asleep. He had turned onto his stomach. His head still rested in your lap, his cheek pillowed by your thigh, and he had a hand curled around your leg. Your big, growling bear of a man had a gooey center that sometimes surprised even you.

For one mischievous moment, you considered sticking a piece of popcorn up his nose.

He looked so damn peaceful that you didn’t want to ruin it…yet now you couldn’t get up either.

Shit, you thought, but your grin was soft. Oh, whatever. Sleep is overrated.

You queued up Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation next in your movie marathon and settled in. You laid a gentle hand on Ben’s back, between his broad shoulders.

And his story about his parents returned to the forefront of your mind.

Maybe he didn’t hate Christmas. Maybe it was just difficult for him to remember the genuinely good ones. Maybe he missed his parents; both of them, despite how contentious it had been between him and his father.

You could certainly understand that. But now, you would make sure he would remember this one for the “good” column.

You only startled a little when your cell phone chimed on the coffee table. The screen read 12:00 a.m. It was officially December 25th.

You then felt Ben’s warm hand squeeze your leg. His eyes were still shut though, his breathing deep and even in sleep.

With a smile, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

And you whispered in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Ben.”

AN: Yay! I hope you liked this fluffy one for SB. 🎄❤️

Did you like Ben's little day trip down memory lane? Let me know in the comments! 😘

**Note: There will be two more parts to this due to popular request!

Keep Reading: PART 2

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

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@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92

#Love Actually #Part 1 #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben x reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #soldier boy x you #tgwrcjulyevent #dw's witch events #Christmas in July!#TGWRC #break me down verse #Christmas fic #fluff #zepskies writes

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squishytenya · 29 days

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semblance of touch

prologue - part one - part two - part three

pairing - bakugou x gn!reader

warnings - swearing, bkg uses princess as a nickname but in a gn way, enemies to lovers, minor injuries, hospital setting briefly (title from sedated by hozier)

By the time you had pulled on your jacket and caught up with him, the blonde was already at the front of the hospital. He took one look at you and scowled. Scoffing, you pushed past him and towards the street you knew led towards your shared dorms.

Your stomping was interrupted by a sharp pain in your chest. Grunting, you paused and waited for the annoyingly cocky blonde to catch up with you.

“Hurt, Didn't it?”

You sucked on your teeth. Was he going to be so goddamn annoying the entire time? You might put everyone out of their misery and smother him before the quirk even has time to run its course.

You spun on your heel, pressing your index finger to his annoyingly muscled chest.

“Listen, I know you don’t like me, I don’t know what I did to you but could you try not to be a giant dick for this please” you hissed at him.

He dragged his tongue across his teeth, peering down at you. The scowl on his face wasn’t promising but you were determined not to break under his gaze. You could give as good as you got and he was going to be perfectly aware of that by the end of this whole thing.

He folded.

“Fine.”

“Thank you” you huffed, spinning around again.

This time you tried not to stray too far from him.

—

“We’re gonna have to move you to his room”

Your jaw dropped. Bakugou and you had come to Aizawa’s office to try and look for some sort of fix for the situation. Ripping a bite from your sandwich, you clenched your hands behind your back. It was clear that your angry blonde companion wasn’t too happy about this turn of events either - if his smoking palms were any indication.

“What do you mean? There’s a spare room on his floor” you stuttered, “it’s literally right next to him why can’t I stay there?”

Your professor grumbled, leaning forward in his chair. His black hair looked tousled and his eye bags seemed even bigger than usual - something you hadn’t thought possible until this moment. Because you and Bakugou were his students, despite you both being adults, you were still technically under his guidance and that meant he had to deal with the technicalities of the situation you had landed yourself in.

“It’s not furnished and the bathroom is on the side of Bakugou’s room” he explained, “even if you moved your bed to the back wall you wouldn’t be close enough”

You gnawed on your lip and waited for your teacher to continue.

“We don’t know how long this is going to take to sort, it’s not worth moving the entire dorm layout if it’s going to be fixed in the next couple of days”

“What do you mean days?” came a gruff voice from behind you.

You grimaced as you were reminded of just who your new roomie was.

“We thought this was a 24-hour deal, sensei” you scrambled to cover for your counterparts rudeness.

Aizawa quirked a brow at you - the closest to amusement you think you’ve seen on him. Shifting on your feet, you decided that avoiding eye contact would be the best idea.

“We don’t know that, none of the others have seen any progress so you're just going to have to deal with it” Aizawa’s eyes glowed slightly on the last few syllables.

Even though his annoyance wasn’t directed at you, you still shivered under its weight. He was very obviously tired so if Katsuki could just leave it alone, you could finally sort your shit out.

“Your things are being moved as we speak,” Aizawa grumbled.

Cringing once again, you nodded at your teacher and removed yourself from the situation, much to your own relief. Usually, you had no problem being a slight annoyance to the man - he had multiple years to get used to you. But you were tired, and so was he, so you would have to save your annoyance for your lovely new best friend.

“Come on then dumbass, you smell like hospital and it’s making me retch”

You gaped at Bakugou’s comment, dragging your arm up to your face to smell it. By the time you realised he was pulling your leg, the taller boy was halfway to the elevator and dangerously close to 8ft away.

“Look,” you started, “if this is gonna work, you’re gonna have to slow the fuck down”

You emphasised the last word, slapping your hand on the blonde’s bare shoulder. A zap of electricity travelled up your arm and through your body, leaving that tingly warmth in its place. It flowed through your body like the drip of honey in your veins. The sensation caused you to let out an embarrassing whimper/gasp combination and you felt your face heat up in response to it.

Katsuki obviously felt it too, his body freezing up under your touch. You saw a shiver travel through his body, seemingly emerging from where your palm laid across his tan skin. A breathy sound escaped his nose.

You both stood in the hall, frozen in place.

“Uh,” you forced out, “we should really… um- go to the dorm”

It took Katsuki a second to regain his composure but he eventually returned to his gruff, standoffish self and shrugged your touch off of his skin. Grumbling, he continued down the hall towards what was now your combined bedroom.

—

The room was still very distinctly Bakugou. It was fairly plain, blue and grey bed sheets and very few posters. There was some skincare on the desk next to his bed and a fair collection of books tucked neatly into a bookshelf across the room from his bed. There were a few photos hung on the wall. They featured a brunette man with glasses and a woman that looked like an older, female version of the man that stood in the room with you. Bakugou’s parents, you assumed.

What really surprised you was the simple white plant pot on his window. The little purple flowers were no bigger than an inch in diameter but they seemed perfectly pruned, not a leaf or petal out of place or a sun spot in sight. They added some colour to the room - something it was sorely missing.

The only thing that really seemed out of place was the camp bed that had been haphazardly set up in the centre of the room. It had your bedsheets on it but there was nothing else indicating it belonged to you. You understood why this couldn't have been done in your room, the girls had a lot more protests to the loudmouth man next to you living in their side of the dorm than the three guys did to having you around. Shouji was nice enough, quiet but that was fine with you. Kirishima was already one of your close friends so it was more of a help than a hindrance to have him around - especially for him to inevitably play mediator between you and your brand new roommate.

“Are you gonna stand there like an idiot or go shower?”

You sucked on your teeth.

“I was taking in my new prison cell, if you must know,” you bit back at him.

He raised his hands in surrender.

“Whatever you want princess, you still smell like rubbing alcohol though”

You rubbed a hand up your arms uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with the man in front of you.

“They haven’t brought my clothes over yet”

He stretched his neck to the side, dragging a wide hand down the side of it and groaning. Then, a hand appeared in front of your face.

“Keys. I’ll get Kirishima to go get your damn clothes” he grumbled.

You shyly dropped your keys in his hand. Letting him go through your shit didn’t appeal to you too much, but a nice, warm shower certainly did. At this point, you just wanted to crawl into the shitty camp bed and pass out until the sunrise.

Calloused hands grabbed the keys from yours, and then he was gone. You adjusted your jaw, sucking on your tongue to prevent a snarky comment escaping your mouth. Casting your eyes to his open ensuite door, the white of the shower towels glinted in the bedroom light and you felt the sweet promise of cleanliness clear your stress from your shoulders.

And you were correct. The warm spray of the shower washed away whatever dirt from the fight hadn’t been cleaned off at the hospital and you felt your tense muscles unfurl under your skin. The steam even calmed the thrumming burn under your skin from Bakugou going just over your distance threshold. You didn’t have a wash cloth here yet, but Bakugou at the very least wasn’t a 4-in-1 body wash-shampoo-kitchen-sink kinda guy. Small victories, you supposed.

The knock at the bathroom door came way too quickly for your liking. Leaning out of the shower, you cracked open the door just enough for a tan hand to drop a towel on the floor.

What a gentleman.

If you rolled your eyes any more today they were gonna fall out of your head. At least the burning in your chest lessened when he returned to the dorm. It was an odd thing, to find comfort in his presence when he annoyed you so much in every other aspect. Stupid quirk. Huh, finding comfort in Bakugou - maybe a side effect of the quirk was going insane. You mentally wave goodbye to your hero career and let the image of your and Bakugou’s matching padded cells flood your brain.

The chuckle you let out wasn’t quiet. You bit your lip to stop yourself sounding like a crazy person. There was no need to give Bakugou more ammo than he already had on you.

“The fuck are you laughing at?”

You bit your lip to stifle a giggle again. This really wasn’t the time for you to start finding stuff funny.

Wrapping the red towel around yourself, you stepped out of the bathroom - fully expecting a pile of clothes to be waiting for you.

Instead, it was just Bakugou sitting on the bed. Alone.

Red eyes danced up your figure, tracing the outline of your waist and hips under the towel wrapped around your body. The red fabric only covered you from your chest to mid thigh and left a sizable amount of both peeking out either end. The water and steam made your skin supple and it seemed to glow under the warm lighting of his room. You felt your face heat up under his watchful eyes and the room seemed to heat up several degrees in the few seconds he had been dragging his eyes up and down your body.

His lidded eyes finally met yours, peering up at you from between his dark lashes. It felt like they were looking straight through you, into your head and your exact thoughts on the situation. Bakugou shifted, as if to move towards you.

Knock knock.

You started, hand gripped your towel tighter against your chest. The noise had knocked you both out of whatever trace you had fallen into and the awkward energy from earlier returned tenfold.

“Hey dude, I got the clothes you asked for” Kirishima’s enthusiastic voice echoed from behind the thin wood of the door, “I didn’t know what to get so I kinda grabbed a bunch.”

“Leave them by the door”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him as he got up, opening the door and throwing your clothes on the bed where his body had been not ten seconds earlier. Grumbling, he left and slammed the door behind him.

“Tell me when you’re dressed or whatever.”

And with that, you were alone, wondering what the hell had just happened.

thank you for reading! if you want to be added to the taglist for the whole series, or just Bakugou's parts lmk <3 reblogs and comments are appreciated

#bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #bakugo imagine #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou angst #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha angst

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rubydubydoo122 · 5 months

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As much as I hate to say it, and as much as I love Jason ToddI'm gonna need DC to kill him again, and keep him dead this time.

Now before you come at me, let me explain why I think this. Jason Todd is a character that while alive will always be connected to Gotham, and because of his differing morals with Batman, he will always be in a cycle of conflict with him. We saw it in UTRH, we saw it in RHATO, we saw it in Gotham Wars. Because Jason isn't a villain (I feel like in UTRH he was an anti-hero, and any actions that didn't align with the morals he set during that time is because he was villainized by Batman) Bruce's actions feel overtly brutal (batarang to the neck, beating him so har his helmet broke, chemically altering him to feel fear) especially since it's towards his SON the one he claims to have mourned. It's a vicious cycle that isn't fair to Jason, and it's major character assassination of Bruce. It's overdone and I am sick and tired of it, but I do not see either characters backing down from their moral stances.

Now you might be thinking, just because Bruce and Jason don't get along doesn't mean they can't make up-- they've tried. Multiple time. Every time Jason and Bruce take a step in the direction of being close to each other again, Bruce becomes a control freak and abuses Jason like he's his own personal punching bag, and there's only so many times someone can forgive someone before enough is enough.

But I still haven't explained why specifically I think Jason should die again. And it's because of two reasons. Jason deserves peace, and as long as he's a ghost walking on earth, he won't be able to get that. Also because it would make Great Angst. We all know Bruce would break if he lost Jason again. He's going to push everyone away, and if you're going to have Bruce push everyone away, give him consequences for his actions.but we saw how protective Dick got during Gotham Wars. Just imagine Dick walking up towards Bruce and saying, "It might've been my fault last time for not picking up his calls, but this time, you can't deny that this, is all your fault." "How dare you! He was my son!" "You lost him once, and when he came back you treated him worse than any of the loonies in Arkham. You don't miss him at all. You only feel guilty because of your goddamned savior complex. You only treat him like your son when he's dead."

and while we're at it, maybe Tim can have a complete crisis. He had to pick up the pieces of Bruce in the aftermath of Jason's death last time, and look where that got him. All of his friends and family died. He was never truly recognized for guiding Bruce out of the dark, and we all know that Tim is one inconvenience from killing a bitch. Maybe this is it. I actually think it would be hilarious for Tim to take up the Red Hood mantle, Only to screw with Bruce. Because he knows that's what Jason would've wanted.

Have Damian afraid of what Bruce has become in guilt. Have Damians castle of worship for his father come tumbling down, because Damian always knew his father loved all of the previous Robins more than him, and if his father no longer wanted them, what was stopping Bruce from sending him back to the League.

Like DC if you're going to use Jason as a catalyst for an event, kill him off again. last time it was on a whim. This time, do it on purpose. This time, give his death a purpose. This time, make sure his death changes something, because god, Bruce has fucked up so much.

#jason todd #bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #dead jason todd #bad dad bruce wayne #dc comics #I triple dog dare you DC #let my boy have some peace #let Jason RIP #maybe cremate him this time #he would hate crawling out of a grave a second time #unhinged tim drake #protective dick grayson #insecure damian wayne #rhato #utrh #gotham wars

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hanibalistic · 6 months

Text

WHO YOU ARE, WHO I AM | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff, angst, (semi) slow burn / arranged marriage au / strangers to lovers / 4th wall break

synopsis | when you wake up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama.

word count | 12.0k+

warning | car crash / not edited since the first time i posted this story

note | bye-bye baby, i love you baby. more than that body pillow drabble at least.

parts | one, two, three

After the doctor bandaged your hands and did some checkup on you to make sure you had sustained no more damage from the fall, you were glad to hear that they would take up the responsibility to call Minho’s parents instead.

You could not find the energy to talk to anyone about anything—perhaps you would give Yuna an earful about what happened, but she was gone by the time you got picked up by others around the scene. Tears kept falling down your face when you were getting treated, and the doctor in charge stopped asking you if she was hurting you anymore. It was obvious that your concern lay on someone else.

How did this happen? You always thought you would be so agile and smart during emergencies. The cold water of truth once again splashed down on you, reminding you that just because you think you’d be cool doesn’t mean you would be when your thoughts turn into reality. This isn’t the law of attraction, you can’t manifest the car away and you sure as well can’t manifest peace.

You sighed, your lashes wet and your under-eye pained from all the rubbing. It had to happen this way, didn’t it? The car crash was, unfortunately, essential in your drama. If it wasn’t the kidnapping, it if wasn’t the psychotic mother, if it wasn’t even the love triangle, then it would be the goddamn car crash. And as usual, it was infuriating and you wished it hadn’t happened.

It wasn’t that you minded the car crash (you would like to not see it as a plot device so often, though). You just hoped it hadn’t been Minho who got hit because he cared enough to save you from it. And now you were left here, sitting in the hospital lobby and being haunted by all the gut-wrenching components of a drama car crash.

Broken hands, broken legs, brain dead, blindness, mute, deaf, paralyzed, coma, a sudden discovery of cancer, a sudden discovery of related bloodlines, a sudden discovery of a terminal illness. You squealed under your breath as you went down the list, approaching the most common trait of them all—amnesia.

Sure, dramas usually have this rule where all you needed to endure was one to two months of hardships where Minho would revert to hating your guts, and then he would either fall in love with you again or you would give him the magical kiss of memory revival and he would suddenly remember your past together.

But those are often so unpredictable! You have watched hundreds of dramas that spin down several different lanes, and all of them have left you heartbroken one way or another. And by now you have learned how much different it would be for you to have to experience such events by yourself! If you could cry so hard because of what those pixelated people are going through, how would you begin to cope with experiencing it yourself?

A sob forced itself up to your throat, your chest sustained the pain of holding it in for too long it felt like you swallowed too many things at once, it felt like you were suffocating. You were afraid. So far, you have skated through every event with a very humorous coping mechanism, one that never does any long-term help. But this was different, this could last forever.

No, this wasn’t supposed to be the forever you experience. You two have just begun, you two were just starting to love each other loudly and happily. You haven’t had enough yet, you wanted more time! The gate to Heaven shouldn’t be allowed to close itself at people’s faces!

“Hello? Excuse me?”

You looked up at the doctor standing in front of you and immediately stood up, wiping your eyes on cue even though you had passed the point of crying and ceasing the chaos in your head. “Yes! How–how is Minho?”

“Good. He only got a few fractured ribs, a bad concussion, and a badly scraped forehead. He didn’t suffer any damage to his internal organs and there are no signs of internal bleeding,” the doctor explained. “He just needs to rest for now, but I estimate that he will wake up sooner than expected. You can wait in his room if you want to.”

You heard everything she said crystal clear. You even went so far as to repeat it in your head. Fractured ribs and concussion, ouchie but at least there wasn’t any internal damage that always sounded so life-threatening. This should be great news, but why did it sound so suspicious to you?

“Really? You are sure, doctor?” you asked, “He didn’t like…lost his eyesight or paralyzed or… I don’t know, cancer? Amnesia?”

“This is a car crash, I don’t think it will cause him cancer,” she replied calmly. If she was annoyed at your stupid questions, she was trained well not to show it on her face. “And no, we did all the scans. There is nothing else, I assure you.”

“But I swear I saw blood back then, what does that mean?”

“He scraped his forehead when he fell. We did sutures on the wound, which is going to leave him a scar but we can try to minimize it as best as we can,” she said.

Huh, bummer. Maybe I should order another car crash.

Yeah, now wasn’t the time. My apologies.

You thanked the doctor quickly then, wanting to do nothing more than to see him. But before you could leave, she held you back and shifted through her pocket for something she intended to give you.

"The paramedic stopped me and told me to give this back to Mr.Lee when you guys went in, but I assume it is yours?” she said as she pulled out a dark blue velvet box and handed it to you.

It was a ring box, with your ring stored securely in it. You felt a rush of tears piling at your eyes again but you held them down and nodded. “Yeah, well, let’s hope it’s still for me.”

“Pretty sure it will. He wouldn’t buy you a ring if he didn’t care enough to jump in front of a car for you.” She shrugged. “His room is right around the corner, you can ask the nurses around.”

You bid her goodbye then, watching her rush away as her pager beeped. Then you returned your attention to the ring. You took it out of the box and slipped it on, admiring the way it still fits perfectly around your finger. You became his and you would always be from now on; wearing the ring is an act of taking a physical vow. Clasping the box shut, you put it in your pocket carefully before heading to where the doctor pointed you.

This was painstakingly familiar, Minho thought as he opened his eyes once again to welcome the flood of nausea and ugly ceiling lights. He hasn’t been in the hospital for a long time but he could tell he was in one from the saturated smell of alcohol and the overall sickly atmosphere. Shutting his eyes immediately after waking up, he groaned hoarsely as he recalled what events led up to this moment and realized he would have to be bedridden once more.

What a shame, you would have to take care of him again—hey, hold on a second! Where were you?

Minho snapped his eyes open, panic overwhelming the revolting weight laid atop of his body and brain. He did push you out of the way, right? He remembered he did, but he couldn’t be sure if you both were lucky enough to not have a second careless driver grace the crossroad. Or what if you bumped your head too hard on the ground and got a bad concussion? Or what if he didn’t push you far away enough for the car not to hit you?

He turned his head over to the door, wanting to call for a nurse and ask them millions of unprepared questions, but he stopped in his tracks abruptly when his gaze shivered downwards and he found you sleeping with your head on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t even registered the feeling of his hand being held by yours, the pulse oximeter and the IV on his left arm had taken away most of his sense of touch.

Calming down, Minho relaxed against the pillows and exhaled in relief. He would much rather have you here and sleeping in an uncomfortable position than laying on a bed with a heart monitor beeping next to your bed. Lowering his head so he could look at you, he softened at the way your cheek was squeezed against your forearm and the fading redness visible under your once tearful eyes. Oh, how he longed to reach out and touch you right now, the desire was immeasurable.

His mellow eyes trailed over to your hand, the one laying on the side of his legs, and he frowned slightly at the heavy white gauze wrapped around your lower palm. Getting a scrape when he pushed you away like that is likely inevitable; it got the job done, thankfully, he hoped it didn’t hurt you too much. He was promoted to move his hand when he saw yours, the one you had your own pinned down on the bed softly, and it was then when he felt the roughness of the gauze rubbing against his skin as well.

With a grimace, he looked over to where your hands were stacked on top of each other, and he held his breath when he finally noticed the shining diamond sitting prettily on your finger.

You put the ring back on.

The box must have flown out of his pocket when he got hit. He had been taking it with him everywhere recently just in case the perfect timing to give it back to you turns out to be a place where he couldn’t have access to it immediately. Besides, holding the box in his hand had always reminded him of you, and he liked being reminded of you from time to time throughout the day.

It made him feel less jittery, less annoyed at the general things, and it got him excited to return home at the end of the day.

Minho couldn’t think about anything else at the moment; all that flooded his mind was how much more fulfilling it was to see the ring on your finger rather than in the box, how things should have been this way all along, and what it all meant now that you’ve worn it back.

Forgiveness for his aloofness in the past, a firm acceptance of this marriage, and that he has become someone who can be loved by you.

His shaky eyes were filled with droplets, creating a glassy sight in his already glittery eyes. Feeling you stir on your spot, he slowly moved his head up so he could watch you wake from your slumber. Your grogginess went away as soon as you met eyes with him, and instead of an excited squeal or a surprised gasp, the only thing that glossed over you was an immense relief.

Looking at you, Minho breathed out a quiet laugh, one that even you couldn’t hear. He felt your hand around him still, but your grip more secure now. In an attempt to chase the tears away from your eyes, he joked, “Stop frowning. Your face is gonna get stuck.”

“I’m glad you still remember that,” you laughed, lightly shoving his leg as your voice echoed the room. He gave you a knowing hum as if telling you it would be impossible for him to ever forget the unfunny jokes you liked to tell around the house so much, they were practically engraved in his mind.

Sitting up straighter now, your entire demeanor became gentler. Your senses less alert, your mouth quirked into a permanent smirk, and your fluffy gaze paying a constant focus on Minho.

“You haven’t forgotten me, have you?” you asked slowly, propping yourself up on your intertwined hands and smiling brightly up at him.

“No,” he replied.

“Who am I?”

“You are [Name]. You have bad humor, you forced pizza down my throat once, and you made me like soap opera,” he said, finding his voice back as more words gradually left his lips. And then he paused for a moment, a dramatic moment where he eyed you lovingly, watching as your brows raised in anticipation. “And I think I might be your husband.”

A joyous sob came in the form of giggle and Minho whined at the strands of tears that danced down your cheeks. He reached out to you, wanting to wipe your tears away for you, but you stopped him and told him not to move. Instead, you got up from the chair and scooted closer to the edge of the bed so you two could be closer at face level.

You slipped your arm under this head and the other reached to cup his jaw. You kissed his forehead, once and twice, then you pulled away just enough for you to look at him fully. Ah, you were so filled to the brim with affection for him; it was so new to you but so real the same time that you were not afraid of diving headfirst into it.

“I think you are my husband,” you whispered with a small nod.

He smiled. “Thank you for having me again.”

You gave him a smile before leaning down to kiss him again. This time you didn’t stop at his forehead. Your soft lips trailed down his eyes, his nose, his cupid’s bow, and before you could kiss him on the lips as you had always wished, you pulled away with a puff of nervous breath. You stared into his eyes, feeling the same longing in the way his hand found your wrist and he held onto you.

What are you waiting for? For permission? For him to get better? Go on, kiss him.

You two will be fine, you won’t hurt each other.

Pressing your lips against his tentatively, you felt a rush of adrenaline racing around your lungs. It made you feel hypersensitive, like a supernatural who could hear and see and feel beyond the human spectrum—the forced nudge of your noses, the beating in your ears, the softness of his lips, your quickened breathes, his soft locks flowing between your fingers, his grip on your wrists tightening to keep you with him.

It was all so overwhelming, the intimacy and the desperation. The emotions came in tiny waves, similar to the way the ocean feels when you stepped your feet on the shore. It drowns you out, it lets you breathe, it drowns you out again. You kiss, you breathe, and you kiss him again. No matter how many times the cycle continues, no matter how many times the seawater brushes past your skin, you get surprised by it and you keep yearning for more.

Your heart was hanging by a thread, any minute now it would leave your chest and land itself straight into Minho’s palms.

Hesitantly pulling away, you kept your mouths close enough for him to still feel you against his lips. He leaned in a little, breathing out a whine that made you realize your heart was already in his hands long ago. Swallowing down a breath, you whispered, “Do you remember, that I love you?”

He nodded, his lashes fluttering as he glanced down at your lips again and back up at your eyes, “I will now.”

Minho’s heart was yours too, long ago, and you’ve learned that.

You jolted awake in the middle of the night. Heavy breaths left your lips as you sat up against the arm of the couch. Your heart was beating quickly like you had just run a mile around the track field.

It was nothing like the way you used to be yanked out of sleep. It wasn’t like your head hitting against your desk in a boring lecture, or when you brutally died in a bad dream. This one was different. You were not falling asleep and you weren’t dreaming. It was different in a way that all you saw during your ‘consciousness’ was blackness, paired with a familiar voice you never thought you would hear again.

“Mom?” you whispered as you quickly scanned your surroundings, looking for the sight of your mother.

But you were still in the hospital room. You were sitting on the couch located at the corner of the room, with your phone and leftover takeaway food resting on top of the small table before you. The moon has gone up and the sky has turned darker than night, you glanced over and found Minho sleeping on the bed as he should.

You were back in where you were supposed to be, but your mother’s voice felt genuinely real during your supposed dream. Sitting up straighter and putting your feet down on the ground, you ran your hands through your hair to force yourself into concentration. Why did you jolt awake at your mother’s voice? There should be no reason for you to find her a threat unless you felt like you were being pulled out of this world.

Like you were falling, like you were falling out of this place, like you were leaving this world and back to reality.

“Oh god,” you gasped as you snapped your head up, your eyes wide.

Great, you were finally piecing the puzzle together, [Name]. I’m glad.

You have exhausted your one near-death experience when you almost got hit by a car yesterday. If Minho hadn’t pushed you to the side and you got hit then things would have been different; you’d be hit by the car, got sent to a hospital to get fixed, and nothing would have happened. Alas, Minho did push you out of the way, and now you have reached the limit, which was only one. If you remember clearly, the way you arrived to this world was by waking, so when you return home, you would find yourself waking up as well.

Except this time, you would be alone, and Minho never existed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeated under your breath, biting your nails in an attempt to ease out the spiraling anxiety permanent in your head. It was all hitting you too quickly—the near-death theory, the memories you have of your real life, or the lack thereof, feeling like you were being pulled out of your own body, going back to reality, leaving Minho here.

I reckon this would be better for you, actually. The anxiety keeps you awake, and the pacing around keeps you active and forces your eyes open. It would be sooner or later, though, when you find yourself dozing off due to the inability to stay awake any longer. That’s when things get bad for you because as soon as you fall asleep, you will wake up in a whole different place. A familiar place, but different, nonetheless.

Oh, but how could this be? You have just worn the ring, you two have just kissed for the first time. You couldn’t fathom the idea of being separated from Minho and you didn’t want to leave him yet! You never want to leave him ever! There was still so much for you two to do! You needed more time. You both needed more time!

“[Name]?”

“Huh–oh, hey, Minho.” You moved over to him with a smile. “Did I wake you?”

He could see the panic in your eyes and he frowned. “Are you okay? You look tired. Maybe you should get some sleep–”

“Oh, I–” Your bottom lips quivered.

How long would you be able to hide it before he finds out? How long could you stay awake and act normal for? How would you be able to explain why you always look so exhausted? Minho should know the truth, he deserved to know that you have been hiding something important from him the whole time. Besides, it would be such a shame if you leave him unprepared for your departure. He’s the one who has to remember, after all.

“I’m not leaving!”

Oh, yell at me, why don’t you?

“Hey,” Minho grabbed a hold of your hand, his brows furrowed up at you, “what is going on?”

You stayed still to pull yourself together for a few seconds, breathing slowly, and then you looked back at him. “I have something to tell you.”

He could sense the solemnity in your voice and it terrified him. You had shown him a large range of your emotions before, from playful to angry to loving, but he has never seen you look so helpless. Tugging at your hand, he kissed your knuckles softly and nodded. “What is it?”

And you told him everything, struggling to make your story coherent despite only having the absolute truth escaping your lips. You told him from the very moment when you found yourself waking up next to him, and then when you were still figuring out what to do with ‘your’ past broken relationship, to adapting quickly and blending into this world. Everything up until this point, when you were so close to forgetting where you came from only to have reality force itself back into your head again.

It was taking Minho a long time to comprehend all the information thrown at him. When it seemed like he was finally done, he moved his eyes over to you and he tilted his head with a sigh. “That is a very deliberate joke.”

Right, you should have anticipated a reaction like that. It would be too easy if he brought it immediately. You pulled a face. “It’s not a joke, Minho.”

“Oh, so you are trying to tell me you aren’t from this universe and you aren’t even who you are before you came here?” he said, confusion evident on his tired face and his voice rising as he went on. “You are basically suggesting parallel universes exist?”

“No–I mean, yeah? It could be true?” You shrugged, and then you shook your head. “The point is–I can feel myself leaving this place and I am pretty sure as soon as I fall asleep, my time will be up. I just felt like I should tell you because you deserve to know.”

Despite how serious you sounded throughout your entire explanation, he just couldn’t bring himself to take you seriously. It was too absurd, the whole concept of waking up in another place. Sure, you did suddenly change overnight and you did feel much different than you did before, and there had been certain very subtle hints that could back your point up, but it was not enough for Minho to believe in what you just told him.

“You should go to sleep, [Name]. You’ve been really tired,” he said again, trying to persuade you into going back to bed.

Disappointment flashed before your eyes. Your shoulders slumped in defeat as you looked away, unsure what else you could do to convince him. The only thing you were sure about was that you absolutely could not fall asleep, no matter how tired you were. You planned to hang on for as long as you could, and hopefully, Minho would come around and believe you by then.

“I am just gonna go take a walk and come back,” you said, smiling faintly. “You should go back to sleep though.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “You can sleep with me on the bed if you want. I wouldn’t mind.”

“You know I can’t,“ you said. Leaning down to kiss his forehead, you moved away from the bed slowly. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you up with breakfast tomorrow morning.”

You closed the door, leaving him alone in the darkroom. Minho pouted, he was thinking too much to be able to just fall asleep now. The fact that he couldn’t just sleep sort of gave him a sense that he was leaning towards believing it and he was just in the stage of denial. If he really thought it was a joke then he should have no problem brushing it off, right?

He leaned back against the pillow, his fingers grasping at the air and his head filled.

Would you really leave? Just like that? More importantly, would he be able to tell if you left?

"Did you sleep?”

“They did not,” Changbin replied casually as he slammed a plastic bag on top of the table. Leaning down and proceeding to take out the takeaway food, he handed you a small box of food and looked up at Minho again. “They were up the whole night.”

“Did you seriously stay up the whole night?” Minho asked, brows furrowed at the unexpected visit by Changbin. He wanted to ask why he decided to tag along with you, but he figured it was much more important to know what happened with you last night.

“I did,” you sighed, shoving the chicken into your mouth and moaning at its delicious taste.

After realizing it would be almost impossible for you to stay awake on your own, which was such bullshit because you swore you used to have the ability to pull all-nighters like it was nothing, you ended up calling your last resort—Seo Changbin. Feeling bad that you had to wake him up in the middle of the night, you gave him the same explanation you gave Minho, and like your husband, he was extremely reluctant to accept it.

But you weren’t sleeping at all. And while Changbin had the suspicion that you were just taking this 'joke’ a little too far, he decided to humor you for the night and stayed up with you. And you spent the night over at his home, doing anything and everything to keep yourselves from falling asleep.

“Didn’t they tell you about the story?” Changbin asked, popping open a can of soda and looking at Minho as he drank. ��I still don’t believe it but they were so hell-bent on not sleeping, I might just let them have it.”

“What–Changbin, I thought you believed me!” you whined, punching his behind and shoving him to the side.

“If I come over and tell you I’m not actually me and I came from another dimension, would you have believed me?” Changbin retorted, rubbing the spilled drink off his chin.

“I don’t have to because first of all, I met you for the first time at the shopping mall and I know nothing about you,” you pointed out. “Second of all, I am going through it right now. I am telling you, if I fall asleep, you will never see me again.”

“You don’t have proof that you aren’t you, [Name],” Minho chimed in, sighing in defeat as he slumped back against the bed.

Changbin pointed at you with wide eyes then, nodding in agreement. Sitting up from the couch, you turned your head to find Minho grimacing at you, and you heave a sigh. Proof. Where the hell would you find the proof to explain that you are who you are? Identity isn’t a tangible thing, no amount of paperwork can shape it for you.

“Look, I am telling the truth, alright? Or at least I am saying what I know,” you said as you grabbed a box and headed over to the bed. You handed the food to Minho, who refrained from throwing a mini tantrum the way he did before due to Changbin’s presence. Sitting down on the chair you had also pulled over, you sighed. “Who knows? Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t want to take the risk and sleep.”

You looked at Minho, your brows raising slowly to display a vulnerably honest expression. No malice was hidden behind your eyes, your gaze only directed at him. “I don’t want to leave you, Minho.”

His munching halted. He could feel a hint of unease at the bottom of his stomach, possibly due to what you said and the soft way you said it. As if you were afraid, cautious. Lowering his hand, he inhaled, kind of wishing his inner voice would kick him in the head and give him a little nudge to the right path.

But really, what more was there left to say, Minho? [Name] has said all they could.

“You are not going leave me,” he muttered.

You shook your head. “Not consciously, no.”

Minho pursed his lips. Think carefully; for him to convince himself of what you said, he has to nitpick the past and the present, like separating different colored peas with chopsticks.

Starting from the day you met him, you said you have no idea what his name is and you woke up in his bed even though he had this terrible rule of not sleeping together. That was one. Then you forgot about the marriage; you were surprised by the ring on your hand so much that you even asked him for the price. That was two. You went into his closet, even when you were banned from touching certain things that were his. That was three. These were all rules to be broken, but the old you never had the guts to do that. It didn’t make sense for the courage to suddenly appear.

Asking for a divorce and acting like you didn’t know it was arranged, forgetting that your parents were dead, completely unbothered by Yuna’s presence, suddenly knowing how to cook up a whole meal, eating lots of greasy food, profoundly cursing, being playful enough to give him nicknames and make bad jokes.

Aside from that, he could physically tell, now that he thought about it with a clearer head. You were less timid and much louder. Sure, you have your moments of tenderness, but overall you felt much more energized and much happier than before. It was a difference in your presence—you didn’t use to light up the room when you walk into one, but now all Minho could see was you whenever you come into his line of sight. And that was before he fell so in love with you.

The pieces were adding up to an unbelievable story.

Minho looked up at Changbin, his gaze hardened. “Can you leave us alone for a moment?”

You widened your eyes at his troubled look, then you turned around and urged your best friend away as well, promising to find him later when your private talk ends. Changbin rolled his eyes and unwillingly left, and then it was finally just you and him.

Minho started without waiting. “Let me recap everything. You came here not knowing who I am or what this place is?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “does this mean you believe me now?”

“Wait–why didn’t you tell me before then?” he asked.

“I thought I would leave soon and return to where I came from. I didn’t expect to stay so long,” you said. “Also, drama taught me it is better to keep my identity hidden.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “So, you suspect that the way for you to go back is through a near-death experience?”

“And falling asleep later,” you hummed. “This one I learned out of instinct, but I’m sure it’s happened before on some show.”

Minho scoffed, “You can’t trust dramas all the time. They’re made up.”

“Yeah, but this feels too much like one for me to ignore it! I mean, look at this!” You pointed at him, smiling bitterly. “Look at you! I would have never been able to snatch a guy like you if I was back in my world. I was a huge loner. All I did was work and have fleeting crushes.”

He watched as you lowered your arm, your smile dimming significantly. “Honestly, I don’t even know if you love me or who used to be me.” You shrugged, not looking at him. “I am a new person to you now, right?”

Minho licked his lower lip. That problem has never crossed his mind before since it was so obvious that he loved you. His affection was never there, it wasn’t affection for you before. But then he started developing feelings of his own for you, steaming from a threatening turn where he might lose the care and obedience he was used to receiving. He just used to like being loved by 'you’, now he liked loving you; he liked the mutual feelings you two shared.

If all were true, then there was a whole world behind you he’s never known. You previous life, your friends, your fleeting crushes.

“Come here,” he said, patting the spot next to him.

You stood up from the chair and carefully climbed onto the spot next to him. You back hit against the side rail, preventing you from falling off, while Minho pushed his hand against your waist to keep you close to him. You leaned your head against his shoulder, a sigh leaving your lips quietly.

“You know, I thought you were funny, back when you first came here,” he said. “A little infuriating, yes, but amusing nonetheless.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” you commented, giggling when he cleared his throat and nudged the top of your head with his jaw.

“You could have totally snatched me up even if we are not in this setting,” he said. “You aren’t like other people. You treat me differently.”

Ah, and the iconic line finally decided to make its appearance. I was hoping it’d at least happen once for you to hear it because you would only be able to hear it from Minho’s mouth.

“What do you mean different? I treat you the same way everyone treats you!” you said, suppressing a chuckle. You weren’t sure if that line had boosted your ego but it sure did make you feel quite special, as cliché as it was, but honestly? As a society, we should all establish that clichés don’t matter.

“No, you were so casual and honest. I think you are the only person who has given me nicknames aside from my old friends back in high school.” He nodded with a shaky laugh. He patted your waist in a beckoning motion, seeming excited. “And you’re even more different than others now because you are the only person I love, in that special kind of way.”

“What are you, five? Special kind of way–that’s lame!” you exclaimed, laughter escaping in between. When you quieted down, you pressed yourself closer to him and looked up.

He only glanced down when he felt your lips at the side of his jaw. And he kissed you then, leaning his head down eagerly to capture your lips. You were careful with moving around, your hand going up to stop at the nape of his neck, rubbing comfortingly as your mouths danced with each other sensually.

This could never be enough. Minho wanted more than this, he thought as he tugged you closer to him, feeling your chest against his side. This could never be enough. He wanted to do more than kissing you in a hospital bed. He wanted to kiss you under the moon, to kiss you at home, to kiss you during a spontaneous snack run at midnight. He wanted to eat junk food and get emotional about fictional characters with you; he wanted to see you read books while he worked on the side.

Minho wants you with him, always.

You pulled away, gasping a little at how teary his eyes had suddenly become. You didn’t need to ask why. You could already tell. “Do you believe me now?”

“I can’t. I don’t want to.” Minho let out a shaky breath. “If I do then I will have to accept the fact that you might leave me soon.”

A sobbing noise spiked from the back of your throat as you reached up to peck his lips. “I will try my best to stay awake for as long as I can, Minho.”

He nodded, even though the fact alone broke him, the fact that you two have to settle for 'as long as you can.’

You jolted awake again, this time in Minho’s workroom with a new book held loose in your hands.

You kept the lights on for the sake of having an awake atmosphere even though you knew very well that would do nothing to help your exhaustion. Looking up from the couch, you found it hard to just squint at the clock hanging above your head, but you saw that it was long past midnight already.

You groaned, throwing your head back against the couch as you kicked your legs in frustration. You were officially three days in, all three days you went without a lick of sleep. And you put in lots and lots of effort to accomplish that, such as eating, doing yoga, shopping, scrolling the internet, and indulging yourself in many new shows filled with more than seven seasons of emotions.

It was painful. Your body felt heavy and your eye bags were probably getting bigger as you went on. Your mind was slow, you zone out too much and you kept dozing off. The only thing keeping you from falling into slumber was the sickening feeling of you astral projecting out of this place.

You didn’t want to cry though. Not only would it make you feel even more exhausted, but it would also make you feel weak, and you didn’t want to feel pathetic that way if you were doing this so you could stay with the love of your life.

Huffing out a groan, you got off the couch and left the room. You were much more familiar with the house by now, you could practically walk anywhere with your eyes closed as long as you knew where you started. You walked down the hallway and stopped abruptly before a pair of doors.

Minho’s closet was as you remembered it was. Black and white, very minimalistic, with clothing racks lining up against the wall. One thing has changed, though, he has opened up a space for clothes you got him from time to time. The ones you thought he would look good in and he occasionally wears around in the house when he didn’t need to be in formal attire.

You flipped through the clothes, remembering where each one of them came from with a smile. It was quite funny as well, to see how the clothes gradually grew to be more accurate in his size with the more you brought.

Pulling a sweater off the rack, you admired the soft material by kneading it between your fingers, then you hugged it close to your chest. You brought the fabric close to your face, inhaling the warm scent you’ve gotten used to smelling on your own clothes as well.

You never tried to look into what detergent the housekeeper used to wash your clothes, but you always thought it had an artificial smell of some type of flower you have never smelt the actual scent of before. It stopped mattering now that you have gotten so accustomed to the smell. It just has the scent of a home, and home is Minho for you.

You inhaled deeply and exhaled out to control your quickened breathing. A sob threatened to break out but you muffled it with his sweater, clinging onto it like it was your life-line.

It has been so difficult for you. Staying awake beyond your limit and trying to smile with everyone else; you couldn’t even tell Minho how you felt when he asked if you were okay because a part of you dreaded that he’d let you go. You felt alone, worrying and fearing for the day you would leave this place.

Standing in his closet and having his scent so close to you pushed you past the breaking point. All you knew was that you wanted to stay with Minho, and knowing how sleep would be inevitable made you cry.

The past three days have only been about that. You couldn’t afford to think about anything else.

You stood there alone and sobbed for as long as your body allowed. When you were done, you dropped the sweater on the rack and took off your own just so you would wear it.

It felt warm, big and warm, just like Minho.

You felt another sob bubbling up.

Minho could tell you have been crying when you arrived to visit him for the night.

It has become increasingly difficult for him not to notice how worn out you were, not to mention having to neglect it and pretend as if nothing was happening. Although you were the one who was so determined to keep yourself in this place, and of course, he too wanted you to stay here, he couldn’t help the gruesome guilt that rips through his veins whenever he sees that defeated state of yours.

You were dozing off on the couch again. He could somehow feel it whenever you’ve got your eyes closed, it was like a tingly sense that shoots down his spine. Even then, he always looks over to check if you are, and you were this time, your chin squished against the base of your palm with your elbow propped up against the armrest of the couch. You were dozing and waking, an indefinite cycle that would only stop until you reach the point of insanity, he supposed.

When this first happened, when he first saw you with your eyes closed and unresponsive, he used to have this knot in his stomach that would tighten harshly in a way that makes him hallucinate pain. The fear used to make him want to throw up, it used to make his face go red and his fist curl until the nails dig deep into his skin. It feigns an anxiety attack for him, and God knows how to properly handle those.

“[Name]!” he repeatedly called for you, feeling the knot inside of him release its chokehold slowly the longer he has to call for you. But you woke up eventually, your body falling to the side and the sudden impact yanking you out to sleepiness.

You looked around and heaved a sigh, whether it was a relieved one was uncertain to everyone, including you. Turning over to look at Minho, you tilted your head and asked, “Hey, what’s up?”

Your posture was terrible, like usual but much worse now that your shoulders were hunched all over and your neck cranked in longing to take a decent break. Your body was fidgety, a habit you picked up to keep yourself active in movement so you wouldn’t fall asleep. The dark circles under your eyes were starting to get more visible than the smile Minho had always paid more attention, and there was no light in your eyes, just a pit of shadowy doom.

Maybe you were trying your best, but you couldn’t look at him like you love him anymore; your eyes physically could not manifest the affection you felt.

This was his fault. Maybe it wasn’t, you certainly would never blame him for this, but Minho still felt like he was the one putting you through all of this. And he hated seeing you so out of place because you haven’t slept in days, and for what? To get a few more days with him? Honest to God, your mind was barely with him these days anyway.

Minho pursed his lips into a thin line, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. And he shook his head. “You should go to sleep. This is killing you.”

You were quick to turn down his suggestion. “No.”

“Go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to,” you said. “I don’t want to go.”

“Well, you are going to have to go either way so why not make that earlier?” he asked, raising his voice, causing your defenses to build up quickly.

You stood up from your seat, your eyes wide in a glare for the first time in days. “What is your problem, Minho? Do you want me to leave so bad?”

“I don’t–“ he breathed out a sigh, closing his eyes to keep his temper low now that yours have been shorter than usual. “I don’t want you to leave. If I get to choose, I will always choose to have you stay here with me, but look at yourself!”

You raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re tired, you are so tired. You have been crying, you eat slow, your temper is short, you barely react to anything anybody says. Even the nurse who came in to check up on me this afternoon asked if you are okay because you don’t look okay!” he exclaimed. Then, sucking in a breath as if gargling his words, he exhaled through a soft huff before he whispered, “I love you, [Name], so much. But not like this. Not when you are so miserable because of me.”

If his existence is causing you pain then he’d rather not have it. As selfish as he wanted to be, he would choose to let you go.

Your arms dropped to your side and you rolled your eyes up. You have told him the same thing before. God, you felt like one of those female leads who cry every single episode, it was so enraging. Everything you have sought to not become, you’ve become it.

Minho moved to the side on his bed, leaving you a spot, and he called out, “Come here.”

You looked back down at him, your sight blurred at the thought of what he meant to do. You were going to walk over, he would wrap you in his arms, and you would fall asleep to his warmth. He would still be here but you would be somewhere else. It would be quick, it would happen before you even know it.

“Come here, please?” he asked again, softly. “Let me hold you.”

You rubbed your eyes and moved over slowly. He helped you as you climbed onto the bed, snuggling up next to his side with your head laid on his shoulder and his arms securely around your torso. He squeezed your arm and breathed out a joking giggle, mentioning something about you getting chubbier and earning a hit on the chest in return.

His fingers shifted through your hair when you looked up at him, and he smiled down at you like nothing was going wrong. Eyeing his lips once, you didn’t hesitate to reach up for a long, loving kiss, one where your tears were mixed with the taste of his mouth.

When you pulled away, you said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he said, shaking his head. “This is actually pretty funny. I am the one who got injured but here we are, crying over you leaving instead.”

You laughed silently, bringing him closer to you. Minho has steady breathing but his heart beat quickly. It rattled against your ears, reminding you that he was as nervous as you were about losing each other. Your senses were shutting down slowly, ready to go into rest when you finally gain the sleep your body has been screaming at you to get.

“I’m sleepy, Minho,” you muttered, adjusting your head.

“I know. You can sleep, it’s okay,” Minho hummed. “You can go. I’m gonna be fine.”

You licked your lower lip, the dryness giving you a sticky sensation. “Love them as much as you love me, alright?”

He couldn’t do that. But he wouldn’t tell you, he wanted you to go without any troubles lingering in your head. He wanted you to leave happily, or as happy as you could be.

Kissing your forehead, he felt your breathing ease up. His hand rubbed your back soothingly as he asked, “Will you remember that I love you?”

You didn’t answer.

Minho stirred uncomfortably in the single hospital bed. As his sense slowly returned to him, he tightened his grip on you, keeping you from falling off. It was nighttime outside, and he supposed a nurse dropped by and turned the lights off when he saw you both sleeping. He could barely remember what happened before he was knocked out.

You shifted slightly by him, head nuzzling against his chest before looking up to find the owner of the body you were cuddling.

“[Name]?” Minho called.

The person jolted from their place. Feet landing coldly on the floor, they fixed their hair and took a wide step away from the bed. “Minho! I’m sorry!”

His heart dropped. There was his answer: he could tell.

Same face. Same body. Same voice.

Not you.

Your eyes snapped open and you groaned at the pain oozing at your side. What the hell happened? You could see that you were back in your room, which was weird because the last time you checked, you were on your way to work. You remembered waking up late and rushing out of your apartment, and then everything simply went blank from there.

“Oh, you’re awake! I thought you died or something!”

You sat up on your bed and furrowed your brows at your brown-haired friend. Rubbing your eyes, you yawned and scanned your room, taking in its unfamiliarity with intense suspicion before you turned back to your smiley friend and asked, “Did you move my shit?”

“I just got here like five minutes ago after your mom called me,” he deadpanned. “I was cooking you chicken porridge! She said you blacked out and slept for three days straight, you sleepyhead!”

“Three days–Chan what?” You got off your bed and headed over to your desk where your phone was. You weren’t sure why you needed to check the time, it held no significance to how you were in deep trouble with your boss for ditching work for three days. “Why did no one wake me?”

He handed you a glass of water first, seeing how frantic you appeared right after waking up in the middle of the day. You received it—snatched it—and quickly gulped down the liquid, feeling a sense of relief rush through you when the water hit your throat.

“We tried but you were knocked out cold.” He shrugged. “If you are worried about work, don’t. I talked to our manager for you already. I even exaggerated the part where you almost got in a car crash and died so you needed time to recover from it.”

The water spilled from the glass when you choked in shock. Your brows furrowed harshly as you pulled the glass away, causing more water to flow out of the cup, and you yelled at Chan, “What? I almost got in a car crash?”

He gave you a slow laugh, more concerned than annoyed that you’ve made a mess and yelled at him in the past five seconds. “You almost got hit by a car the other day when you left for work. You were looking at your phone and not paying attention. I had to pull you away from the road! Did you forget all of that?”

You placed the glass of water down on your desk, rubbing your mouth with your forearm harshly. As you brought your hand closer to your mouth, a painful scratch eliciting a yelp from you. Moving your hand away from your face, your eyes trailed up your arm and they widened when you saw the diamond ring located on your fourth finger. You cursed out loud, gaining Chan’s attention, and when his eyes moved towards what you were looking, he too mirrored your confused look.

“What is this!” you asked, looking at him.

“What is what–woah! Did you drunk buy this?” he asked, moving closer to examine the ring on your hand. “You need to return it. You’re crazy. You can’t afford this!”

“I know I can’t afford this,” you exclaimed, glaring at him in defeat. “But I swear I don’t remember ever buying this! Did you see me wearing this when I almost got hit by a car?”

Chan paused for a moment to think. He hadn’t really noticed back then, he was too busy trying to keep your phone-obsessed ass from dying. But if you didn’t have it back then, there should be no way for you to have it now. You have been bedridden, you could not have possibly gotten drunk within the last couple of days, and you would never buy a ring like that when you were sober.

“Did you steal it from someone?” he suggested, feeling the wrath of your impatience as he stepped away from you in precaution. “Oh but you couldn’t–“

“No! I don’t know where this ring came from, Chan,” you exclaimed, showing him your hands and grimacing at how perfectly it fit around your finger. “Also, can’t you humor the idea that maybe someone proposed to me?”

“Someone with the money to buy that ring? Uh, no,” he said honestly, putting his hands on his hips in a comical way.

Brushing him off, you slumped back onto your bed with your arm covering your eye. “Whatever. I’ll find out where I got it from somehow.”

“Or you can sell it,” Chan suggested.

You chuckled at the thought. Imagine the amount of money you could get from selling that ring. You did not know about diamonds but you could tell when one looks expensive. Bringing your hand up above your face, you shifted your hand to observe the ring more carefully. A weird sense of comfort rushed through you, making you relax further into your mattress. Coming after the comfort was a very bad sense of nostalgia, one that makes your heart ache for something you couldn’t remember.

“Actually, maybe I’ll keep it,” you muttered, eyes hazy the more you stared at the ring. “I think I want to keep it.”

“Okay.” Chan shrugged at the side. Moving over to your desk, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Are you gonna be okay? I need to go back to work. Lunch is over for me already.”

“Thank you,” you hummed from the bed, nodding. “I’ll come back to work as soon as I can.”

“Before you get fired, at least.” He eyed you carefully. You laid motionless on your bed, completely out of it. He nudged your feet with his own to catch your attention. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I am fine, Chan.” You rolled your eyes. “Stop nagging.”

He scoffed, but ultimately his voice was soft when he spoke, “I just want to make sure you are okay, alright?”

The nostalgia hit like a rush this time and you held down a flinch. For some reason, Chan didn’t sound so much like him when he said that, but you couldn’t tell whose voice that was. When you turned your head to look at him, your gaze shifted in rapid sequences, like frames changing on a television screen. Chan’s silhouette shifted in blurry motion into a man of slightly smaller but more visibly muscular stature. You felt your body jolt in recognition.

Recognition? Pause. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Let me rewind it.

Chan scoffed, but ultimately his voice was soft when he spoke, “I just want to make sure you are okay.”

You sniffed away a potential sneeze, hearing Chan’s giggle from your ridiculous expression. Throwing your head back against your bed, you waved your hand at him. “Just go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said. “Call me if you need anything.”

You hummed loudly in response, not bothering to look up at him. When you heard the front door lock, you groaned out a frustrated sigh and turned to your side. It has been a weird couple of minutes; you almost got in a car crash but you forgot, you slept for three days and you had no idea, you got a diamond ring on your hand which you have no recollection of ever getting.

You brought your hand up and frowned. The ring was heavy on your hand and it would most likely disrupt your sleep. But there was something else—the nostalgia that was lapping at your chest one wave after another. A feeling beyond your imagination, resting against your heart carefully yet it rattles you like nothing ever has.

“Where did you come from?” you whispered to the diamond ring sitting perfectly on your finger.

You decided not to take it off.

Never in a million years did Minho think he’d end up relying on Changbin, but he has no other option due to knowing a shared secret.

“How are you feeling?” Changbin asked after he plopped down on the study room couch.

Scatters of paperwork piled on the table were deliberately placed messily to distract Minho from his worries. If his eyes were occupied, his mind may be too. Turning the chair, he eyed Changbin nonchalantly by the desk. “My spouse left me.”

“Not good. Noted!” Changbin exclaimed with a single clap of his hands. He ended up awkwardly rubbing them as they laid themselves on his thighs.

Silence emerged, much like every other time they’ve hung out together. If he could call it anything different, Changbin would consider these moments more mandatory emotional check-ups than hanging out with good friends. Not only was Minho not a good friend, not even with such a golden opportunity, but Minho was never in the mood for anything anymore. In some ways, he has reverted to his grumpy personality, only this time he knew how to be nice about it. He learned it from you.

“Do you think they’ll ever come back?”

Changbin looked up from his fiddling thumbs. Minho’s thousand-yard stare burnt holes through the ceiling, but Changbin wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the particular question he voiced. He’s done his fair share of deep-diving about parallel universes and whatnot. Understanding the theories was one thing; accepting that it has been carried out was another. It still felt impossible. Changbin was holding onto the fact that you have never jumped anywhere, and it was a figment of your imagination that you somehow could portray excellently.

A character change only takes a good performer or someone fully convinced they’re somebody else.

The light glimmered as if to add glamour to the rigid atmosphere. Changbin let his neck rest on the back of the couch, and he shrugged. “If they do, you’ll be the first person they look for.”

Light returned to Minho’s eyes. He dreamt about that day. He wondered how it would go. Perhaps seamlessly as the day you first arrived. There won’t be chances of him missing your presence; not only would you make yourself seen, but he was more than sure he would know. A radar within himself would begin blaring sirens—he would just know if you were around again. And it would be a typical day. You would be at home, and he would return home. You would have dinner, you would go to bed together.

It would finally be a normal day when you come back.

For now, the glimmer in his eyes fades.

Weeks have passed with the same weight on your shoulders. You have come around to learn how to ignore it. You have learned to distract yourself from it. You work, hang out with people, and entertain yourself with the media. But even then, the grave mistake you made to not take that promise ring off your finger kept reminding you of the shaking sentiment that often shines at the end of the day.

You have looked through different online shops to find out where you could have gotten the ring from. It was a long stretch. You knew it would take ages to find the actual shop, but the promise of long-term confusion somehow assured you that you would have an excuse to keep it with you longer.

It has been weeks, though, and your hope was thinning. You could not find any matches, even after you personally headed over to the shops and asked the staff to take a closer look. You even went so far as to search for the lesser-known brands that would still make rings with diamonds as sparkly and extravagant as the one you got. Nothing, it was like the ring was custom-made, and that made you feel worse about having it.

It must have been really important to the owner, you reckon. It should not be in your hands.

“I feel bad for keeping it,” you spoke to the phone, where Chan sighed on the other side, most likely from irritation. The ring was all you talked about these weeks, aside from occasional work problems and drunken confessions you weren’t afraid to make to him.

“Then sell it.”

“But I don’t want to sell it.”

“Then what do you want to do? I keep giving you suggestions, and you keep shooting me down,” he complained with a helpless whine.

“I want you to tell me what to do!” you exclaimed.

“I say sell it,” he said.

“I don’t want to sell it.”

“I’m hanging up. I can’t take this abuse anymore,” Chan threatened with a yell of frustration. You could imagine him leaning against his chair and pushing it away from his desk, his eyes squinted into moon-shaped smiles, and his nose scrunched up in defeat.

“It’s just… this stupid ring is giving me weird vibes!” You stopped before the road and glanced down at the ring. “I feel sad but also happy when I look at it! Like some sort of deja vu!”

“It’s deja vu. Everyone feels like once in a while,” he said. “Maybe it’s not as serious as you think it is.”

You frowned. Chan was no help at all. From your peripheral vision, you could see that people had started to cross the street, so you followed suit quickly, intending to not block the road and be yelled at by some caffeine-deprived stranger who hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep yet.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road thoroughly, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears.

A stranger reached their hand out to grab a fistful of your shirt so they could yank you back to safety. The pull was strong and panicky, like back when you were younger, how your mother would smack you after you did something wrong, but much harder than that. Your gaze wobbled when your head hit a slight whiplash at the force, the sky welcoming your view. Tears unnaturally welled in your eyes as your hands waited for the impact of the ground.

“No,” you whispered, the blur of a car crash disappearing from your memories. “Minho–“

Minho? Again? Hold on. Let me rewind again.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street, as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road thoroughly, you could only take one step before the sight of incoming cars made you freeze.

A stranger reached their hand out to—

No, [Name]! Wrong! Nothing happens to you! How did you manage to get yourself stuck in a near-death situation twice in a row? What is this, some kind of manifestation theory? Don’t joke around. Let me rewind!

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You jumped out of the way with a scream, missing the car by a few inches. It scraped past you, causing your body to fall back. Instead of catching yourself in the slow fall, you let your body flail about in the air as more cars slowly closed the distance between themselves and you. Pedestrians standing on the road couldn’t do anything out of sheer intimidation, born from the cars speeding toward you. You looked toward where the honking came from.

I can’t keep doing this. It’s your muscle memory, isn’t it? Damn biology. I really–let me rewind.

“It’s deja vu. Everyone feels like once in a while. Maybe it’s not as serious as you think it is,” Chan said. “Look, you’ve been thinking about this too much. How about we go get a drink tonight?

“I don’t know, Chan,” you muttered with a sigh. “I’ve been feeling really depressed lately.”

“I’m surprised you don’t think I can tell,” he said. “How about this–I’ll buy some drinks, and we’ll hang out at yours. Beats heading outside, right?”

You closed your eyes. That could work. One of the biggest reasons the outside was so unappealing was that you had to step foot into it. Even now, with the sun shining down on your head, you’re quickening your pace so you can go home. If Chan was willing to go through the trouble of paying for drinks and hauling them to your apartment, you’ve got no complaints. It might be an excellent way to forget about this whole deja vu situation, too.

“Deal,” you confirmed with a soft smile. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”

Chan giggled from the other side, but he didn’t say anything.

Wait, why didn’t he say anything?

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

What? What happened? Why is this sequence repeating itself? I scratched that off the document!

You snapped your head up from looking at the ground. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you—stop! Pause! Pause!—Should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road entirely, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears—why are you trying to kill yourself? Can’t you just let me continue with this, [Name]?

You could see the cars coming, but your feet wouldn’t move. Your eyes stared through the danger into a beacon laid far away, the illusion of a man’s face you should have forgotten. His name echoed silently through your mind, but his warmth remained on your body, in the shape of your arms and the weight on your finger.

I cannot… I do not have the power to erase what your body—your heart—chooses to remember, only that of your mind. If your first instinct is to go home and return to Lee Minho, I’m afraid I have no power to stop you besides rewinding time and hoping for a change.

Let me… let me rewind.

May you two have a joyous reunion… and… thank you for this lesson.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street, as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears. Scared, your knees gave away, and you fell backward.

The screams of others and the urgent car honks were blocked out from your ears. You turned your head to the side and saw a truck running down the road towards you. This one would kill you, you would close your eyes, and you would leave this place. Your lips quirked uncontrollably.

You would go back to him.

The mesh curtains stayed the same, useless against the sun but pretty with it. The bedsheet was as you felt it the first time, soft and silky yet thick and warm, the ones that make you sleep like you were in a goddamn coma. And Minho was the same as you last remembered seeing him—fluttery lashes, soft brown locks, and naturally pouty lips.

You remembered.

You pursed your lips into a tight smile to keep a laughing sob from bubbling up your throat. Staring at him, you realize he made you feel the same as you last remembered, and immeasurable affection pulled at your fingertips, longing for a touch of his gentle skin and to feel him close to you. And you did, unapologetically, caressed his face with the back of your fingers.

Perhaps it was a deliberate plan to wake him up, but you wouldn’t admit that to yourself.

Minho stirred in his sleep at the touch. His brows furrowed before he opened his eyes, and when he saw you, his frown only deepened. You (or, well, ‘you’) have never tried to attempt this before, nor has he ever asked for love from them. His mind was occupied by somebody else, someone he thought would never come back to him ever again. Feeling this, having his cheek tenderly stroked in the morning, was surprising and weird.

“Hey, Minho,” you whispered, pinching his cheek slightly.

A shiver so strong it felt like a lightning zap ran down his body. His eyes widened slowly in recognition. He would know. He would just know. Through looking at you, through the feeling of your skin, through the way you space out your words, through the way you control your tone, through the way his ears react to your voice, through everything. He would know. He would be the first to know.

His eyes moved across your features. You looked the same as he had always seen you, before and after you left. But there was one defining difference he could make: the ring on your hand wasn’t there before. You had taken it with you after you left this place, and now it’s back.

“[Name],” he croaked out, his hand reaching out to touch your shoulder, gripping it gently.

“I’m home.” You nodded with a smile. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you I’ll be late.”

The tears flow freely down his cheeks. It has been extremely difficult for him to revert to his usual lifestyle and pretend to be in love again. He had tried to bring himself to like ‘you,’ but it was useless. They simply felt different despite looking the same as you.

He had missed your stupid jokes, the way you could come back home with bags of clothes he rarely has the chance to wear, and the food you cook. The little recurring moments he loved with you, he replayed them every night in the room and didn’t dare to allow himself to forget you.

You took the initiative and moved closer to him. Your palm was flat against his cheek now, and after you lovingly nudged the tip of your noses together, you leaned in to give him a long-awaited kiss. He melted against you, against your lips and your hand, with desperation in each curve of his mouth. He felt like he couldn’t let go. He knew he couldn’t let you go this time, never again.

Reluctantly pulling away, your dazed eyes stared right back into his. You touched his face again, smiling. Minho cupped your hand in his, pressing his forehead against yours with a light whisper, “Do you remember who I am?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Who am I?”

The sun shone from outside, casting a ray of warmth at an empty ring box located at the corner of the desk.

“You are Lee Minho,” you said, giving his lips a peck. “You are my husband.”

And you remembered that he told you he loves you, just as you love him.

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 7

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: Explicit for violence Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence. WARNINGS CONTAIN SPOILERS! Kidnapping, torture, burning victim with cigarettes, broken bones, a whole lot of gun pointing and talk about murder, medicine by injection. Summary: When the divide between you and Jack becomes big enough that a well-intended question causes an explosion of anger, you decide to get out of dodge for a while. Unfortunately, this decision has consequences that neither of you could ever have anticipated. Notes: I cried writing it, I cried editing it, I cried putting this post together. Consider yourselves warned.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

It's been a month and Jack Daniel's is a miserable fucking bastard. You've been told about the marks being detrimental to his job and refuse to get rid of the tattoo or the scars. Claiming that it wasn't your problem, and he considers that to be true, even if it pisses him off because he can't escape you. Stuck here at Statesman and being a firsthand witness to you dating. He swears he's seen half a dozen different men picking you up from your cabin and every goddamn time his stomach churns with jealousy until there's nothing left to do except get blindingly drunk.

There have been good days and bad ones, of course. You and Jack don’t ignore each other but you don’t ever do anything more intimate than having an occasional drink or taking a break from your day to have lunch together if he stops by the restaurant. Your staff has been hired and menu set, interior painted and linens picked out. Now that opening is just a few weeks away, it’s about finalizing and finesse, and your staff has been amazing.

The dating has been…touch and go. You had gone out with Ginger’s brother Lewis on almost every night of his visit, enjoying each other’s company much more than you had expected. Apparently he was just getting out of a relationship and had accepted Diana’s attempt to fix the two of you up gratefully. Without any kind of stress as to whether or not the relationship would be perfect – or even lasting – you and Lewis were able to have fun and relax on the nights you went out together.

With Jack not wanting to have anything romantic to do with anyone else especially and including you, you had no reason to say no to most of the invitations you got after that. A concert or a dinner or a movie or a special event - they were all nice things and the men were equally nice about half the time. Sometimes they stayed over and sometimes they didn’t, but none of them ever saw you more than twice. The guilt and the regret would creep in, reminding you that you have a soulmate and that he’s a good man, even if the two of you are at odds. The fact of the matter is, even with the casual and extremely platonic time that you spend with Jack, you do find yourself falling for him a little more every day. Whether that’s because you’re bound to him or because you just do love him, you really can’t be sure. And it wouldn’t do you any good to say anything anyway. So you do what Statesman employees do best and drink away the guilt.

******

Jack sighs, rolling his shoulders back before he opens the door to his house and steps outside to face the day. This time of year seems to weigh heavily on him and it doesn't help that he had watched you disappear into your cabin with some man last night while he sat on his porch. Not seeing either one of you emerge when he had finally gone to bed well after midnight.

Catching sight of Jack as you leave your house in the morning isn’t uncommon, but today when you do, guilt pools deep in your gut. Waking up with someone other than your soulmate is a special kind of self-torture, and the green-eyed, blonde-haired man curled around you this morning definitely was not Jack. This morning when you glance toward his house, you accidentally catch his eye and end up awkwardly waving as you leave your house alone. The blonde had been politely kicked out before breakfast.

Jack sends back that half-hearted wave and tries to keep the scowl off his face for your sake. Knowing that you will think that it's directed towards you instead of towards the man who had snuck out of your house this morning with a jaunt in his step that Jack certainly recognized.

A thought has been gnawing on you for a while now, and you hustle to catch up to Jack on the sidewalk that leads away from Statesman housing and heads toward the main area of the company’s campus. Trying to maintain a friendship with Jack has been agonizing for you, as you realize the actual depths of your feelings for him, but you’re also trying to respect his wishes. If he doesn’t want to be anything but a platonic pair, you aren’t going to forcibly change his mind. Either he wants to be with you or he doesn’t. End of story.

He hears your quick footsteps behind him, the effort for you to catch up to him and Jack sighs to himself. Not in any kind of mood to play nice, not when he's going to see that 'freshly fucked' glow that you seem to get when you bring someone home. Acid churns in his gut and he wonders if he's developing heartburn for how often he's eating antacids to keep it moderately tolerable.

He slows down only slightly, but you catch up to him by just the last few steps that land much harder like a schoolgirl trying to casually match the stride of her upperclassman crush. It’s a fairly apt comparison for how you feel about him sometimes, but that’s not a thought you want to have to nurse today. “In a hurry today?” You ask, knowing he isn’t late for his usual day. His 9-5 is the same as yours.

"Just wanting to get my heart pumping." Jack doesn't look over at you. "Not getting much exercise being stuck behind a desk." He tells you. "Champ still won't clear me for field work."

That’s your fault. You know it is. You’ve had full conversations about it. But as long as Jack insists on acting like you mean nothing to him, you’re going to maintain the same behavior. If he doesn’t want a soulmate, then he doesn’t get any of the benefits of you being that person. Including, but not limited to, an understanding heart.

“I had something I wanted to ask you,” you admit, shoving your hands in your pockets as you walk. Something that is very much above and beyond the call of a normal friend, but you’re telling yourself that that doesn’t mean anything. He’s not the only person you’ll be asking about this, so it’s fine.

"What do you need to know?" Jack rolls his eyes, noticing that you are avoiding him mentioning the fucking tattoo, but he didn't expect you to.

“I know it’s not really your thing…” He looks annoyed, and you wonder if he didn’t get enough sleep last night or if he skipped breakfast. The fleeting thought that he might be jealous of your date is flicked away with the reminder that he doesn’t want to be connected to you. He’s probably glad you’re finally leaving him alone. “But I’m asking my friends, which you did say you wanted to be,” the reminder comes with an awkward smile that you drop when he doesn’t respond. “Gabriella’s birthday is coming up, so it jogged my memory. I’m just asking my friends what they want their birthday cakes to be this year so I can plan ahead.”

"I don't celebrate my birthday." Jack manages to say the words without anger or devastation in the inflection in his voice. "Don't worry about it, sugar."

“I know you had said that, but I thought…sometimes it’s worth revisiting an old tradition. Who doesn’t like cake and presents, ya know?” Walking beside him, you feel like you ought to be clutching your textbooks and twirling your hair or something equally ridiculous. But all you want is to show him that you’re not the enemy.

Jaw clenched, Jack stops short and whirls towards you, obviously startling you from the way that you jump but he doesn't give a damn. You just push and you push and you push, not giving a damn what someone else might want. "I don't fucking celebrate the day my goddamn wife and baby boy died." He growls furiously. "Forget the goddamn day exists."

You feel knocked over even though all you've done is freeze on the sidewalk, wide eyes staring at him in shock while you're not sure if your jaw is trembling in shock or dropped fully open. "I—" The way your chest clenches, it feels like you might dissolve inwardly. "I didn't know. I'm so...I'm so sorry..."

"You didn't know because you didn't give a fuck." Jack sneers. "All you care about is yourself, what you want. What you think is best, damned what anyone else might think."

"Where do you get that from?" From bottomless sympathy, you bounce back to shock in a very different way. "I was trying to do something nice for you!"

"I told you I don't celebrate and you couldn't let it go." He shouts. "You won't get rid of the fuckin' tattoo so I can do my goddamn job. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't hafta worry about a fuckin' soulmate because I would be dead like I deserve to be!"

"This is the first and only time I've asked since the day we met." This time you know for certain that your lip is trembling, and that it's from oncoming tears. Being screamed at is never something you've been able to take, and this is...it's Jack. Someone you want to make happy so desperately that you're doing things you actively hate in order to do it. "You didn't want a soulmate. You wanted to be friends. So that's all I've done."

“I do want a soulmate. I want my soulmate.” Jack fumes, eyes flashing angrily. “I want the woman who fucking died on my birthday because she was going to get the fuckin’ candles she had forgot to buy for my cake. For me. She died because of me! That’s the soulmate I want!” His own agony makes him blind to the fact that he is crying, tears rolling down his face and his heart about to fucking bust apart, but not because of Abigail, it’s from hearing you say that all you’re trying to do is be friends.

With both of you crying it's almost an exercise in futility to make sense of anything, or to try to hold a reasonable conversation, and you can feel yourself shutting down faster than lightning. The words are there, ringing in your ears, never ever to leave again. I want my soulmate. Not you. Never you. He wants his wife back and you're just standing in the way and insulting her memory purely by existing. "Right." You barely croak out the one syllable, nodding vaguely and already backing away from him while you try not to shake where you stand. "Th—that's...you..." Whatever sentence you were trying to form isn't happening, to the point where all you can think about clearly is how badly you don't want him to be upset with you anymore. And the only way to do that is to walk away. "I'm sorry." Are the only coherent words you manage to murmur, fleeing in the opposite direction as soon as you get them out.

Jack stands there for a few minutes, only moving to wipe away the tears when his breathing is relaxed. Dread curling in his stomach as he replays the cruel things he had said to you in his anger and sorrow. “Shit.” He hisses quietly, wondering if you would talk to him now, but he doubts it.

You have to get yourself under control before you make it to the restaurant, you know that. But the tears rolling down your cheeks are thick and angry and making it hard for you to think, and when you pull out your phone to send a text you can barely read the screen. Hopefully, even if it doesn't make sense, your brother will understand enough to call you later. It's Friday and you need to be anywhere but here this weekend. Hopefully his guest room is free.

******

Jack pauses outside the restaurant, knowing that he needs to talk to you again, but he can’t make himself go inside. He’s fucked this all up. He’s hurt you and his heart aches from that. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number that oftentimes he avoids like the plague. “Hey doc.” He greets the Statesman therapist when the call is picked up. “Do you have some free time? I need to talk.”

A two-hour flight to New York is nothing, but by the time you land it’s late and the sight of your brother standing at the gate waiting for you nearly brings you to relieved tears.

******

It’s not unusual that he doesn’t see you at night. His therapy session opening his eyes and making him see that he’s been very wrong, very cruel to you. Sighing, Jack pushes off the swing with his foot, the tall glass of Statesman in his hand as he watches your dark cabin. He knows you’re in there, the pinging on his phone showing that you are.

There’s no sign of you all the next day, or even the one after that. No movements from your house, no lights turning on or off, no television flickering or even anyone else’s car in the driveway. It’s like you’ve shut yourself inside and locked out the rest of the world.

Jack tries to go about his weekend, but his eyes still wander over to your place. Hoping to see you, not having enough courage to go over and knock. He knows you won’t answer the door and it’s not like he’s given you any reason to. So he waits for an opportunity to bump into you.

But when Monday morning comes, you aren’t there. The bracelet he gave you - the one that was presented as an apology for an argument but actually contained a tracker so he can keep an eye on you - hasn’t moved. According to that tracker you’re still in your house, but it’s 8:40 on Monday morning and you are never late. You should be closing your front door behind you right now to walk to work, but there isn’t any trace of you in sight.

“Fuck this.” Jack slaps his thigh and stalks across the small courtyard to march up your step and - it’s probably a little more forceful than necessary - he starts beating on your door. “Come on, sugar! Open the door!”

There’s no answer. No movement from within at all. A peak through the garage door shows your car sitting there as usual so it’s not like you’ve decided to break your walking tradition and drive to work.

“Damnit.” Jack shakes his head and presses the button on his watch. “Ginger, unlock cabin 6.” He orders, worry starting to curl in his gut though your marks are still on his skin.

“Roger.” Ginger’s voice comes through his com loud and clear and the locks on your front door click open obediently to allow him entry.

His search is quick, getting more and more hurried as he rushes through the space until he’s convinced you’re not here. “Shit.” Jack hisses, sweeping his hat off his head in a panic. “Shit!”

“Agent Whiskey. Report.” Ginger had left the com open when she unlocked your house, knowing Jack would never want her to do something like that for anything less than an emergency.

“Where the fuck is she, Ginger?” There’s an undercurrent of panic in his voice and the bracelet firmly in his fist. “‘Cause she ain’t here.”

"Come into the office," she urges him, knowing that tone in his voice after years of working together. "I'll see if I can track her down in the couple of minutes it takes you to get here."

“Find her now, Ginger.” Jack flies out of the cabin and his boots thump on the walkway as he makes for Statesman at a dead sprint.

The door to the lab slams open with a violent rattle five minutes later but Ginger barely moves in her seat. The control panel in front of her gives her domain across the myriad of screens mounted on the wall, most of which are showing traffic cam footage, sidewalk security footage, or even in-building security footage of you over the last two days. A flight itinerary is pulled up in one corner and the far-left monitor shows a string of text messages. "She went to New York City," Ginger tells Jack, her hands flying across her keyboard. "It looks like she went to see her brother after your last fight."

“How did— you know about that?” Jack huffs, slightly deflated as he catches sight of the texts that you had sent your brother and winces at the stark harshness of his words written out. “Shit. Can you track her phone? Where is she now?”

"I tracked her phone to a hotel in Times Square." That fact makes Ginger cringe, but she glances up at Jack cautiously. "She didn't get on her flight last night and she didn't change her ticket, either. When I called the kitchen with the pretense of wanting to invite her to lunch today, her sous-chef said she hadn't heard from her either."

“Fuck.” Jack shakes his head, pointing at her as he starts rushing for the door. “Get Pony Express fueled up and on the tarmac when I get there!” He orders as he dashes out of the room. In his gut he knows something is very wrong.

Jack dashes out of Ginger’s office right before she gets another ping on your information - something more than cell phone records between your family members like she’s seen this morning. This is a missing person’s report, filed by your brother with NYPD just a minute or two ago. “Shit.” Ginger mutters, furiously clicking at her control panel to notify the hangar to have the Pony Express ready so she can call Champ immediately.

Jack has never run so fast in his life. Breathlessly changing into his flight suit and bolting for the fighter jet. He knows something’s wrong. You would never let your kitchen be kept in the dark, no matter how upset you were with him. No, this is dangerous and it’s all his fault.

******

There are some things television is very informative about: interior decorating, cooking, fashion, even nature or manufacturing. But in no way, shape, or form does it prepare the unsuspecting person for what kidnapping might really be like.

The men who approached you after you left your self-indulgent solo dinner had been overbearing and pushy, asking for your number and where you were going, trying to get you to go with them willingly to their next destination - a bar you had never heard of. When you had politely refused so many times that you had to go from polite to insistent, the one standing directly in back of you had pushed the muzzle of a gun into your back while the leader ordered you to do as you were told so you wouldn’t have your spinal cord severed. In terror, you had obeyed.

The duct tape, zip ties, and blindfold were not enough, apparently. You had been gagged and starved, left tied to a chair in a room you could only describe as drafty and damp, and generally ignored excepted to be threatened periodically or violently interrogated whenever one of them got frustrated. You’re fairly certain that you now know what waterboarding actually is, but you’re grateful they haven’t done worse. The thing is — what they want? Is Jack. And there is no way you’re going to give them that. Even as angry as you can be with each other, if you didn’t realize that you loved him before now, this would have proved it. Literally willing to die for his safety, you haven’t said one coherent word to these mongrels since they shoved you into the back of an SUV in Times Square.

“Come on sweetheart…” The slow, condescending roll of the words come from your left where a man of middle-aged years is watching you, leaning back in his chair as your head swivels towards him. “All you gotta do is make a phone call. One thirty second call. You can be as damsel in distress as you’d like.”

With a gag in your mouth, you shake your head once to signal ‘no’ and raise your head again, determined not to cry this time. You have no idea how long you’ve been with these degenerates, but it feels like days - and you’ve definitely cried a lot during that time. So much that you’re starting to finally feel numb.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” mutters someone on your other side. The voice sounds younger. Angrier. And familiar. “She’s fuckin’ useless.”

“No, she ain’t.” There is a low, evil chuckle from the other man. “You said she’s his soulmate.” He hums, pleased with himself. “If she doesn’t want to cooperate, we’ll start shippin’ pieces of her back to him.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You blink back the fear, cut between the fear that that kind of stunt either wouldn’t work at all because Jack hates you so much, or that it would bring him straight into danger on Champ’s orders. Whoever that man is, he can’t know what Statesman really is - or is that exactly why they came for you? If you could fucking place his voice, that would be a huge goddamn help.

“Aw, look.” One of the other men snickers nastily. “Bitch is gonna cry again.”

There’s a round of chuckling, generally enjoying your fear and upset, “I bet it’s gonna eat him alive.” The older man snorts. “Buryin’ a second soulmate. Another one he couldn’t save.” There’s another round of amusement, harsh and cold. All of them in on a secret you don’t know.

“Go get some dinner.” The first man tells another. “I’m hungry. I’ll watch her, see if she’ll give in.”

There is a general sound of chairs scraping and boots on concrete, the sound of heels clicking so similar to the now-familiar sound of cowboy boots on the sidewalk. They keep you from responding with the gag, and the blindfold keeps their faces hidden, but they always want you to hear. It keeps you afraid, and fear is what they’re banking on. That fear will make you cave. What they don’t know is that your fear has more to do with not knowing whether or not Jack will even care that you’re gone.

“Has he fallen for you yet?” The question comes with a hint of irony in his voice. The need for information that would twist the knife deeper. “Or is he runnin’ from it to keep from gettin’ hurt?”

You can’t help that that brings a fresh set of tears. It seems to be the part of your body you have the least control over. Fucking tear ducts. But this guy’s seemingly endless need to talk and talk and make you as miserable as humanly possible has made you pay more attention to his voice over however long you’ve been here. Some of the others have slightly different accents - but this one is a cowboy.

“Mhm, running.” The deeply satisfied tone settles back slightly as he sits back in his chair and watches you, “just so you know it’s not personal.” He tells you conversationally. “I just want to see the poor bastard’s face as he holds another dead soulmate.”

Without this fucking gag in your mouth, you might have said something that would give you away. That would hurt Jack somehow or prove that you actually are useless to them. They don’t know that you’ve fallen for him despite your very best efforts, and they don’t know that he despises you simply for existing. He’s not running from anything – but you’re not Abigail, so you’re an insult to her memory.

“Oh hell, I’ll tell you since you aren’t leavin’ this room.” Alive is left off the end of the sentence, but the threat is clearly there. “I was the one who arranged for good ol’ Jack Daniels to lose his first soulmate. Her and the kid she was carryin’. Cherry on top of you ask me.”

Your eyes open wide against the blindfold, head snapping in the direction of the voice as he chuckles. The evil bastard is so goddamn pleased with himself. You could scream if you had breath, but the best you can do is fight against bindings that will never break.

“Bastard never even knew it, either. Dumb son of a bitch.” He huffs. “Bought the story of it being meth heads, robbing the store. Can you believe that? But it allowed me to attend the funeral. Watch his grief firsthand.”

Why? Is all you can wonder, as your mind races to try to figure out what the hell Jack could have done to warrant such a vast conspiracy before he was ever even a spy. Diana said Jack hadn’t joined Statesman until after his wife and son had died, so why the hell would anyone want to ruin his life when he was just a normal man?

“Jack Daniels is gonna fuckin’ pay,” the chair scrapes back and the sound of boots slowly comes towards you, ominous in how measured the steps are. “Maybe I’ll stage it for him. Write a note sayin’ how you couldn’t take being his soulmate.” He chuckles and his hand caresses the side of your face. “Pretty neck of yours will look good stretched out on a rope for him to find.”

You grunt, jerking your face away from his touch and wishing you could just scream at him. The muffled noises of frustration that do make it past your lips seem only to amuse him and you twist in your chair in a vain desire to lash out.

“Oh don’t be that way…” he tuts and bends down, smirking directly in your face even though you can’t see it. “You’d even be my type if you weren’t tied to that bastard. Maybe we could have some fun before your usefulness is done.”

That’s a line too far, and you instinctively start screaming, not like you’re trying to call for help but like you would call him every horrible name in the book if you could speak. There’s no way you can move but you take a chance, even knowing it’s a long shot. Reeling back as quickly as possible, you hit your head forward and manage to connect – head butting the bastard and making him stumble and fall backward into some nearby furniture, from the sound of it. Bastard.

“Bitch!” he growls, rushing forward and raising his hand. Bringing it down against the side of your face and slapping you hard enough to nearly knock your chair over. “Fuck with me and I start chopping you into pieces now!” He bellows.

Muffled and muted, the "Fuck you!" you scream as loud as you can is just clear enough to understand. You've gone from terrified to pissed, and it feels like a light switch has turned on inside you. These fuckers aren't getting shit from you. Not even another tear.

******

Honestly, Jack doesn’t remember a time when he’s pushed the Pony Express so hard. Finally setting down on the runway, he ignores the curious and awed looks of the grounds crews of the airport and starts looking around. “Where are my wheels, Ginger?”

"Rye is in the black SUV on the edge of the runway." Ginger fires back immediately. Champ had authorized the rescue mission immediately and sent one of the senior agents from the New York office to be at Jack's disposal.

“Goddamnit this is all my fault,” Jack spots the car and starts running, not bothering to change out of his flight suit. “She should be in her kitchen!”

"I've combed the security footage from Times Square." In his ear, Ginger is clicking through countless screens with images of you from all angles - a large number of them featuring a group of seven men and a large SUV that you appear to get into willingly. "She got into a slate gray SUV with a group of seven men on West 51st between 8th and Broadway."

“Who the fuck are they?” Jack demands, ripping the door open and jumping inside the car. He spares Rye a nod as he waits for his answer. “And did you track the SUV?”

“I’m working on the car. It drops off the traffic cameras after the Williamsburg Bridge.” A few clicks can be heard in the background and Ginger hums. “I have records on four of the seven men. Domestic, drug charges, firearms, breaking and entering, the usual gamut of ‘goon’ crimes. But…” she muffles a groaning sound. “Jack. Some of these guys are from your hometown…”

“What?” Jack slams his fist on the dashboard, sick that his suspicions are right. This is all his fault. “Give me their names.”

"Hank Rollins, Ben Jeffrey, Andrew Kelly, and Sean Perring. All from Lloyd, Montana." Ginger bites her lip, sighing at her screen. "On the sidewalk footage she appears to be going with them willingly, but from your reaction I'm guessing that isn't the case."

“Rollins.” Jack growls out, pissed off to hear the name after so long, thinking that he’d escaped the fucking family feud unscathed. “Haven’t heard that name in a long time. Hoped to never hear it again.”

“They’ve had her for nineteen hours now.” Ginger swallows, not liking how high that number is. “And we haven’t had a ransom note or a phone call of any kind.”

“Shit.” Jack shakes his head. “Take me to where she was taken. Now.”

Rye doesn’t hesitate, throwing the car into gear and heading for the road at a full tilt. Getting close to Broadway at any time of day is a task, but if they have to, he can pull any number of public safety tricks to be able to block off part of the area. Being a Statesman agent in New York City means having a few tricks up his sleeve. “What can we be expecting?” He asks Jack, wondering if the other agent might have an idea now that he knows some of what is going on.

“Anything.” Jack’s teeth grind together. “This is personal. A family feud over land disputes dating back to the fuckin’ 1800s.” Jack hisses, shaking his head. “I left the goddamn valley for a reason.”

“They grabbed her over a two-hundred-year-old land dispute?” Nothing should surprise him at this point, with what he’s seen as a Statesman agent, but Rye still huffs. “What the hell do they want you to do? Time travel?” It’s the absence of a ransom demand that makes him nervous. They took an agent’s soulmate and it’s not money they’re after.

“When my daddy died, I put the land in the hands of the ranch board.” Jack tells him. “I didn’t wanna fucking ranch, not after Abigail died. Rollins wants me to sell to him, but I can’t. It has to be passed down to blood.”

"So what's the idea?" Speeding through the streets as fast as possible without causing an accident, Rye keeps his eyes on the road but frowns. "Make sure she's out of the picture so there's no blood to pass it down to?"

“Did I mention that the entire Rollins family is as crazy as a fuckin’ loon?” Jack huffs, shaking his head and even more worried about you now that he knows that bastard is behind your disappearance. “Who the hell knows? Tried to claim I’d stolen his soulmate at one point.”

“Jesus.” The other agent huffs, continuing to weave their way through the thick New York traffic. “It’s up to you how you want to approach this,” he tells Jack honestly. “She’s your soulmate.”

“She doesn’t get hurt.” His answer is immediate, almost growled out. “Not a fuckin’ hair on her head.”

“Copy that.” His tone says everything, and Rye doesn’t ask any more questions. “We’ll get her back.”

Finally, the SUV comes to a screeching stop at the spot where you were forced into a vehicle. Jack throws open the doors and bolts out, eyes scanning the ground for something – anything. It's a long shot, but there's got to be something here that would show that you were here. Some marker. Anything.

Any street in New York City has trash and debris to a certain extent, and there are traces of people having been through the area just because of how much car and foot traffic moves through Broadway every single day. Broken bottles, cigarette butts, tissues, all the normal bits of peoples' lives that go by the wayside are littered about on steps and in sidewalk cracks. Candy wrappers or coffee cups by the curb. Rye combs the area for specialized clues – a name on a cup or a wrapper from a list of the favourite snacks listed in your file, but frustratingly finds nothing.

“Come on, there’s gotta be something here!” Jack huffs, kicking a trash can and there is the tiny clink of something metal being launched against it. “Fuck, what’s this?”

Rye bends over, swiping up the item as it glints in the sun. "Looks like a bracelet." He inspects it carefully, not finding a serial number or any indication of a designer, except for a small engraving in the tip that looks like a maker's mark. "Maybe Ginger can track down the manufacturer? It's a long shot that it will help, but it's something."

“It’s hers.” Jack stares at the inscription on the inside of the bracelet. “Beautiful girl, you can do hard things.” He reads aloud. “She—she showed me this. It’s a quote her grandmother would tell her.” His mouth is dry and he takes it from Rye to put in his pocket, determined to put it back on your wrist himself. “Let’s hope she can hang on. Just hold on, sugar. I’m comin’.”

"Whiskey. Rye." Ginger's voice in their ears makes both men's heads perk up, listening for a report from their eyes and ears. "The car registration belongs to a shell corporation owned by the Rollins family. They also own a shipping company with containers in the Brooklyn Navy Yard." She clears her throat pointedly. "Right off of the Williamsburg Bridge where we lost the car."

“Get us there now.” Jack points at Rye and starts running back to the Statesman SUV like his heels are being nipped by the hounds of hell. “Ginger, I need you to get me the specs of that building.”

"Sending them now." Her voice is accompanied by the sound of keyboard clacking as Rye and Whiskey jump back into the car, peeling back out onto Broadway to head toward Williamsburg. The heavy traffic doesn't part for them easily but Rye was chosen for this assignment specifically for his abilities as a driver.

“Ginger, is there any indication on how they know that I have another soulmate?” Jack demands, tensing the closer that he gets with every mile to the shipyard. He knows he will kill them; he’ll kill every last one of them to protect you. “They don’t seem to know I’m a fuckin’ spy.”

"I'm working on it." It isn't something that has been advertised, obviously, and Jack has kept his marks from you hidden since they first appeared on his skin. There are few people who know, most of whom have priority clearance. She's gone through all the background checks on the new Statesman employees and the places you frequent, all the men you've dated, even all the way back through the staff at The Whitney months ago who might have seen your marks on your first soulmate before the accident. Not a single red flag had risen, but Ginger hesitates for just a split second as she tries to think through more connections. There was one - just one – the newest line cook for The Rabbit Hole that makes her hesitate. "Have you ever heard her mention a man named Tripp Tanner?" Ginger asks, pulling up the file on the man once more. It's too pristine. Too squeaky clean. Too pitch-perfect. Like it's been manufactured.

Jack is ashamed to say that you’ve not been doin’ a whole lot of talkin’ around him. It’s not like he’s really encouraged close conversations. Keeping things as surface level as he could to not make it more difficult. Even though every day he aches and he hates that he aches. “No.” Though he recognizes the name, he can’t place it. “She hasn’t mentioned him. Why? Is he one of the ones she’s been…uh, seein’?” His ears burn slightly, noticing the way Rye’s eyes cut from the road to look over at him but he tries to ignore it.

"No, he—" Ginger hates that it makes her stammer, feeling like your dating is partially her fault because it started with her brother. "He's on her staff. The background check is clean and his resume is spotless. But it's too clean, so it's the best lead I have. I'm running him through Statesman facial recognition now." The Statesman database is far more complex and complete than any government or criminal database. If her gut feeling is right, it might kick up a result.

“Send me a picture of the boy.” Jack grunts, having already looked at the blueprints of the building where you might be. It’s better than you being in a random shipping container. They might never find you if that’s the case.

"His employee ID photo is coming through now." More taps come from Ginger's end of the conversation before a muffled shriek of dismay. "Shit. Jack— Tanner is from Lloyd, too. He changed his name from Rollins two years ago. Stephen Stuart Rollins the third - nickname Tripp - has a rap sheet a mile long."

“Son of a bitch.” Jack hisses, his grip on the dashboard nearly about to put an indentation in it. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t been avoidin’ her, I woulda recognized the bastard.”

"We'll fix it on this end, Jack." She promises him. "Just go bring her home."

“She hates me.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I was— I wasn’t very nice to her.”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll forgive you after you save her life.” Ginger sighs, watching the dot on her on-screen map that represents her two agents speed toward the warehouse where she’s figured out you’re being held. “Stop these assholes first, apologize second. She— she thinks you hate her. That’s what she told Gabriella, anyway.”

“I don’t hate her.” Jack grumbles, feeling guilty as hell because he knows that’s what it looked like.

“I would suggest telling her that.” Even though Ginger’s voice goes soft, she’s following their movements and watching the Navy Yard security cameras. “There’s movement at the building. I don’t see her, but I’m counting…six men outside the building.”

“Good.” Jack’s voice is grim and his brows are knitted together. “Every single one of them is going in the ground, Ging. This feud ends today.”

******

There is a group of men milling about around a large brick building with the number 31 painted above the bay doors. Cars parked haphazardly nearby with doors flung open present as frustratingly casual, but the large, dark gray van from the sidewalk cam footage is nowhere in sight.

“So what are we doin’ here, Whiskey?” Rye demands, slowing the vehicle down so it doesn’t look like they are barreling into the place. “Are we run in guns blazing or using some stealth?”

Every instinct inside him is screaming to run in guns blazing, but he can’t risk another man inside hurting you. “Shit.” He hisses. “Turn down the service road and park the fucking car.” He grunts. “We’re sneakin’ up on the bastards.”

The service road runs behind the old abattoir buildings and Rye tucks the car out of sight so he and Whiskey can arm themselves out of the trunk before coming up on the group of abductors. “Three doors on the blueprint.” Rye murmurs, tucking a Bowie knife into the sheath on his belt. “Those buildings are big, we gotta be methodical.”

Jack finally shucks the flight suit, changing into his standard jeans and a button up with a sports coat. His double six shooters tucked into their holsters and his electric whip and lasso tucked into his belt. “They are going to keep her somewhere small, like an office. Probably have her tied to a chair, the bastards.”

“I’m followin’ your lead.” Tucking a few throwing knives into the hidden pockets of his jacket for good measure, Rye nods for Jack to step out first. This is his operation and Rye will do what he needs to keep him covered.

He moves silently, deciding that he will pull his weapons later to get as close as possible without seeming suspicious. Crouching low enough that his knees protest, Jack skirts the edge of the loading docks and edges towards the northeast door. The one farthest away from the group out front.

There is no guard at the northeast door. The bastards obviously are either overconfident or underprepared, and Rye picks the padlock in record time to let Jack get inside with minimal noise. No alarm sounds, no person is alerted. It looks to be a storage room, and the two men pass through it easily to find a claustrophobic hallway waiting for them beyond the interior door.

There’s a muffled sound, Jack tensing and hisses under his breath when he recognizes the sound of screaming through a gag. “Fuck.” He murmurs, imagining all sorts of horrible things. “That way.”

The room where the noises are coming from is non-descript now, empty except for some card tables and chairs, and the remains of a meal spread out with some discarded firearms and a bag of who-knows-what open on the ground. Two large men are hunched in the center of the room. Deep, rumbling laughter rolls from them and cigarette smoke is pungent in the air as the muffled shrieks get slightly more panicked. Still blindfolded and gagged, the front legs of the chair that you've been zip-tied to almost constantly your arrival in this place have been broken, leaving you kneeling on the cement floor between the two of them. One who has decided to turn your shoulder into his ashtray, and the other who is deciding which fingernail to pull off with the pliers in his hand. Presumably to send to Jack.

“Shit, shit.” Jack hisses under his breath, the urge to rush in there nearly overwhelming but he doesn’t want to give them a chance to anticipate. Stealth is needed and he slowly starts to pull his pistols out but decides against it. He wants this to be more personal, so he reaches for the whip and lasso.

“I know, I know.” Rollins drawls, holding onto your left hand to inspect your fingernails. “Jack likes his girls done up, so not being able to have all your nails painted is gonna disappoint him.” He tuts, finally deciding that your pointer finger mail is long enough to get a good grip on with the pliers. You’re screaming and crying again after a few hours of putting on a brave face and he’s enjoying it. “If ya like I could just cut off the whole finger? That might be more fun for everybody.”

“More fun if you get the fuck away from her and face me like a man, Rollins.” Jack bursts through the door and squares up, his eyes not even looking at you as he focuses on the man responsible. “Always knew you were a chickenshit, but this is low even for you.”

Jack? You would know his voice anywhere, even as often as you’re at odds you’ve still memorized the tone and tenor. He came. He actually came. As fast as your heart was beating before, the pace doubles now and the tears soaking your blindfold are relief. He came for you. It might not say ‘love’, but it doesn’t say ‘hate’.

The deep, rolling, evil laugh that bubbles out of the man beside you is so pleased that it makes you physically ill just to hear. Rollins, as Jack calls him, drops your hand but stomps on the back leg of the chair you’re tied to for good measure - breaking it and sending you crashing to the ground with another scream. There is no way you can see what’s going to happen with the blindfold, but at least the two men have lost interest in torturing you for the moment.

“Daniels.” The game is up and if Rollins is surprised that Jack has found out that it’s him, he doesn’t show it. Too deep into his madness and he sneers at the man in front of him. “You came with a whip?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Always knew you were a fucking idiot.”

The man who had been standing in the other side of you drops his cigarette beside you - probably hoping to burn your clothes in the process - and squares his shoulders like he’s planning to make a run at Jack but isn’t sure he’ll win.

“I’m begging you too.” Jack growls out, wanting nothing more than to have them strike first. Give him a reason to cut them into pieces with his tech. Rye moves past the door behind him, intent on taking out the others while he saves you. “Do it.”

“Begging.” Rollins laughs again, taking a step forward. “Tripp, don’t fuckin’ move. Keep a gun on the bitch until I say otherwise.” The sound of the safety of a gun clicking is now intimately familiar to you and you squirm on the ground, trying to push your chair away from it even a little, but a pressure on your ribcage stops you. It’s unmistakably a foot. And you’ve only heard the name Tripp once in your entire life - meaning the jackass you hired to your kitchen to bolster numbers now has his goddamn boot in your side. You knew you recognized that fucking voice.

“It’ll be the last fucking thing you do, Tripp.” Jack hisses, keeping his eyes on the older, more unhinged brother. “Finally gone off the deep end, huh? What’s this all about?” He doesn’t know why the Rollins boys are after you to get to him. Doesn’t understand it. He’s not run the ranch since he was in high school.

"You're a hard man to get through to, Daniels." Hank tells him, smug smirk still painted across his crooked face. "Last time I had to talk real loud to make you listen. Figured I'd have to do it again."

His head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to figure out what he means by that. “Well, I’m here now. Whadya gotta say?”

"Y'all got something I want." And even after fifteen years, he hasn't figured out a way other than this to get it. Something that isn't criminal. "Now, the last time I made myself heard, you went off and skipped town with your tail between your legs like a spurned schoolgirl on prom night." Hank Rollins takes out his own gun, the pistol pointed directly at your head when he stretches out his arm. "But I'm sick and tired of a whole world that thinks the sun shines outta Jack Daniels' ass crack."

Jack’s entire world narrows and focuses on his words, taking them and twisting them in his mind. “The last time…” He growls. “My wife died in a fuckin’ robbery.” He hisses, fingers twitching on the whip and hovering over the button that would turn it deadly.

The way Hank Rollins laughs - the wicked, pleased, loathsome way he chortles at Jack's pain - almost makes you physically sick. "I love that you bought that," he gloats, taking another step toward the senior Statesman agent, ignoring his backup altogether if he's even taken a long enough look to see Rye in the room. "Hook. Line. And sinker. Goddamn beautiful."

“What did you do, you bastard?” His knuckles are practically white and he curls his lips back in disgust. “A pregnant woman? Why? What evil did I do to you?”

"You took what was mine." His free hand moves to his sleeve even as Jack watches him more carefully than a hawk. When Rollins rolls up his shirt sleeve, there is a scar there that is burned into Jack's memory as clear as day - Abigail was bitten by the neighbor's dog as a little girl and wore the scar for her entire life. "You brainwashed her against me. And you paraded my soulmate around town like your fucking prize, Daniels. That boy should've been mine, too."

“I wore her marks.” Jack hisses. “Every goddamn one of them and you know it! They would be gone if she was your soulmate.” He always thought Hank was insane, and this just proves it. The marks would have disappeared. They wouldn’t be there, just like they disappeared from Jack when she died. “But you mean to tell me that you murdered her because I had her and you wanted her?”

"I saved her!" Rollins snaps back, waving his gun in your direction as the rage builds in him. "The wife of some city-slicker pretty boy without the sense to keep a single fuckin' eye on the most important woman in the world. She would have been miserable bearing your heathen children and picking up the pieces of everything you ever broke."

Jack scoffs, knowing it won’t make any use to point out that he grew up in the same small damn valley Hank did. That they both worked and lived on ranches. The Daniels spread was more lucrative thanks to his Grandaddy being a smart man and the Rollins have always been a little unhinged. Hank and his younger brother being the worst of them all. “Point the gun at me, not her.” As devastating as it is to hear him talk about Abigail that way, you are the one in danger right now. His heart bursting with the need to see you safe.

"Now, c'mon." Rollins drawls, throwing his brother a smirk from a few feet away. "Don't start pretendin' you like her now. She already knows why you can't look her in the eye. Lyin' piece of shit."

Jack wishes he could see your eyes, but they are covered. All he can hear is the panicked breathing and sobs from your poor body. “Your issue is with me. She ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

"Cryin' over a man who can't ever love her." Tutting as he shakes his head, Rollins moves his gun temporarily from pointing at your head to Jack, but goes back again. He's having too much fun watching the man he despises twist. "You been treatin' this one even worse than my Abigail."

It’s in his chest to scream out that Abigail was his, but she’s dead and you’re here, alive and depending on him. His heart clenches and he rocks his jaw. “If you know how I’ve been treatin’ her, why take her? Why not let her go? I’m here now. You’ve got my attention.”

“You want me to let her go?” Hank Rollins scoffs to his brother and seems to weigh his options. As far as he’s concerned there’s no reason this can’t be as much fun as he likes. “I could see my way to lettin’ that happen,” he concedes with another contemptuous chuckle. “You got two options, Daniels. One is I shoot her in the head right now and you walk free knowin’ you’re the reason two innocent women are dead. But two? Two is you take her place. Right here and now. I’ll let her walk right out on outta here. Yer friend there can even get her home safe. Either way, yer signing over that ranch land and the whole business operatin’ on it over to me first.”

“Done.” The word is out of his mouth so fast he’s not even sure if he actually said them out loud. Maybe he just thought it. But then Rollins’ face cracks into a wide grin and he looks like he’s struck gold. “Let her go, and I’ll take her place.”

It may not be discernable words, but the hoarse screams coming from you now are crystal clear - pleading with him not to take your place. As much as this is the very last circumstance you would ever want to be in, as much as you cannot fathom how this absolute basket case Rollins thinks his 'plan' could ever succeed, Jack is worth far more to the world at large – and to you. So if either one of you is walking out of here, it should be him. Thrashing as much as your binding will allow, trying to toss off the foot of the man standing on you or else wiggle away from the pressure, probably a move that will end in broken bones, but you couldn't care less. Just as long as Jack stays far away from this chair.

“Let her go.” That’s all that matters to Jack right now. Getting you far away, keeping you safe. “Now.” Hank huffs and rolls his eyes, pointing the weapon at your head once more for the sheer pleasure of watching Jack’s face drain of all life. “Fine.” He grumbles, motioning to Tripp. “Get her up and hand her over to whatever city boy he has with him.” He doesn’t get to watch you die, which is disappointing, but he gets Jack Daniels and the land his family stole. It might even be better this way.

Tripp grumbles, on the verge of protesting, but he does as he's told...mostly. All he really does is kick you - still attached to the chair - over to the man a few feet away. Rye immediately drops to his knees, murmuring to you quietly who he is and that he's going to untie you, Bowie knife out of its sheath and slicing away at the ties and tape that bind you to the chair that has been your prison for the last God only knows how many hours. As soon as your ankles are free you kick your legs, trusting that this other Statesman agent is here to help but wanting desperately to get to Jack to stop him from giving your literal kidnapper what he wants. As soon as your wrists are free you shove the blindfold off your eyes and drag the gag out of your mouth, shrinking away from the light in the same breath that you scream for Jack not to give in with everything you have left in you. Which, after countless hours screaming, crying, and very nearly choking on a ball of knotted cloth, is hoarse at best.

Finally looking over at you, Jack is furious by how swollen your eyes are, how raw your voice is. He doesn’t say anything about it though. Knowing it would give Hank a thrill to know how much he pissed Jack off. “Get out of here, sugar.” There’s a lot that Jack wants to say, but there’s no time. He needs you away from this room. “You’ve got a restaurant to open, remember? Go with Rye.”

Like the nail in the top of the coffin, you reel back at being ordered away. Not a moment of gentleness or sensitivity after being fucking kidnapped by the man who is still as obsessed with his wife as Jack is. After being convinced he wouldn't come for you only to feel such soaring hope at hearing his voice, the desolation of realizing that he only came because you're a complication and that he never felt any kind of tenderness or care for you at all. It's almost reassuring, in a way. To know that you at least had the right level of expectation in the beginning is something, at least.

It isn't hard to bundle you up into his arms when you deflate, but Rye doesn't say anything about it. Only tucks you against him and helps you shuffle toward the door on weak legs. "Come on, darlin'," he murmurs, glancing back at Jack. "We'll get you fixed up right. Let Jack handle it from here."

"Sure." Even one word makes you cough, but you don't put up a fight or try to get back to him. To your fucking soulmate. After all - you have a restaurant to open. God forbid you get behind on your commitment to Statesman for any reason.

He wants to call you back, to talk to you. His heart aching with every step you take away from him, but it’s safer. He sees the glint in Hank’s eyes, he knows he’s looking for another reason to strike out. Possibly waiting until Jack talks to you to shoot you. He can’t risk that. He can’t risk you. No matter what, his soulmate – you – needs to survive.

After about four steps, Rye stops your shuffling and scoops you up, not wanting you to walk on any injuries or aggravate anything. He nods to Jack and carries you out the back door, planning on bundling you into the backseat of the SUV and then taking out the stragglers out in front of the abattoir. But you need to be safe, first.

It feels like you’ve cried every tear in your body, and this bitter disappointment is met with stony silence and efficiency of movement. It doesn’t take long to get you out of there but Rye does it carefully, promising you in low tones that everything is going to be okay from here. That you’re safe. That Jack’s going to take care of you. The last part just makes you feel hollow as you nod.

“Now you stay right here,” Rye croons, buckling you into the backseat and tapping a few times on his watch. “Ginger, I need your eyes in the car. Our girl is safe but I gotta take care of somethin’ before we clear out of here.”

“Copy.” Ginger acknowledges the request and as soon as Rye closes the doors, the entire vehicle locks and a red light above the rear-view mirror flashes on. The built-in screens in the headrests come on and you can barely see Ginger’s concerned face. “Honey, I need you to listen to me.” She urges. “It’s Astrid. The Statesman cars come equip with medical facilities for injuries. I’m going to scan you now.”

Talking hurts, with how hoarse you are, but you nod at Astrid’s face on screen and only shrink away from the bright lights - What are those? Lasers? - for a second before you remember she has never done anything to hurt you. “Everything hurts.” It’s just a whisper, but it’s there.

“I know, I’m going to make sure that you feel better, okay?” Sorrow and rage fill the Statesman tech as the images comes back to her. Multiple contusions, burns - obviously from cigarettes - two broken ribs and a fractured ankle. All of them evidence of the horrific torture you endured at the hands of those madmen. “I can have a shot administered.” She tells you through the screen, trying not to show her emotions. “Just a tiny prick and then you will feel so much better. Can I do that?” It’s important right now for you to feel like you have control. That nothing is being done to you anymore and she wants you to be comfortable.

“Sure.” You murmur, hoping it’s something like morphine or stronger so you don’t have to think or feel anything. “A-Astrid?” Right before whatever happens happens, you look up to find her eyes watching you on screen. “How…how long have I been gone? Does my family know?”

Pausing for a moment, Ginger nods. “Your brother filed a police report, this morning. After Jack went to your house when you didn’t leave for work this morning—”

“Jack came to my house?” You practically whisper it, but Ginger hears you loud and clear. “He did. You’d been missing for seventeen hours when Jack jumped into the jet to come to New York.” She confirms softly.

“Will you just…let them know I’m okay?” Whatever lie Statesman tells people, you’ll go with it. It’s just that right now you can’t wrap your head around the idea of Jack giving two shits about you enough to check on you at home - let alone rescue you. It’s too much.

“As soon as I get you feeling better, I will have the local police contact them to tell them that you are safe.” She promises, knowing that you wouldn’t want them to worry. “We’re going to bring you back to Statesman to put you in our hyperbaric healing station. Six hours in it and you will be completely healed.”

“Okay.” As long as they tell your family you’re okay, you could care less what else happens. Everything hurts, there are no more tears to cry, and it’s possible that you feel even more hopeless about Jack ever sparing you a second glance ever again. Soulmates. Fucking laughable. Whoever Abigail was, she was clearly more important and more wonderful to multiple people than you’ll ever be. “Astrid?” When you look up again she’s still watching you intentely. “Can…can you get rid of my tattoo while I’m in there?”

“Are you sure you want that?” She asks quietly, her eyes searching your face through the screen to try to get an inkling of what you are thinking. “You don’t have to make any big decisions now.”

“The scars, too. You said you could erase scars.” Let him be free. Is all you can think. Obviously nobody was exaggerating about the danger you were in, but it’s more than that. It’s how, when Jack barely spared you a single glance, it hurt more than anything the Rollins brothers ever could have dreamt up.

The silence lingers in the air, suspended between the two of you for a long moment. Ginger sighs softly. “Of course.” She murmurs, hating how broken you appear. “We will get rid of them all.”

Gunshots, unmistakable now that you’ve heard them up close and personal, ring out from multiple directions and you sink down in the back of the car you know for a fact is bulletproof - all Statesman vehicles are - out of instinct. “And Astrid?” You watch the automated needle release from the door handle of the SUV and make sure your arm is in line for the injection. “Remind me to fire Tripp.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.” Ginger promises you softly. On another screen in her lab, she can see the feeds from both Rye and Jack, and the justice that is being delivered is swift and brutal. They messed with a Statesman’s soulmate, and Jack grunts in pleasure as he retracts the whip on the left screen, pieces of Hank and Tripp Rollins scattered around the room.

A clean up team will be deployed from the New York Statesman building to scrub the site. Body removal is a necessary evil of the job and Statesman has some of the best. By the time footsteps can be heard running back toward you in the car, Ginger’s injection is starting to take hold and you’re finally feeling drowsy. Adrenaline and fear have had you on high alert since you were taken, but having Astrid’s face and voice to reassure you is soothing.

Shouting your name, Jack rushes towards the SUV. The only thing in his mind has been to get to you. To make sure you are okay. He knows Rye will be alright and he needs to see you. He manages to get to the rear door before Ginger deactivates the locks and security, yanking on the handle. “Let me in! Let me in!” He yells frantically.

“She’s out, Jack.” Ginger’s voice in his earpiece comes with a sigh as she deactivates the locks and lets him into the car. “She’s hurt pretty badly so I gave her a sedative. When you get back to Statesman, get her in a medical chopper and bring her to my lab asap.”

“Oh my god.” Jack rips open the door and climbs into the back seat, finding you slumped against the other door. “What— what did they do to her?” He demands, panicked because he’s never seen you like this. Angry at himself that he let this happen. Gathering you against him, he runs his hands over your body as he pulls you into his lap.

“Nothing I can’t fix,” she promises him, not wanting to give him the full rundown of your injuries when he’s still visibly upset enough to lash out. “She’ll be okay, Jack. But I don’t want her to go into shock or accidentally aggravate an injury, and she said she was in pain. That’s why I needed to medicate her.”

“Tell me what they did to her, Ginger Ale.” Jack demands again, turning towards the screen even as he is cradling you and stroking your face.

Ginger sighs, softly again, and looks down at her diagnostic pad. Avoiding Jack’s eyes while she reads this off will probably be better. “Two broken ribs, fractured ankle, superficial burns clearly from cigarettes. Bruising, contusions, and internal injuries consistent with being beaten, waterboarded, and kicked multiple times.”

“Motherfuckers.” Jack hisses, tightening his grip on you to where you whimper in your unconscious state. Immediately relaxing his hold on you and petting your face to soothe both of you. “I should have made it take more time. I should have beat him to death with my fists.” He growls. “I’m gonna burn their fucking legacy to the ground and piss on the ashes.”

“Jack.” This time Ginger’s tone is a warning. It’s not frequently that she hears this kind of rage from him – usually only in relation to his late wife. “She’ll be okay,” she repeats. “But she’s going to need support. Mentally. Emotionally.”

“It’s my fault, Ginger!” He hisses, his own emotions beyond rage finally surfacing from the compact box he had shoved them in to be the agent he needed to be in order for both of you to get out of that building alive. “She would have been at home— it’s my fault. She asked…she asked me about my birthday and I lashed out at her.” He chokes back a sob and looks down at your face. “I didn’t protect her.”

“Then you’ll apologize. And you’ll make sure it never happens again.” Jack isn’t a man who breaks down unless the stress is truly unbearable, and as his friend Ginger has seen only a bare handful of these moments. “She wants me to remove her marks when she gets here,” she tells him carefully. “Just so you know.”

Jack closes his eyes, absorbing the meaning behind it. “She wants to be rid of me.” He whispers, knowing it’s his fault when he had pushed you away and kept you at arm’s length. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry sugar. I should have been keepin’ you close. Keepin’ you safe.”

“You can talk to her when she’s awake,” Ginger murmurs, watching Rye finish with the last of the goons on the video feed from his glasses. “I’m deploying Delta Team to sweep up. You and Rye get back to the New York building and you get her in a chopper first thing. If she wakes up before you get back, you can talk then. If not?” Ginger watches Rye running back to the SUV, so much more composed than Jack for having no personal stake in this mission. “If not, then it might be tomorrow morning. After she’s done at the lab.”

He’s not happy, but he nods. Holding you and refusing to let you out of his arms as Rye comes climbing back into the SUV. “Where’s the chopper, Ginger?” Jack demands, knowing he needs to get you home and mended.

“There’s a helipad on the other side of the Navy Yard. Five minutes from where you are. I can have them meet you there.”

“Copy that, Ginger.” Rye takes the suggestion as absolute, seeing the condition you’re in, and the car comes roaring to life a second later.

“Goddamnit, sugar.” Jack huffs, his hand smoothing over your hair as he tries to look past the damage inflicted on you to see the woman who had intrigued him from the start. “You gotta hang on. You gotta get better.” He murmurs. “I gotta lotta grovelin’ to do when you’re up for it.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Whiskey Danels #Agent Whiskey #Agent Whiskey x reader #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au #canon typical violence #graphic depictions of violence

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punk4ndisorderly · 11 months

Text

light on

The one where Y/N is the daughter of a legendary Team USA coach and used to attend the development program with the boys. 8 years after they last saw each other in person, a reunion brings Jack and Y/N back into each other’s lives... and hearts.

if you keep the light on, i'll keep the light on

V VI - what abour your friends VII

“Okay, so hear me out: I was sitting at my table, minding my own goddamn business, looking amazing in my custom-made suit, talking to everyone and being the great host I am when, all of a sudden, this lady, who was a chaperone, started patting my leg. She was obviously tipsy… I think we know who spiked the punch this time… Anyway, I was like ma’am and she went and leaned in, whispering really weird things in my ear, calling me gorgeous. I thought I know, but at that point I didn’t really know whether I should be flattered or scared so I tried standing up really quickly. Well, I touched her elbow and she spilled her glass all over my beautiful couture pants. I felt like I could cry, I spent way too much money on that suit!”

Jack resisted the urge to break into a fit of laughter, pressing his lips into a thin line, nodding along while Trevor explained how he had ended up with a red stain on his crotch the night before.

Y/N had left to rehearse her speech and he finally got a break from being completely hypnotized by her presence, spending time with his friend.

“That was one eventful night, hu?” Jack led with as Cole sat down beside him watching Trevor walked away

“Not nearly as eventful as yours, I hear.”

Shifting in his seat, the brunette man looked uncomfortable.

“Look, Hughesy, I’m not saying anything happened because, unlike those sex-crazed nerds over there, I have a couple of braincells left and I know my Y/N, much to my dismay, would never hook up just for the hell of it. Especially with you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’d never try to get in her pants on a whim, and neither would she. You two never fooled me. Remember the last time you guys trained together?” 

He nodded, waiting for his friend to proceed.

“That was magical, bro. I mean, there was no way you two weren't tied together with this invisible string or something. I could tell, Coach could tell, I’m surprised Y/N couldn’t. Then again, you two have been playing cat and mouse for, I don’t know… Ten years?”

“How could have we been playing cat and mouse, Cole? She was married.”

“You know what they say, the net might have a goaltender but that doesn’t mean you can’t score.”

“You did not just use a sports analogy to suggest cheating."

“Relax, Jacko, I don’t condone cheating. I’m just saying, you can be married and randomly develop feelings for someone other than your spouse. It happens.”

“It didn’t happen.”

“Fine. We both know it’s bound to happen, though. The Universe, Hughesy, it has a strange way of making things work.” Cole proclaimed, patting his shoulder. “I’m going to find myself something to eat, I’m famished and this diva doesn’t work without fuel.”

“Hey, guys, Y/N starting her motivational coach's daughter speech. Do you want to come and watch?” Alex asked, peeking through the door, a bright smile on his face.

Jack followed him into the auditorium, standing in the back, leaning against the wall while she spoke. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Not saying a word the entire time, Alex divided his attention between the pair, watching in awe as their eyes met from time to time, the way Jack stared lovingly while she paced around the stage, shining brightly doing what she knew best.

“I guess, after all this babbling about your careers and achievements, I can give you some advice about something that’s equally as important. Love. No matter what form it takes, let it come to you. Let yourselves love and be loved freely. I know it’s hard to open up to it, but…”

Y/N looked around the room as she spoke, finding him standing next to Alex, his eyes trained on her. She hoped he knew she was talking directly to him. She wanted to let him know love could be simple, yet exciting at the same time. All she wished was for him to find it, and finally find what he had been looking for.

“You really rocked that speech, Junior.” Alex congratulated Y/ , wrapping his arms around her small frame. “Thank you so much.” the doctor smiled, blushing.

“I just got reminded how much I miss you and your spunk when I’m in LA. We need to get together more and lay around on the floor listening to those punk rock bands we used to be obsessed with in high school. Please.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who moved far away from you…” Y/N pointed out, feigning hurt.

“Well, for my career, it’s the place to be. As someone who’s way too attached to his friends… Not so much.”

“I miss you too, you know. I’ve always looked up to you. You always brought me back to my senses in the midst of all the craziness and chaos… I’m so happy you’re here, Turc.”

“I’m really happy to be here too, sunshine.”

Pulling Y/N to his side, Alex held her close, closing his eyes. This woman was like a sister to him and the time they spent apart was always hard ans only served to make them love each other more.

They were interrupted by Trevor, who managed to get himself between them, breaking them apart.

“Doogie Houser!”

The coach's daughter rolled her eyes playfully at the nickname her friend had given her, placing both of her hands on her hips.

“What is it, Z?”

“Between Superman and Batman, which one is the coolest?”

“Oh, dude… Superman all the way!”

“Ha! Told you!” Trevor hollered at Cole, who was behind them, raising his fist for Alex to bump and placing a sweet kiss on Y/N's cheek. “Turc?”

“Oh man, Superman. Come on, you know this.”

“What?” Why the hell would you think that?” Cole contended, visibly upset.

“He flies, he has x-ray vision, super strength and runs extremely fast.” Jack chimed in, not looking up from his phone as he walked to the refreshments table.

“I told you Y/N, Turc and the boy toy would agree with me.” “Who are you calling a boy toy, Zegras?” Y/N inquired, smacking the back of his head.

“Hey!” the blond man complained, fixing his hair.

The day went by fast as they were ushered to the different activities by an extremely proactive Coach Y/L/N, only finishing up around the time the clock struck eight.

“Dinner’s on me!” Cole declared, making everyone cheer.

"Any of you nerds passing up on free dinner?” Trevor inquired, looking around the room.

“Nope, I’m in.” Alex grinned, wrapping his arm around Cole's shoulders.

Everyone started to leave, agreeing to meet each other at Bill's in half an hour.

“You coming?” Jack asked.

“Yes, of course. I’m just calling my mom to check on Joey and letting her know I’ll be home for dinner tomorrow.” Y/N smiled softly, dialing the number on her phone.

“I’ll wait for you.” he offered promptly in response.

“You don’t have to, everyone left already. I’ll meet you guys there.”

“I insist.”

“I’m a big girl, Mr. Hughes. I can surely get there on my own.” she reasoned, giving him a pointed look.

“You are, yep. But I shouldn’t walk alone at night, it’s a very dangerous world out there, I might get jumped, a pretty little thing like me.” the brunette man argued, batting his eyelashes innocently at her.

“Yeah, I’m afraid you might… Someone out there was saying they’d sell their first born to Satan if they got to have you for a night.”

“I think that’s a fair trade.” he joked, making her scoff.

“As if. I don’t get it, I got you for free for years and I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” the doctor teased him, nudging his side with her elbow.

“Best years of your life.”

“Don’t push your luck, Hughes.”

“Wouldn’t think of it, Y/L/N.” he winked. “Back to the point, do you want to walk to the restaurant with me? My legs could use a stretch.”

“Sure, let me just make my call and we’ll be on our way.”

The unpredictable weather in Plymouth made sure to make a statement once again, the night starting to settle in with a crisp draft running around the pair as they walked side by side. Y/N shivered slightly, goosebumps raising all over her skin from the sudden impact of the cold air. She rubbed her hands over her naked arms, trying to generate some heat.

“Are you cold?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I’d just forgotten how chilly it got here at night.” she waved it off.

Jack took off his sweatshirt in one swift movement, handing it to her.

“Gretz, you’re going to catch a cold.” Y/N cautioned.

“Well, I don’t start training until a few weeks from now. I’ll be fine.” he began. “Plus, I don’t think I can handle hearing your hoarse voice ever again.”

“It happened one time in camp and it wasn’t that bad!” the doctor protested, grabbing the item of clothing he offered her and sliding it over her head.

“You sounded like a fifty-year-old man who smoked five packs of cigarettes a day for thirty years.” Jack pointed out.

She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. The Devils' player noticed the way his sweatshirt almost swallowed her small frame. It was quite endearing, if he were honest.

“This is so soft and comfy, I think I might keep it.” Alina mumbled, running her hands through the fabric.

“Well, that’s not going to happen.” he teased with a smirk.“Nico gave it to me last Christmas and he will kill me if he finds out I’ve given it away.”

“Last Christmas I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away…” she sang, holding on to his arm.

“Oh, here we go.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it! I know for a fact you’ve got some George Michael on your playlist!”

“Well, you’ve got One Direction!”

“So? They did boyband like no one had ever done before.” Y/N shrugged, sticking her tongue out at him. “Besides, I’m not discussing guilty pleasures with you, Shakira.”

“You promised you wouldn’t mention that again!” Jack groaned, making her chuckle in amusement.

“Don’t worry, I won’t do it again… Just make sure your hips know it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“What, why would I… Oh. Very funny. Hips don’t lie. Got it.”

Y/N bent over laughing, not bothering to do it quietly like she usually did. He could listen to this sound for eternity, his entire body coming to life because of her. But they couldn’t stand there forever, and their friends were waiting for them.

“Are you done, Doogie? We’ve got somewhere to be…”

“Wait, I’m just…”she pleaded, regaining her breath. “I nailed this mom joke! Hips don’t lie!” the doctor added, cracking up again.

“Alright, you have given me no choice…” the brunette man sighed, managing to hide his grin, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder.

“Jack! Put me down!” Y/N screeched, slapping his back half-heartedly.

“Are you going to let go of the whole Shakira thing and walk?”

“Cross my heart.”

While Y/N's eyes scanned the entrance momentarily for their friends, Jack looked through the menu, stealing glances at the woman sat in front of him. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of a slightly disheveled Y/N Y/L/N wearing his clothes, completely zoned out on the list in her hands.

“Here you are!” Cole cried out, shivering as he took off his coat. “We’ve been waiting for you guys outside for twenty minutes!”

“You could’ve at least picked up your phones if you were already inside!” Alex scolded, plopping down next to Alina. “New attire?” he motioned to the sweatshirt his friend was sporting.

“Yeah, I borrowed it, but I’m about ninety-eight percent sure I’ll end up keeping it. It’s so soft, touch it!”

Jack smirked at her comment as Alex did as he was told.

“Any news on the next vacation spot?” he turned to Trevor, who was checking his e-mails for the millionth time that day.

“Not yet.” Trevor mumbled in response. “God, I need to get out of the house… Since I came home for the off season mom's been making me go to church with her and make the bed as soon as I get out of it… I can’t even have girls over, because mom always asks a ton of inappropriate questions like ‘why aren’t you married yet’ and ‘when I was your age I already had you, why don’t you give me grandchildren’.” he imitated his mother in a high-pitched voice.

“Well, look at it from the bright side, if you have kids maybe your mom will be too focused on it to be hovering around you all the time.”

“She makes me watch soap operas with him. I’m not supposed to know María is going to kill Luis on next week’s episode! But I do… She even took away my Xbox away because I didn’t do the dishes once. Once . Why do I feel like I’m fourteen again?” the blond man moaned.

“Is it that bad?”

“She wants me to stop cursing, so she changed the settings on my phone so that every time I type ‘fucking’ and ‘shit’ it changes to ‘flipping’ and ‘poop’. What do you think?”

“Sorry, buddy.”

“Have you ever tried to sext someone and ended up sending that person a text that says ‘poop, you’re so flipping hot’, Jacko?”

Jack hid his face in his hands, trying to control the urge to laugh.

“Nice to see you find my suffering amusing… Laugh all you want, but wait until Momma Hughes finds out you had a sleepover with Little Miss Sunshine over there.”

“Nothing happened! Plus, she loves Y/N!”

“Precisely. She’ll be pissed you didn’t take your chance, you big fat idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah.” the Devils' plauer waved him off, taking a sip of his water.

It wasn’t long before the food arrived, making the group momentarily be silent to enjoy their meal. Of course Cole, being Cole, got up as soon as he saw people laying down their cutlery, clearing his throat to get their attention.

“First of all, I would like to thank every single one of you for being here today. I am so grateful that we all get to be in each other’s lives. Each of you has enriched my life in one way or another and that makes me incredibly happy. I really hope we get to all come together like this many more times in the future and that we continue to strengthen our friendship throughout the years. If you tell anyone I said all of this I will deny it, but I love you all. Cheers.” he said, raising his glass.

Everyone cheered, clapping after his small speech and drinking to it. Y/N gazed at Jack tenderly, watching him take Trevor's glass away from him and smiling at the adorable face he made when he noticed she was looking at him.

The coach's daughter flinched when she felt herself being pinched.

“Ow! Turc, what the hell?” she yelped, rubbing her sore arm.

“Trev wanted me to hand you this. I called your name but you are way too absorbed staring at Hughes to hear me.” her friend smirked.

Do you like Jack? Yes? No? Maybe? the napkin read.

“Oh dear god.” Y/N chuckled, cramping the note up and throwing it at Trevor's head. “Sounds like it’s time to get Dumb and Dumber to bed.”

The group of friends walked out of the restaurant in good spirits, hailing three cabs and luring Trevor and Alex out and into one of them with promises of chocolate soufflé.

“I don’t get it, they literally had two beers” Cole stated incredulously, strapping one of his friends in.

“A couple of lightweights.” Y/N agreed, shaking her head.

When they made it to the hotel, Cole helped Alex up, listening to him babble something about having a girlfriend home but that he was flattered such a beautiful man had come to his aid.

“Okay, Z, let’s go.” Y/ cooed, just as she would if she were dealing with her sleepy child.

“You look wonderful tonight, has anyone told you that? You know who also looks as handsome as ever? My boy Rowdy.” their friend slurred, kissing the Devils' player cheek with a smack of his lips.

Jack raised his eyebrow, holding him up while they waited for the elevator.

“Candle, light and soul forever, a dream of you and me together… Say you believe it, say you believe it.” Trevor sang, as they went up.

“Is he…?” the brunette man asked, glancing at Y/N.

“He is.” she confirmed.

“Free your mind of doubt and danger, be for real, don’t be a stranger… We can achieve it, we can achieve it.”

“Who knew Z was a fan of the Spice Girls…” Y/N commented, impressed with his song choice.

“Are you kidding me? He sang Spice Up Your Life at every single party we ever had.”

“I don’t remember him drinking back in camp…”

“He didn’t.” Jack laughed, helping their friend walk to his door.

“You two are the best people I know. You’re like my ma and pa at times. I love you guys!” the blond man announced, launching himself at his friends, making Y/N stumble back. “Sing along!”

“Okay, buddy, we love you too, calm down… Give Y/N your key.”

Trevor did as he was told and Y/N opened the door, Jack practically carry their friend to his bed.

“Come a little bit closer baby, get it on, get it on, ‘cause tonight is the night when two become one.” he carried on singing, pointing at the pair.

“Trevor Zegras, professional Spice Girls impersonator. I like it.” Jack jested.

“He’d be the perfect Baby Spice.” the doctor added.

“Excuse me? I was born to be Posh Spice.” Trevor interrupted their exchange indignantly. “Trevor Beckham.”

They erupted into laughter, barely being able to breathe.

“Whatever you say, big guy.” Jack agreed jokingly, pulling the covers over his body.

“Sleep tight.” Y/N said softly, leaving the room.

The brunetteeman was about to do the same when Trevor called his name one last time. He looked back at his friend, nodding as to prompt him to speak.

“Don’t let her get away again.”

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

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eris-snow · 1 year

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𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Tags: bakugou x fem!reader, fluff, bakugou's birthday series 2023

This is a filler chapter that happens right before the events of ✨When you read each other's minds, which will come out on 16 April. It was supposed to be this chapter, but I'm scraping this idea and rewriting it. Sorry for the late post!

"I still can't believe it! That was so cute!" Mina squealed.

"Bakugou, you asshole." Mineta groans, face as perverse as always.

"Are you guys dating?" Shoto piped up tactlessly.

Who knew the class could be so fucking loud. Bakugou should have known better than to fall asleep though.

He swallows thickly, glaring angrily at his bedroom door and silently debating if he should open it or not. Today wasn't a school day. There wasn't a need for him to go outside and didn't want a repeat of yesterday.

He should have known better than to just...fall asleep there.

And even with the hastily efficient explanation you gave yesterday while you gripped his hand tightly in panic, Bakugou knew that the extras just took it as some sick love story.

Mina was gushing about it in the living room last night, and that was all he needed to hear before he jammed the button for the elevator doors to close so hard he thought he broke it.

He wishes he did.

Bakugou spends about 5 more minutes in his room before he caves, slamming his balcony door open.

Fresh air. That would help.

With his luck and skill of jumping off balconies, it was enough to sneak out of the dorm buildings to train in solitude at Gym Gamma.

He glances down, half expecting to see you eating a sandwich or training like the hardworking angel you are, but the green patch is vacant.

Looks like even you were avoiding him.

With a disappointed sigh, he sucks it up and leaps off the terrace.

What the hell.

Bakugou's gaze is scorching when you turn around to meet his eyes.

"What-" Bakugou swallows thickly, plucking a cherry blossom out of his hair. "What are you doing here?"

You frown, eyebrows furrowing. "Training...?"

"What about that green patch surrounded by all those goddamn trees? I've never seen you train here before." He counters, crossing the threshold into the gym.

Curse him and his keen observation skills. You want to run away from him, from your feelings, but it almost seemed that this blond boom boom man just had to be wrapped up in everything you did.

"I wanted to try something new." You reply, folding your arms. "You?"

"Just wanted to get away from the extras." He mutters. Wanted to get away from you, he wants to say, but omits that part out.

Cold silence fills the gym as you both avert your eyes from each other, not knowing how to break through the chasm of awkwardness that separates the both of you.

Bakugou finally salvages the situation. "Spar?"

You gulp, meeting his gaze "Sure."

A matchmaker. A person who arranges or initiates romantic relationships between others.

Denki thinks he's a matchmaker. Sure, he doesn't know the specifics, but he knows he fulfilled at least one of those qualities.

For however dumb everyone tells him he is (especially Bakugou), it was finally his turn to call out on the Great Murder Explosion Lord Dynamight about how hopelessly hilarious it was watching you two dance around each other like in a fictional story.

Denki doesn't know when it happened, but you two had somehow sneaked out of the dorms without anyone knowing, and had come back soaked in sweat.

Not just that, Denki can see your face lighting up as bright as the sun, smiling cheerily as you talk to Bakugou animately about something he can't hear.

Bakugou chuckles-let Denki repeat that again, chuckles-at you, wearing a soft smile as you push the door to the dorms open.

Kirishima and Sero whip their heads to the direction of the both of you the second you hear that raspy laugh, watching both of you disappear into the kitchen for what Denki presumes are fruits.

"When did Blasty even leave?" He gapes, blinking at Kirishima. "You didn't know? Bakugou gets out of his room by jumping out his window half the time. I've seen him do it once before to hang out with Y/n."

Denki blinks, stupified.

Just what did he start?

#mha #mha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x you #bakugou katuski x reader #my hero academia #fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugou's birthday series 2023

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sungbeam · 8 months

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𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 — act I, scene iv

nonidol!hwang intak x f!reader

when summit poster boy hwang intak's car breaks down in the school parking lot, it sets off a chain of events that leads to you, someone he was perhaps always meant to find. the only problem is that the two of you are far from the ideal couple, and your peers are apt to keep that status quo.

▷ genre, chapter warnings. s2f2l, classism and discrimination, forbidden romance au, minimal swearing, angst, humor, honestly a very uncomfortable situation bc of rich people privileges (jerk alert)

▷ word count. 2.5k

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SUMMER (RISING JUNIORS).

INTAK'S eyelids stuck together like glue, but the sharp morning light beaming into his face pried them open. The heavy embroidered curtains on either side of his bed were violently ripped open and a large weight launched onto the bed beside him, practically sending his body flying into the air.

"What the fu—?" Intak cursed, sitting up in bed and trying to get a grasp of reality. His room erupted into delighted cackles—hyenas, if you would—and he dug the soles of his palms into his eyes with a groan. "I hate you guys."

A hand clapped down on his shoulder with a warm squeeze. "If it weren't for us, you'd be sleeping the day away," came Taeyang's voice. Of course, he had been the one to invade Intak's bed space.

"That was the idea," Intak whined, lips forming a pout as he rested up against the headboard.

Keeho chuckled from the foot of the bed. "Yeah, yeah. Well get up! We're gonna get dim sum."

Intak rolled his head to rest on Taeyang's shoulder. "The dim sum place doesn't start serving until 11, assholes."

Jiung appeared from the other side of the room where he had been tying the curtain back with the cord into a neat bow. His face was twisted into a distasteful frown as he surveyed the clothes hanging off of almost every piece of furniture in the room. "Okay and? It's 10:30, sleeping beauty."

"I was gonna put those away," Intak said through a yawn, blindly gesturing toward the three different jackets hanging on the bedpost. Jiung's frown deepened, nose wrinkled, as he plucked the jackets up and dutifully headed for the closet.

"Why are you so tired anyway, dude?" Keeho asked. He had pulled his phone out from his pocket, most likely replying to his parents to tell them he wouldn't be headed to the company building today. "We literally ended our movie marathon early yesterday because you said you wanted to sleep or something."

That triggered something in the back of Intak's mind, and he removed his head from Taeyang's shoulder to feel around the blankets, sheets, pillows, for his—bingo. He snatched his phone up, molten hot from overuse, and powered it on. Luckily, it hung onto life at just 6% battery; goddamn, he must have fallen asleep while on call with Yn last night.

…while on call with Yn last night. The thought brought a smile to his face, one that Taeyang definitely noticed.

The older Choi cousin poked the small divot in Intak's cheek from his smile. "Aye, what're you smiling about?"

Intak cleared his throat and busied himself with finding his charging cable and letting his phone charge on the nightstand. "The thought of eating all your har gow!" he giggled, abruptly leaping out of bed and heading for the closet that Jiung was busy organizing.

Taeyang squawked after him. "Hey, punk! You better not—"

Intak shooed Jiung out of the closet space before closing the door behind him. He exhaled sharply, fingers massaging his crusty eyes. The smile had yet to disappear from his face.

jae's phone: maaaaan did i fall asleep on u last night ?? 😩🤕

yer a wizard yn!: yup

yer a wizard yn!: did u know that u snore 😗

jae's phone: that's a lil embarrassing

yer a wizard yn!: it's okay it was cute

"I'm hungry."

Yn rolled her eyes, the back of her hand dabbing the sweat from her forehead. "Then get food."

Jongseob groaned melodramatically with his head craned backward at an uncomfortable angle, sweat dripping from his damp orange bangs onto the cement floor of the garage. "But I want ramen."

"I don't understand the problem," she sighed, "there's hot water and packets in—"

"I could use some ramen." Soul perked up from his station. He had his blond hair held by a gray bandana tied cutely at the front.

Now both kids were gazing at her with big, brown puppy eyes and pouts, all practically begging the same thing: they wanted real ramen. Not something out of a plastic bag that could be made in two minutes. They wanted something sit-down, steam-rising, creamy, authentic, expensive. Well, it didn't necessarily have to be expensive. It just had to not be 'instant.'

Yn reached for her phone to check for the time, noting the new notification on the lock screen, as well.

tak!: ln's auto repair has a cute little kid on their facebook page

Suppressing the smile on her face into a smirk, she decided that the three of them had been working far too long to be considering this as summer break. And as much as they needed the money and time, they also desperately needed down time. Her mom would be able to reopen the shop later in the afternoon; business had been slow anyway.

"Okay, fine!" She said, which was immediately followed by cheers and the clinking of tools falling to concrete. "But you both stink, so go home and freshen up while I close up here, okay?"

They didn't need to be told twice. Soul was already wrestling his bicycle out from the corner of the garage, and Jongseob passed by her with a large grin on his face to get to the inner office. "Thanks, Yn!"

Yn let her smile come out completely as she hummed her acknowledgement.

yn's phone: r u stalking our fb page lmao we haven't posted anything there since i was a fetus

tak!: bet ur even cuter now than u were then

Yn could only sit there and grin down at her phone screen for a moment. In the background, Soul and Jongseob were arguing about who got to use the shower at Yn's place first, since it was the closest house to the shop. Their sounds faded the further they rode away from the shop, and Yn typed her reply.

yn's phone: avoiding my accusation w flattery i see 🤔

tak!: is my curiosity a crime snookums :l

tak!: y haven't u guys updated pics anyway :0

yn's phone: hm idk ? ig just w lots of things happening these past few years, we forgot to maintain that form of community presence

tak!: ahh i see

tak!: u were a really cute kid tho yn fr

yn's phone: lol thanks >< i think everyone looks cute when they're young tho

tak!: that's tru

yn's phone: hey if u send me a pic for ur contact pfp, i'll send u one back

Then she powered her phone off and tucked it into the back pocket of her cargo pants, skipping around the garage to close the shop down. If Jongseob and Soul were here, she would most definitely get an earful. But good thing they weren't here, right?

When she finally got back home, she found Jongseob nose-deep in his phone game on the couch, his orange hair dampened over his forehead and a towel wrapped around his shoulders. Shota was just strolling out of the bathroom, steam trailing after him, while running a towel through his own hair. She quickly found a fresh set of clothes in her room before hopping into the shower herself.

As she clipped her wet hair up and out of the way, she saw the flicker of something across her phone screen on the bathroom counter. Again, and again, and—

Knock knock knock knock knock— "I'M HUNGRYYYY," Jongseob whined from outside the bathroom door.

Yn rolled her eyes and tucked her phone into her back pocket before ripping the bathroom door open. She sent a firm look at him that said 'Really?'

Jongseob beamed sheepishly. "Haha?"

She deadpanned. "Not haha. C'mon now; is Shota ready to go?"

"Mhm," he piped up, skipping toward the front door. He thumped the back of the couch where Soul had replaced him. "Let's go, let's go!"

Yn could only wonder why the kid was so pumped to finally get lunch, but at the same time, she understood that he probably hadn't had something "restaurant"-level in awhile. This was a luxury that could only be afforded to them during moments where time was infinite. And during summer, time seemed to flow like the milky way.

The three of them began the brief trek to the bus stop, since Yn's mom had taken the family car out to run some errands. It wasn't too bad of a walk anyway, and there seemed to always be a bus coming by every ten minutes down in the Hollows.

They would hop off at the stop in the Crossroads shopping center, aiming for the small, yet upscale ramen shop in the corner. Passing through the open doorway, the three friends chorused their greetings to the chef behind the counter before perching on the stools at the bar.

"Man, oxtail sounds so good right now," Soul pouted to himself, hand against his cheek.

Yn glanced at him before turning her own gaze back to the menu in front of her. The oxtail did sound good, but it was a lot more expensive than everything else. Today wasn't even a special occasion either… she'd probably wait until another day. She passed Soul another look, and at his slight frown, she understood that he was under the same mental crisis as she was.

"Shota-yah," she said to him over Jongseob's head. "If you want the oxtail, you should get it. I can help cover for you."

Soul's eyes widened at this. "Oh, no, no, noona! I couldn't do that; no way! I can get it some other time."

"I insist," she said. If she paid for her bowl and the extra for Soul's… it wouldn't be too bad. No, it definitely wouldn't be bad. This was doable.

Guilt flashed across Shota's face, but she could see the yearning there as well. "I dunno…"

Yn nudged Jongseob as an attempt to switch the subject. "What're you thinking of, Seob?"

He cocked a brow at her. "Don't think you're gonna pay for my lunch, too."

"Who said I would pay for your lunch?"

"Hey!"

She laughed, her lips pursing into an amused smile at Jongseob's pinched brows and annoyed expression. "Only kidding… kind of."

Jongseob opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes flickered to something behind Yn, towards the entrance. Yn heard the chatter and laughter pouring in as a large group of teenagers filed into the shop. There were maybe twelve of them in total, all of whom decked out in designer brands and handbags and shoes and fresh manicures. Their hair was silky and styled, bodies adorned in shiny pieces of jewelry.

Summit kids. Well fuck.

They were loud, boisterous. Yn could feel the shift in her friends' demeanors as Jongseob sent the group nasty looks over his shoulder and Soul kept his back firmly toward them. She prayed to whoever was watching her that they wouldn't do anything to ruin their lunch.

The ramen shop was suddenly ten times smaller now.

Yn heard the group's chatter dull down when they realized just who exactly they were to share the shop with. The chatter became louder, laughter became sharper. She didn't need to strain her ears to hear what they were saying, rather, she was putting more energy in trying to tune them out than anything.

"Do you think we can pay the uncle there to kick them out?"

"I don't even think they could afford to tip. Buying this place out shouldn't be difficult."

Buying out a ramen shop? Just because they were in the midst of a couple of Hollows kids… dramatic much?

Yn stilled as she heard the crisp click, click, click of a pair of new shoes approach the bar where she and her friends sat. From her peripheral vision, she caught a slim, smooth hand adorned in tasteful silver rings and a jade bracelet, motioning to the chef behind the counter.

"Excuse me, uncle! I was wondering if my friends and I could… have the room."

A flash of bills. Actually—Yn couldn't even estimate how much was in that girl's hand, but at the sight of it, the uncle immediately began to wave Yn, Jongseob, and Soul off their stools.

Yn gaped at him, and took her first full glimpse of the girl. She looked familiar, no doubt someone from the academy. The girl looked upon the three of them with a blank stare, pretty, manicured hand waving goodbye to them and nodding toward the door.

"We're paying customers, too!" Yn protested to the chef, who only shrugged. She huffed. "You've got to be shitting me."

A loud laugh from behind them—it was from the larger group. She whirled around, nostrils flared. A boy from the group sneered, "You literally have grease stains on your neck. Don't you think you should be cleaner before thinking you could come and dirty a respectable establishment?"

Respectable establishment, my ass, Yn thought. She suppressed the urge to reach up to feel the back of her neck for any lingering stains from earlier while Jongseob ushered both her and Soul out of the door.

They were halfway back down the hill before Yn could even think to say anything. The anger boiling in her blood had simmered down to something akin to disappointment rather than anger. Part of it, she reasoned, that the uncle was only looking out for his best interests. The Summit kids could fund his shop for life if they really wanted to, but her and her friends? Not a chance.

But… she glanced over at Jongseob and Soul who remained quiet as well. It was odd to see Jongseob so quiet, but perhaps he was fuming as she was and trying not to throw a fit.

The sun beat down above them as they walked down the hill, sweat already beginning to drip down the back of her neck. She finally reached behind her neck, on the shirt collar, then caught a glimpse of the car grease staining her fingertips. She felt her neck and cheeks grow hotter in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry guys," she finally said softly, the words too difficult to put power behind. She didn't know how she managed to choke them out. Guilt pooled in her gut, guilt for not being able to stand up for them better and to be able to get her two best friends fed and treated well.

Both Jongseob and Soul hummed their replies incoherently.

She swallowed, holding a hand up over her eyes as she looked up from the ground. "It's okay. I'll just make some ramen at home. It's not oxtail, but…" But what?

Jongseob glared straight ahead. "I hate those fucking entitled little pricks."

Ah, there it was.

Yn pursed her lips together with a nod. "Yeah."

"And don't apologize, Yn," Soul said. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

She swallowed again, but it was a little more difficult this time. "I just wanted you guys to have a good time and to eat well."

Her friends both looked over at her with something glistening in their eyes. "We know," said Jongseob. "Thanks though."

The disappointment fell from them like waves, and Yn couldn't seem to brace for impact quite as well as she hoped she could.

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nyrandrea · 10 months

Text

The Essence Of Our Spark

Summary: Hiding in plain sight.

Noah Diaz had learned how to do that all too well, but when an argument with his little brother cracks open the flood gates of suppressed memories of wars long past, his mask slips, and along with it, his sanity.

(Takes place after the events of ROTB so there will be spoilers!)

TW: Mentions of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Also a few swears

Also available to read on AO3 here!

In the darkest corners of Noah’s mind, where memories converged with fear, something whispered in his sleep; fragments of a past that he had always desperately wished to forget. His nightmares always came in the form of a battlefield, screams pierced the air and mingled with the metallic cacophony of gunfire. Amid the madness, a lone young soldier struggled to fix a circuit breaker, his eyes wild with terror. With every breath, he inhaled the acrid scent and exhaled a piece of his humanity, forever lost to the unforgiving abyss of war.

Noah flinched, and he put a hand to his chest to steady his breathing as loud popping went off in the kitchen, a familiar scent of butter and salt wafted through to his room.

‘Popcorn... ’ he reassured himself. ‘It’s just mom making popcorn...get a goddamn grip, man...’

As if sensing something was wrong, Noah’s mother appeared by the door frame, hugging a bowl to her chest with one arm and a duvet draped around the other.

“Noah, please tell me you ain’t still working on that thing?” she said, nodding to his work desk.

Taking a moment to flex his trembling hand, he dismissively waved her off. “C’mon, I’ve only been at it for an hour or two.”

“Honey, it’s three in the afternoon. You been hunched over that desk since two in the morning.”

Her expression softened when Noah didn’t reply. “Have you been taking those sleeping pills?”

“Yeah, I just...got the work bug, that’s all,” he muttered. “You know me, once I start, can’t stop.”

“You gotta stop sometime, sweetheart. Otherwise, your body will.”

Noah flinched slightly. “...Right. Don’t you have a movie to watch?”

His mom frowned but said nothing. “Because I know you haven’t eaten anything, there’s leftovers in the fridge, okay? Just...don’t cook, I’m too tired to deal with that right now. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

Once again, he waved her off, and when she finally got the hint, he returned to his work project.

“C’mon...just work, damn it...!” Noah sighed, his nostrils flaring as he tried to splice a couple of wires together. This was the last step to complete the repair for Kris’s gameboy, which had suffered a beating against the wall after several failed attempts at the final boss of whatever latest game he had received for his birthday.

The walls in the apartment were thin so Noah and his mother had immediately scrambled out of their beds when they heard a loud banging coming from Kris’s room, with Noah kicking down the door and raising a baseball bat to beat the shit out of whoever had been stupid enough to break into their home and target his little brother, only to be met with the snivelling boy sitting on the bed hugging his knees and pointing at the broken console on the floor.

Kris had suffered his first bout of gamer rage.

Noah had tried to be sympathetic; their mother much less so.

He couldn’t blame her for being angry. She worked long hours and had spent a lot of hard-earned cash to buy that gameboy for Kris in the hopes that it would cheer him up—or at least provide a distraction—from his illness. They couldn’t afford another one.

Which was why Noah needed to fix it.

It had been weeks since his last interview, and the small pot of money he had slowly built up from doing various repair jobs for folks around the neighbourhood was beginning to dry up. He had spent most of it on various parts to fix up Mirage.

And it had been worth every damn dime.

“C’mon...There we go!” He punched a victorious fist in the air as the screen lit up along with the familiar 8-bit jingle. “Oh, thank God. Or Primus. Whatever.” Noah sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, sighing in relief and smiling at the thought of Kris’s face lighting up when he got his one true love back.

Noah snorted. That kid needed to get out more.

His expression dropped a little. He knew at one point, when the illness was at its earliest stages, that Kris had tried to hang out with his friends, go to school, play at sports, just all the normal stuff that a kid should be doing. But he started tiring more and more easily and grew so frustrated that he ended up locking himself in his room, isolating himself from the world and everybody that loved him

That was when he got the call from his mom, her voice had a nasal tone to it, as if she’d just been crying, and Noah knew he needed to come home. Fortunately, his superiors granted him general discharge after a hell of a lot of arm twisting. However, they made sure to get back at him in the form of a bad reference that crapped all over his chances of getting a decent job.

Or any job, really. Even the damn janitors wouldn’t take him on.

Giving himself a mental kick, Noah forced himself out of the chair before he could start feeling sorry for himself and grabbed the newly fixed console before heading to the door.

“Hey, ma,” he softly called out, softly knocking on the living room door and entering when he heard a muffled “Come in ..”. He smiled a little at the shifting lump on the couch, a hand lifting from under the covers to reveal his mom’s face, illuminated by the soft glow of the television screen. He couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes; those night shifts were really starting to take their toll on her.

“¿Qué es eso?” she asked. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’ve finally fixed Kris’s console, just headin’ out to give it to him now.”

“Oh gracias a Dios,” she muttered in relief. “You’re a little miracle worker, you know?”

“Sí, mama,” Noah gloated, holding up his hands. “I know I’m the best.”

She smirked under the covers. “If only your cooking skills were that good.”

“Hey, c’mon now, it’s just an acquired taste, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” she said with a yawn, prompting Noah to take the handle and close the door part-way.

“You work yourself too hard,” he said softly. “I’ll let you get some shut-eye.”

“And you worry too much,” she weakly argued back. “Tell Kris to be home by six,” his mom paused a moment before adding. “He’s been spending almost as much time at that dingy old garage as you have recently.”

Noah swallowed down a dry lump. “Yeah, he’s uh...been helping me out with this... project.”

He inwardly cringed. He had always been a bad liar, especially when it came to his family.

“Right,” she drawled out, obviously not convinced. “Just make sure he doesn’t inhale too much of those car fumes. It’s not good for his condition.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Noah said, inching his way out the door before making a beeline for it, shouting out a quick “love you!” before slamming the door shut on his way out.

Beads of sweat ran down the sides of his face as he jogged down the stairs of the apartment building and into the bustling and vibrant streets of Brooklyn, shoving the gameboy into his pocket as he walked down the street.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to keep this secret from his mother. Kris had found out within five minutes of him being home, but luckily had taken the whole thing in his stride, seemingly not phased by the idea of giant alien robots and the world nearly ending.

Kris was just built different, he supposed.

Their mother on the other hand...

He wasn’t sure what would have freaked her out more; the fact that he was friends with talking vehicles or that he had travelled outside of New York without leaving so much as a note.

He may be have been in his late twenties but there was no doubt in his mind that she would have grounded his ass for a month if she found out.

Noah shook his head, he was going to keep this secret for as long as he had breath in his body. She had enough to worry about: with her job, classes, bills, the medication for Kris.

Except they didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

Absent-mindedly pulling the business card he had received at his ‘security job’ interview, he twirled it in his fingers, brushing a thumb over the symbol of the eagle. The whole situation was still so bizarre to him; this super-secret government organization wanted him as an agent because...what, he just happened to choose the right car to break into? Because he was associated—by accident—with giant machines that could help them with whatever war they were in the middle of?

Noah couldn’t think of any other reason on why they would want to hire him.

It was Elena who had led the Autobots and Maximals to the transwarp key, it was Optimus Prime and Primal that charged into battle against Scourge and Unicron, and it was Mirage who had sacrificed himself and transformed his body into a suit to protect Noah. He...he hadn’t really done much of anything. Just happened to tag along for the ride.

That Agent Burke guy was wrong. He didn’t deserve this.

And he couldn’t throw himself into the middle of another war. Not after his harrowing time with the army and certainly not after that whole world-ending ordeal he’d just been through. Besides, he had other responsibilities. He couldn’t leave Kris again. Or his mother. They needed him. He was the man of the house. They needed him. He was more useful to them here than playing pretend at some secret agent shit.

...Right?

He shoved the card back into his jacket pocket, planning on throwing it away later. From his other pocket, he pulled out a walkie talkie.

“Yo, Kris,” he greeted. “Got a little something for ya, you still at the garage where I told you to stay?”

There was a pause.

“What did I say about using our real names?”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Apologies, Tails. I repeat: you at the garage?”

“Uh. Yep. Still here.”

“Then why don’t I see you, huh?” Noah asked dryly as he edged past the heavy wooden doors and into the dimly lit space. A nostalgic scent of motor oil and sawdust tinged the air, a reminder that this was Noah’s safe-space. The small workshop was a treasure trove of relics; shelves lined the walls, each filled with an array of tools and rusted projects that had been laid to rest.

The only thing the garage was missing was his little brother and newly repaired Porsche.

“Kzzzzt, this is Knuckles here,” a new voice chimed in. “You’re uh, kzzzzt, breaking up there, Sonic.”

Noah grimaced and clutched onto the radio device a little harder. “You get him back here now or I swear I’ll put my knuckles through your damn windshield...!”

“Geez! What’s with the threats, huh? Calm down or you’ll end up as much of a killjoy as Optimus-”

“No names!”

“Oh! Sorry.”

Rubbing his temples in frustration, Noah tried again. “Can you guys please just come back? Like I said, I got something for you, Tails. It’s real important.”

As if on cue, a mis-matched Porsche came skidding along the road and sped right towards Noah, who didn’t even flinch when it screeched to a halt within inches of him and went through the all-too familiar process of transforming.

“Mirage is in the garage!” The robot cheerfully announced, catching Kris mid-transformation and gently lowering him to the ground in front of Noah before stretching out his limbs. “Oh, man does it feel good to get out again. And! I gotta say Kris, you’re even more fun to joyride with than your brother.”

Noah rubbed his face, feeling like a vein was about to pop. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Hey, come on now, Noah,” Mirage waved a dismissive hand. “Jealousy ain’t a good look on you.”

“You took Kris out joyriding?!”

“Guys...”

“I took him out for some fresh air! What, you’d rather the kid was cooped up in this dusty old workshop all day?” Mirage snapped back, dramatically gesturing around the small, cramped room.

“Guys!” Kris shouted out before Noah could argue back. “I can talk for myself, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know Kris, but-” Noah tried to argue as the robot looked down sheepishly, only to be instantly hushed by his little brother’s stone-cold glare. He’d definitely learned that from their mother. Or Optimus.

“He only took me ‘round the block a few times, Noah. I wanted to go with him.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Kris held up a finger. “Besides, we didn’t get into any trouble.”

“Well, except for that cop tryna’ stop us for speeding-”

“I said we didn’t get into any trouble,” Kris reiterated, aiming his glare up at Mirage now, who instantly stiffened and looked away.

“Nope. No trouble here.”

Noah sighed and knelt to Kris’s level. “Look, I get you want to have your own adventures and yeah, even I got into a little trouble when I was your age.”

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot,” he corrected himself. “Look, my point is... you gotta be careful. I...,” Noah paused for a moment, trying to find the best way to word this.

“I don’t want you to end up being like me.”

A silence fell upon the room then as Kris narrowed his eyes, and he didn’t even have to look up to know that Mirage was boring down on him too.

“Bro, you ain’t being serious, right?”

“I am being serious, Kris. You...you’re...I mean I...” Noah stuttered. God, why was talking so hard? “You’re a real bright kid and-”

“Lemme guess, I got a ‘bright future ahead of me’?” Kris drawled out sarcastically.

“Yeah! You do! But you gotta drop that attitude, keep your head down and keep up with your schoolwork. You can’t be like me and fu-” He stopped himself and cleared his throat. “Muck it up like I did.”

“You can say fuck, Noah. I’m not five.”

Mirage, who had taken to hovering in the background so as to not get in the middle of the brother’s argument, sputtered and tried to poorly disguise his laugh with a hacking cough, blaming it on the dust.

Noah groaned and rose, deciding it was now time to harness the kind of power stance that would usually win his mother an argument “My point is that you’ve got a chance to make something of yourself, get outta Brooklyn, get yourself a decent job with good money-”

“Okay, I may be old enough to swear but I ain’t old enough to be thinking about all that,” Kris said defiantly, crossing his arms to mirror Noah. “You can’t just dump all that on me.”

“I’m not dumping anything on you, I’m just saying you gotta-”

“Well, I think you gotta go see a therapist.”

Noah blinked as a smug grin formed on Kris’s face. “W-what?”

“Don’t you even notice that you’re always putting yourself down?” The teen grasped at his hair dramatically and pitched his voice down an octave. “Oh no...! I’m not good enough to get a job...! I don’t deserve to get credit for saving the freakin’ world...! I can’t cook for shit...!”

Noah wasn’t sure what to get more offended by—the fact that his own brother was insulting him or that he had the balls to pull him up about his own insecurities.

“You little-! I don’t sound like that! And my cooking is just...an acquired taste...!”

“Stop avoiding the subject.”

“I don’t need a therapist; we can’t even afford one! And last I checked, we were talking about your future, not mine. So, let’s leave it, yeah?”

Kris didn’t take the hint.

“Bro, you are part of my future. And you always tell me that it ain’t good to bottle up our emotions and to always talk. Like when Tails helps Sonic, or Luigi helps Mario, or-”

“But we ain’t Sonic and Tails! Or...or Mario and Luigi or whatever, and this ain’t a videogame, Kris! You can’t just point and click your way through life and expect to get a happy ending. You got your head in the clouds way too much, and it’s about time you got back down to reality like the rest of us!”

“Noah...” Mirage finally chimed in, but was interrupted by Kris.

“No, I get it,” the boy said, somberly nodding. “You got all these hopes and dreams that you couldn’t achieve by yourself and so now you’re pinning ‘em all on me, right? ‘Cuz you think you ain’t got a chance at living the life that you wanted. ‘Cuz you’re worthless, right?”

“Worthless... worthless ... you’re worthless...!” His commander had shouted at him. His father had shouted at him. He had shouted at himself.

Noah’s head was pounding . His thoughts clashed like opposing tides in a wild storm; a battle between fear and reason, threatening to tear him apart. All he wanted was for his little brother to have a good life and not to be trapped within the four walls of a rotting apartment in the middle of gang and police territory, fearing for his life every time he opened the door, that he would get shot for being in the wrong place at the right time. To try and escape, only to end up in a different kind of war that valued him only as cannon fodder, to be sent home in a box with a medal slapped on his cold, lifeless body for his ‘service’. To be remembered by only a few and missed by no-one.

And to be regarded as a low-life coward for running away.

“Noah...? Noah...! Noah ...”

He didn’t even realise that Kris had a grip on his arms and was shaking him, or that Mirage was kneeling with his hands hovering over him. Their mouths were moving but what they were saying was all muffled and distorted, like he was underwater.

His lungs hitched, and he started gasping for air.

Noah hated that he couldn’t keep his emotions in check, that something so trivial triggered such a raw, primal fear within him, and that he showed such a vulnerability to his little brother and best friend. The two people who were supposed to rely on him for support and strength.

With some semblance of control, he managed to wave them both off with an air of nonchalance and coolness that he had learned to adopt from Mirage's personality.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” he just about choked out. “I think I just gotta...go for a walk or somethin’.”

His legs found the strength to stumble forward of their own accord, stopping only briefly to lean by the doors so he could glance back. “Mirage, could you uh...could you take Kris home? Mom wants him home by...by six, aight? And make sure he does his homework because...yeah.”

“But Noah... yew don luk so gud...”

“Just do it, okay?!” He snapped. “Please...”

Within Noah’s weary soul, a fervent desire to escape surged through his body, and without a second thought, he slipped out into the embrace of the early night. Each step propelled him into the unknown, his heart beating wildly as his legs pounded against the pavement, fuelling his need to leave everyone else behind.

The wind whistled through his ears, and the city bathed in the soft glow of streetlights overcame every ounce of his senses, drowning out the chorus of desperation that echoed from all around him.

XXX

I am hungry for the hurt/comfort Noah and Mirage fics so I decided to write one myself. Let me know what y'all think!

Part 2: Coming Soon!

#transformers #transformers rise of the beasts #transformers rotb #transformers mirage #transformers noah #mirage and noah #miroah #can be read as platonic or romantic #transformers fanfiction #my writing

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brainicusrotticus · 1 month

Text

the crucial event that tied doc!sol and vace together:

they set off for the subaqueous swamp. sol drives the transport vehicle, and brings a bag for storing samples. he practically forced a second bag on vace, but that’s alright because vace forced sol to carry a plaspistol, in addition to bringing his own plasrifle, stun gloves, and a hunting knife.

they get to the swamp, and go about doing their thing. vace gets a bit twitchy a few times, but sol gives him the stern “don’t shoot at shit unless we’re about to die” look, and it’s enough to settle him down.

they’re there for hours. sol darting from plant to plant, vace just following and keeping an eye out.

it gets within about two hours of sundown, which means they’re going to need to leave soon. there’s also a heavy looking storm moving in, so sol is trying to get some last readings from another new species of plant that seems to have solid healing properties.

vace seems on edge. he’s usually been quietly pacing about, always looking out for shit. but sol takes a quick breather from this plant, and realizes vace is standing very nearby, and very still.

something feels off, but vace can’t tell what it is. and that’s not good.

sol takes him seriously, because that’s what vace is there for. he upholsters his plaspistol (for show, because it’s not like he actually know how to use the thing), goes for a sample of this last plant, and then they’ll get moving back to the transport.

first rule of vertumna: it’s never just a plant.

this plant turns out to be the hook for a creature fairly reminiscent of a snapbladder. and the second sol touches it, the trap springs.

it gets a decent clamp on sol. across his left shoulder and chest. it’s clearly not sized for human prey, but it’s bite is strong enough. it’ll bruise, and its teeth break the skin, but it’s not all that worrying.

it lets go when vace fires some non-lethal shots into it, and scurried away. vace goes to check on the doc, who assures him that it’s all fine.

but they haven’t been unnoticed. all day, noctilucent has been keeping tabs on them. waiting for a good opportunity to strike. and what better opening than worried distraction?

but he’s mean. he aims for the hard hits.

he drops a tree on them.

vace manages to swing the doc out of the way, and takes the full force of a falling tree on himself. not that solane being present would’ve changed that, then they’d just both take the full force of a falling tree. and it would end much worse for one of them.

it’ll leave some bruises on him. might’ve even left a few small cracks in the bones. but this is vace. he’ll be fine.

there’s only one major problem.

his legs are pinned under it. and he’s strong, but not super strong, and it’s hard to get proper leverage when you’re face down on the ground. sol is managed to catch his breath after being thrown to the ground (really just failing to catch himself), and is about to get up and go to vace…

but noctilucent emerges from the bushes. still dripping, like he’d crawled right out of the swamp water.

(he did)

sol hasn’t met noct before, but he knows about gardeners from sym

particularly that there are a number of gardeners who want the whole colony gone. and who think “dead” is good enough.

and in this particular scenario? he doesn’t really get the feeling this is going to be a friendly chat. he wonders if noct was the one responsible for the looming stormclouds.

noct knows how to threat assess. also, he’s been watching them all day. he knows that one of these individuals knows how to use a gun, and the other is a goddamn nerd. so vace presently being stuck under a tree? means that problem can be dealt with immediately.

so noct goes to him.

and stomps on vace’s head with those ugly ass hooves of his.

but, it’s vace. he’s built different. it’ll leave a bump, and left a little split in the skin that bleeds a bit, but it’s probably not even enough for a concussion.

(sol definitely has that brief moment of “i just witnessed a murder” before he remembered vace’s augment)

but noct keeps going. he gets another 3-4 in before sol throws himself on vace, literally wrapping around noctilucent’s leg like an octopus. screaming for him to stop.

and noct backs up a step. mostly because he’s surprised by the sheer audacity sol is showing.

and sol covers vace’s body with his own.

he doesn’t know how to fight. his plaspistol isn’t in reach, he can’t see vace’s plasrifle, the only thing he has is the knowledge that gardeners don’t die when their body is killed. he isn’t a soldier.

but he has to be.

vace is out of it. he seems to be wavering on consciousness, but his legs are still stuck and he definitely has at least a concussion now.

sol is the only one who can help them right now.

he’s shaking and sobbing, pressed overtop of vace. he can see something like amusement in noct’s eyes, and it pushes him that much further.

noct leans down. he wants to meet this human eye to eye, to mock sol for this before he kills them both. he’s absolutely focused on the full-faced misery of sol.

it’s classic, really. a common trick used by magicians in old holovids.

misdirection.

noct doesn’t see sol work vace’s knife free of the belt. he isn’t as guarded with sol. this human has only ventured beyond the colony a handful of times, and has never shown any prowess for combat.

sol isn’t a threat.

and as the doctor, lightning quick, wraps a hand around the back of noctilucent’s neck and slices so deep he leaves a cut across his own palm, he wonders if noct will remember this. feel some primal unease the next time he sees solane. or if, like his recent memories, all sense of threat melts away with his body.

the sprinkling rain is starting to grow heavier. sol uses a thick branch to leverage the tree off of vace, and wishes desperately that he had the time to fully exam the damage.

but he doesn’t. utopia will probably realize something is wrong soon—probably sent a message to the transport when stratos picked up on the storm moving in, and is waiting for a response that indicates they’re heading back to the colony.

when it doesn’t come, she’ll report them as missing. normal protocol is a search and rescue party.

but the storm would make for hostile conditions. if it raises the water too much, there are parts of the road that’ll flood, and they might not even be able to get a squad to the swamp. unless the storm blows over in minutes (which is possible, if not likely), it’ll be nightfall or later by the time anyone can make it.

and nighttime isn’t a good time for a rescue squad. it just puts more people at risk. in most cases, they’d wait until day. rhett wouldn’t get any sleep over the worry and guilt, but he’d make the choice anyway.

except, maybe, for sol.

he’s a doctor. the only one who knows what to do besides instance. he has more old-school knowledge than instance, and a xenobotanist background. he’s valuable, and he hates knowing that. that someone might consider it worthwhile to risk other lives to save his own.

but others can be trained. medbeds can handle just about any problem, as long as they stay functional. rhett knows that, as much as he knows sol wouldn’t want others to risk themselves unnecessarily for him.

the doctor honestly doesn’t know what choice rhett will make, and doesn’t envy him having to make it.

(he’ll buy something nice for the security chief, if he gets out of this.)

(when. it has to be when.)

vace is conscious enough to move, a little. support his own weight, hopefully. but that’s about it.

sol gets him up, supports his weight on one side. vace has about eight inches and ninety pounds on sol, which is a fucking problem.

sol puts on his best rhett voice, and barks orders at vace. “time to push it, soldier! if you don’t, we’re both dead!”

he can’t honestly tell if it helped. he knows vace can’t do much. he knows he was mostly saying it for himself.

because if sol can’t manage this, they’re both dead.

they might get lucky. rhett might send a squad after all. nem might defy orders to come after them herself. dys might come for sol’s sake, with her or own his own. he might even get word to sym.

but sol can’t act like help is coming. can’t let himself do anything less than as much as he fucking can.

the sun has set by the time he gets them back to the transport, drenched and muddy and shaking. he barely manages to open the sliding door with one hand, and then has to lay vace on the floor from outside, get in, and drag him the rest of the way. he pulls wads of fabric from between his own teeth, put there to keep his teeth from cracking when he clenched it shut.

he can barely get the scraps out, with how tightly wound the muscles are. that’ll hurt in the morning.

(he’ll just add it to the list.)

he locks them inside the transport, and takes a chance to examine vace. he’s semi-conscious, definitely has a concussion. he can talk, a little, and vaguely understand context.

(he swears, mostly. given the context, yeah. sounds about right.)

the bleeding has stopped. there are some cracks in his skull, but nothing that feels imminently dangerous. already bruises and a hell of a black eye, and sol is pretty sure there’s a fracture along his left orbital bone. but those are all things a medbed can handle just fine. as long as he makes it to one.

sol straps vace into one of the bench seats, and gets the transport started. as expected, there’s several messages from utopia, and one from rhett. the storm interferes too much with comms for much to get through, but sol does what he can. a distress signal, canceled after three seconds. three seconds of silence, and then the signal sent again, canceled after three seconds. deliberate enough for them to know it’s a message.

he starts the transport home.

about ten minutes of slow travel down the road, it’s flooded. sol isn’t going to risk it, not after what he just went through. he parks them.

he unbuckles vace so he can lay the soldier down on the seats, and try to get some sleep. sol takes the floor, and sleeps in fits.

eventually, he jolts awake to the sound of a quiet drizzle.

he straps vace back in. he’s relieved to hear the mumbled complaints about ruining his sleep.

the floods come fast in the swamp, but they leave that way, too.

it takes another hour and a half, but eventually he sees the lights of the colony.

utopia and rhett are already at the outer post, pacing and watching the road. they see the approaching transport before the lookouts do, but not before dys and nem.

both of whom are sequestered right next to the security chief, and looking rather dour.

sol can see how much self restraint it takes to wait for the transport to roll in, and not just run to it.

as soon as it’s parked, someone starts trying to yank the door open.

(it’s locked and dead bolted, because sol wasn’t taking any chances.)

he unlocks it, and rhett yanks it open before sol can. all the doctor manages to say is vace’s name, before he’s being unbuckled and carried out in rhett’s arms.

held like a princess, limp and soaked in a way that makes his clothes and hair cling to him, vace looks like the kid he is. barely sixteen, too young to be dealing with this shit.

(they both are. hell, all of them are.)

sol doesn’t need help to move. he knows he looks like shit, but his adrenaline has been running so high for so long that he sprints ahead to prepare a medbed.

instance is waiting, but she knows someone who needs work when she sees it. she’ll be the one who cleans and cares for sol’s own wounds later, in the quiet silence of an active medbed. tang will uncurl from the corner where she’d been watching owlishly, to play the part of nursing assistant.

vace will be under for three days. it’ll heal all the worrying injuries, but sol knows the soldier can’t stand to spend forever in a medbed, even if he doesn’t remember it.

(and he doesn’t remember the medbed. but he does remember a surprising amount of that day. remembers the dissonance of hearing sol sobbing while also feeling deft fingers work his knife loose. knows noct died, and he couldn’t have been the one to do it. gets flashes of the slog back, of sol carrying him when he could only feel frustration at his weak, sluggish legs slipping in the mud.)

they’re different, after that. sol never acts like vace owes him anything, and starts taking self-defense lessons. neither one of them actually suggested it. they just made eye contact across the cafeteria one morning a week after the event, and walked to the garrison together to start.

vace trusts sol to do what’s necessary, and to know what that is. it’s hard not to, when you know the empathetic, xeno-loving doctor willingly killed a gardener. his trust grows from there.

and sol trusts vace to have subtlety, and sympathy. he never says more about that day than what sol himself admits, even after he tells sol he remembers it. he seems to pick up on the days when it’s really bothering the doctor, and finds a way to hover nearby. whether it makes sol feel safe, or reminds him that he saved someone, vace doesn’t know.

seeing the most trusted kids from each ship suddenly get along has a deep impact on not just their peers, but the adults too.

(lum hates it. he never managed to scare them, but he could usually get them to cooperate. now they do nothing less than exactly what they think is right, and the few times he’s tried to control them, they both just fixed him with a stare that said he was a problem they could solve the moment they decided to.)

it’s the start of a new era for stratos-helios relations.

the violent soldier who toughened the kind doctor, and let himself be soothed in return.

(nothing changed in them. not really.)

(they just learned how to balance.)

(and everyone else followed suit.)

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writtengalaxies · 1 year

Text

A Confession At Last

Characters: Head Engineer Mark, GN!Captain

Word Count: 655

Spicy Rating: FLUFF

It had been another sleepless night, staring out over their new planet. You slowly spun the coffee mug in your hands, wondering about honestly, what felt like the silliest thing to worry about after all those loops.

You and Mark had been talking quietly for hours, the nighttime lighting on the ship simulating enough of the comfortable dim lighting to make it feel a little more cozy, a little more easy to open up and be vulnerable. This was even, possibly, the fourth or fifth night of talking through it all, of getting every fear off your chests about the wormhole and after effects, both wrapped in blankets and pajamas you had brought from your own rooms.

Tonight, however, you had only one thought still stuck in your mind, as you watched him take a long sip of his coffee.

"So, how much do you remember of all those loops? Because I...I might remember more," you offer softly, as the first offering to this conversation.

"Truthfully...not all of it. I...I think we experienced time differently for a while. I...I kind of lost years in there..." You wince at the quiet words, remembering the Warp Core. It seems like he does too, something in his face tightening for a moment. You know he's trying to not apologize again, but the habit was so hard for him to break.

"So what...what do you remember?"

The silence, the unsteady way you're asking...it makes him turn, to study you, right as you turn to study the starfields out the window instead. "Captain, if you're trying to ask me if I remember something specific, you're probably better off asking me directly. I...I'm not exactly going to be able to guess it."

You huff a small laugh, swallowing down the more manic, nervous laughter that wants to rise up. "Goddamn it. You're too smart for me."

"Nonsense! I'm just the right amount of smart. Balances out with sometimes being an idiot." Mark also laughs, a little more full than yours, before he grows quiet again. "Do...do you not want to tell me what it is? You don't have to, if you don't want to."

"It's..." You swallow, trying again. "...I said it to you so many times. Every chance I could, because I wasn't sure if...if we'd make it out." Silence falls between you two, where you stare at your empty mug, and Mark's brow furrows as he thinks. "Nevermind. It's...it's not that important."

The quiet settles in again, replaced with the ship's soft hum, before Mark speaks up. "Looks like we're both out of coffee. I'll go grab us a refill?"

You nod, handing it off to him with a smile. You know it looks weak, because he hesitates, begins to say something, then just smiles back. You hear him step away, through the open doors, off to the cafeteria. The breath you didn't know you were holding slides out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You had said it so many times, during each loop through that damned wormhole. You hoped, somewhere in there, he'd know. He'd remember, that there wouldn't be that same awkward dance. It became easier than breathing, easier than saying "don't go back" over and over. Three simple words that meant too much, carried so much meaning. Held the weight of the universe behind them and emotions you couldn't even begin to name. Through it all, through everything, even with the events of the Warp Core room...

You paused, hearing two solid 'thunks' from down the corridor, followed by quick footsteps. You turned, already knowing who it was. It didn't take a lifetime of lifetimes to know who it would be, after all. You two were the only ones awake, but still, you turned right as Mark grasped the doorway, eyes wide and hair tousled.

"Captain," he panted out, face breaking into a smile you knew you would dream about forever. "I love you too."

#space sweetheart #my writing #head engineer mark #iswm head engineer #captaineer #head engineer x captain #iswm captain #the captain #engineer mark #in space with markiplier

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lavoixhumaine · 6 months

Text

Before anything else—I don’t know if you will see this but I want to thank everyone who left the kindest and most supportive messages and replies. Thank you sincerely from the bottom of my heart.

To @rainedamodred and @bestbuddybobby — I wouldn’t have made it through without you both.

Now…

I’ve been contemplating what to write here for the last twelve hours.

When I say the past two weeks have been the most difficult in my entire life, that is not an exaggeration. It’s been…hell, honestly.

My husband was diagnosed with an arrhythmia over two years ago. Didn’t sound good but it wasn’t uncommon, but he was a special case, as we were told because on top of being unnaturally tall for our people, he apparently also had an unnaturally large heart…literally. We were presented with options that we were told we could delay due to the pandemic and our concerns regarding safety in authorizing a rather complicated operation during what felt like a perilous time…

The pandemic didn’t really end but it eased. We went in for a checkup. They said it was okay so far as long as he wasn’t feeling any different. He said he was fine. I believed him.

So we thought we had time. We thought this year we could get back on track after the hellacious last couple of years. Get back to what passed for normal, start traveling again, see old friends, revisit our favorite places, hit up our old haunts…

We scheduled him for surgery the beginning of next year…but I suppose fate had other plans.

My husband flatlined twice in the last couple of weeks. He was brought back both times but not without cost. They tried different medications. There were heavy discussions on what options were available. The idea of a heart transplant was offered but waiting for a new heart meant…well, you have some idea, yes? There was no way he could travel for treatment. His heart was going insane…hitting over 200 beats per minute, erratically bouncing from 90 to 145 in a blink…it was a mess.

I coped by not coping…I ended up breaking so many things in our home…a table, a glass wall and whatever I could get my hands on. The floors looked like they were littered with glittering diamonds by the time I was through…so much glass everywhere. It was the only way I could pull myself back together and return to the hospital without falling apart and screaming at someone.

And the goddamn crying…it came and went and I kept waiting to run out of tears but I never did.

I had my mothers and aunts calling from all over in different timezones and at first, I answered but then I would cry more because they cared and they kept offering…kindness and comfort. They wanted to come and be there but I couldn’t imagine keeping up a facade to yet another group of people when I’m busy trying not to fall apart and be The Wife.

And listening to them trying to give me comfort…somehow that was enough to trigger disgusting crying jags that helped nobody and just made a mess out of me. I stopped taking calls. I couldn’t keep my shit together when I kept falling apart at the sound of a caring voice.

For the first time in almost ten years, I was alone. In all the time I’ve been with my husband, I have never been alone…that broke something inside me.

He’s the calm voice, he’s the adult in the room, he makes the decisions, he is the one person that can talk me down from whatever insane cliff I’ve driven myself to…and suddenly, there was just silence.

It reached a point where I was the only one left to make decisions because he couldn’t anymore…his doctors all agreed the best option was to perform a cardiac ablation and implant a device that would be connected to his heart—a defibrillator with a pacemaker backing.

At that point, I was too exhausted mentally, emotionally and psychologically…I said yes to whatever they felt was best. They let me pick and choose off a menu which piece of technology to put next to his heart like I was in an Apple launch event. It was all so…fucking surreal.

Wasn’t it only a few days ago we were celebrating his birthday? He’s only fucking forty-one.

Between the harsh reality that I might lose my husband and the unrelenting conflicts that kept intruding upon an already terrible situation by way of his family…I was barely keeping myself together. I couldn’t even go home anymore and break things…I was that close to breaking things in the hospital but then how would that look if word got out?

I was too scared to go home…too scared I’ll leave and he would slip away.

It’s just the kind of thing he would do…leave without telling because he thinks that would hurt me less. Fuck, sometimes he’s also a dumbass but he is my dumbass, okay?

After I was able to make a decision that would alter his life while hopefully saving it…within twenty-four hours, the device was flown in as well as the specialist that would perform the surgery. Almost two weeks of agony and suddenly, an OR was booked, the doctors were lining up and introducing themselves, discussing their roles in the operation, explaining how it was all going to go down, the technician was making a presentation on how the device would save him on a daily basis while I was too punch drunk to process the information, the anesthesiologist was talking about how they expected things to go, critical care was throwing in his two cents, the cardiologist was trying to reassure me that he would be okay within twenty-four hours after the procedure and he will be able to go home just like that…

It happened so fast, it left my head spinning.

He’s home now. It’s not a fun experience and recovery will take time, but he’s alive and that’s really all that fucking matters.

Right now, I’m dealing with residual bullshit with his family…his sister who is a neurotic passive aggressive piece of work and his mother who seems to have no problem showing him how much she hates him right now…his father continues to be the kindest of them.

I loved and adored these people last month.

One of my aunts said I should not stew in my anger and hold resentment in my heart…that I should give all my negative feelings to God and ask Him to help me continue to love and honor them as I have been doing from the beginning. Ask God to help me keep my love for them so I will not be clouded and remember they are my family…

I told her to call me again next week and try again.

Right now, I just want to get my house back in order and help my husband with his recovery. Get our lives back to where it should be. Find some kind of normal that works for this new us.

I’m trying to channel my rage into more useful outlets outside of that and do something good because that seems like a much better idea than giving in to the urge to commit arson. I am trying so hard not to acknowledge the rage that I am not quite ready to let go of…

I stopped breaking things—I think I’m on the right track.

I keep reminding myself…

He’s alive. He’s not dead. He’s here. He’s breathing. He’s alive. He’s speaking. He’s right here. He’s alive. He’s here. He’s right here.

He’s alive.

And the silence has gone.

#lavoixhumaine #mine

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l-tothe-og · 11 months

Note

Vizzy T on his last breath….the trial…your fic really gets to me 😭…. So here’s a sad prompt with good siblings! Helaena and Aemond + a Lucemond; Aemond gets into a super bad break up(can by with Alys Rivers or someone else) and has a complete break down because it was emotionally taxing for him so Hel and Aegon end up being good support systems for Aemond. Luke comes over to the house one day to ask Hel or Aegon for smth but Aemond answers instead of those two. Not sure what would happen after Luke enters the house though.

(A very late answer indeed since this is talking not about aegons trial but the hearing over viserys's will. Sorry a million times)

Aemond hadn't planned for anyone besides his sister to see him like that. So, when the doorbell rang for the third time in a minute on the fifth day of Aemond's stay in Helaena's guest room, Aemond was pissed to be opening the door.

To make matters worse, it was Luke.

"Helaena's not home." He said lamely.

Luke peered into the house and Aemond sneered.

He threw the door open behind him and gestured inside.

"What? You don't believe me?" The gust of wind from the door lifted Aemond's limp hair, but did not refresh him further.

Luke held up his hands in surrender. "Dude, no. It's cool. She's not home. It's all good. I was in the neighborhood, and she told me to stop by the next time I was. That's all." He shuffled his feet and looked at the ground.

"Oh." Aemond thought his love had softened him. As it turned out, she had only been a cover on his blade. He could still cut without trying.

"I heard-" Luke started.

"Shut up." It hurt enough that she was gone. She took her breath of fresh air, flower bud smell, and the goddamn key to Aemond's place when she left him. No springtime or sleep, Aemond was in no mood to fuck with Luke and their family grapevine.

"I was just going to say I'm sorry. Breakups aren't easy." Like a kicked puppy, Luke whimpered, then came back undeterred, ready to nuzzle his way in.

"Why are you sorry?"

"It's just something people say, isn't it? Do you want me to call your ex girlfriend a bitch and vow our family's full force on ruining her life?"

Aemond laughed drily, "Yes."

Luke laughed too, and nodded. "Then we'll ruin that bitch's life."

Another moment of silence descended upon Helaena's foyer. Warmer, more breathable.

Luke cocked his head back to the door.

"Have you left the house recently?"

Aemond grimaced. What he'd done was essentially quarantine himself to limit the spread of his pestiferous misery.

Luke nodded. "I'm taking that as a no."

He tilted his head to the side.

"Do you want to?" Luke asked.

Aemond raised an eyebrow.

"It'd probably be good to get your mind off things. Since Helaena isn't home, I was going to get a drink at the bar down the street. You could come with if you want." Aemond squinted at him. Outside of family events, and one night when they were teenagers just old enough to want to kiss, they'd never spent much time together.

"Just an idea." Luke added quickly, looking away.

There was a brief moment of pause where Aemond assumed he was supposed to answer defensively that he didn't want to leave the house, especially not with Luke.

He did not answer defensively, and instead, tucked his hair into a bun and took Luke's hand when he held it out for him as they walked out of Helaena's house. Luke paid for their drinks. Aemond had one too many and noticed that Luke's cheeks looked good painted pink from the drink and bunched up from his smile.

They walked back to Helaena's. The warm breeze tickled a smile from his lips. Luke's fingers tickled his. They brushed against each other while they walked. Aemond smelled the spring bloom for the first time since she left him.

Aemond grabbed his hand on Helaena's front porch. He used it to pull Luke inside behind him.

#lucemond

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havecourage-darling · 2 years

Text

Right Side Up // 1

Princess Peach Series

|| Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter two: If I only could >>

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Henderson!Reader

wc: ~5.8k

warnings: cursing, mild smut, S4 spoilers, angst with a happy ending

A/N: Hello everyone! So, here she iiiiis - I've had a lot of people ask if I'd be writing a S4 follow along and ta-da! (There should be 6 chapters total.) I'm keeping it in the Princess Peach world, meaning the reader is a Henderson. If you have not read any of the other installments in this series, I personally think you'd still enjoy this but you might be a little confused. Being totally up front, this is absolutely a fix-it fic, Eddie did not die and I have no idea what you're talking about canon, okay cool. Now that we're all on the same paaage...

Chapter One: If I only could

“Are you the prettiest baby in the whole world?” You asked the wide brown-eyed stare focused on you. “Who’s the bestest boy? Oh, yes, it’s you!”

“If you keep that up, I’m going to get jealous,” Eddie said from his trailer door. You ignored him and Frank – Eddie’s neighbor’s dog who stayed over occasionally – went belly up. His muzzle was now littered with white hair but his waggling tail and endearingly excited pants made your heart melt.

“Oh, you’re so handsome, what a good boy,” you cooed, fingers scratching at his pink stomach. One of his little legs twitched happily as your nails caught the right spot.

Eddie’s mouth twisted into something achingly familiar and his eyes glinted. “That’s what you say to me when you lick my-”

“Edward!”

A flash of your events this morning crossed your mind and Eddie smirked. “And I’m the pervert?” He said knowingly.

You shot him a glare, one that he knew you meant: behave.

Eddie’s laughter floated over to you and you rolled your eyes, pulling Frank into your lap. You laid down, sprawled onto a blanket that you kept in Eddie’s van, and bathed in the first warm sunny day in a while. The wind still had a bite to it at night but the afternoon sun was just enough to lull you into a nap.

“So,” Eddie said, settling down next to you, with two glasses of water. You gratefully took one and drank half in one go. “Spring break is soon.”

And it couldn’t come soon enough. You’d been swamped with papers and last-minute homework assignments for the entire week. Submitting your last paper tonight would be the last thing you’d have to do before being blissfully worry free for the entire week to come.

“Thank God,” you muttered, “I don’t want to look at a goddamn economics book again.”

No matter how much Sienna promised you that you’d eventually get it – econ was something dragged up from the seventh layer of hell.

“Spring break is only a week sweetheart. You’ve still got half a semester to go.”

“Never. Again,” you said, pushing out your bottom lip. As predicted, Eddie swooped in and kissed you. Smiling into it, he kissed you once more before leaning back. His hand came down to rub Frank’s velvety ear.

“So, how about we go somewhere for our anniversary?”

“This far in advance?” You asked, looking up at him and shrugging. “I guess we could make reservations for September now.”

“What?” Eddie blinked at you, confused. “Our six-month anniversary, Peach.”

The warm breeze hit the trees behind you, the leaves creating a glittering cascade of sunbeams as they shook. Eddie’s hair fluttered over his shoulders and you got the urge to curl a finger around a strand.

“Next week?” You asked, attention coming back to him. “Do you want to do something special?”

“Well, you just seem so excited,” Eddie said, pretending to be hurt.

Laughing, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek in mock apology. “I’m so sorry, wonderful boyfriend of mine, of course I’d like to do something with you.”

“That sounded better but you could still work on the delivery,” Eddie retorted, “it sounded a little sarcastic.”

Raising a brow, Eddie tried to fight his smile but you saw it anyway. “What are we doing?”

“More like where are we going?”

Perking up, you placed Frank onto the ground between you and crossed your legs. “Eddie.”

“Princess,” he said, his goddamn smug smile making your stomach flip in excitement.

Plucking some of the blades of grass from the ground you chucked them at him. “Where are we going?”

Eddie shot you a look as he pulled them out of his hair. “Gareth’s uncle has a cabin in the woods a few towns over, by that big lake,” Eddie snapped his fingers as if he’d forgotten the name.

“Lake Monroe?” You squeaked, having always wanted to go there. Nancy and Mike had gone like four summers ago and it was beautiful. She swore you’d love it, the hiking trails looked amazing.

“That’s the one,” Eddie smiled at your excited bounces, “his uncle is loaded and has some big house by the lake. It’s got like three floors and a pool.”

Holy shit, you don’t think you’d ever been in a house that big.

“Eddie, don’t mess with me,” you said, pressing your hands together.

“I would never sweetheart,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “Gareth says he’s in Europe or something for work. I already talked to Keith and for a very humble exchange he agreed to give you Sunday through Thursday off.”

What? Eddie had talked to Keith for you? Shit – sometimes even you were afraid of Keith and you were probably his favorite. Well…his least hated.

“You braved Keith for me?” You asked, touched.

Eddie snorted. “Once I showed him how much I was willing to bargain for, he accepted pretty easily,” he said.

“Still,” you insisted, he’d been planning this for some time if everything seemed set in stone. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

“What can I say?” Eddie said, buffing his nails and grinning at you. “I’ll do anything for my warrior princess.”

“My hero,” you swooned, throwing your arms around him and squeaking when he fell onto his back, “if this is what you’re planning for six months, what’s a year going to look like?”

“I’ll get you a flight to the moon,” Eddie joked. “Fleetwood Mac will be there with some pizza ready for a private concert.”

“Would we be alone?” You asked, realizing you weren’t sure if any of your friends were invited.

“On the moon? I’d hope so.”

You smacked his shoulder. “At the lake, dork.”

Eddie’s brows wiggled. “Can’t wait to have your way with me huh? Don’t worry, the house is on directly on the lake and the nearest neighbors are like three miles down the road. You can scream all you want and no one will hear us,” he said, nipping at the underside of your jaw.

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, pinching his side.

He jumped and shot you a glare. “Why is it always violence with you?”

“You love it,” you said, squeezing his shoulder three times – the words left unsaid. Eddie’s playful glare softened into something familiar, something he’d shown you since the first month you’d started dating. Sometimes you thought you’d explode with how much you loved him. The way your heart sped up when you were with him was ridiculous and probably unhealthy.

Eddie’s eyes trailed down your face, his hand coming up from your waist to cradle your cheek. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip and you nipped at the pad. His eyes darkened and you saw the words reflected back at you. Heart singing, you let him pull you down into a slow kiss.

“Yeah,” he said, lips tracing what he couldn’t say onto your skin, “I do.”

This was the first and last time you offered to swap early morning shifts with Keith. You groaned as you started sorting through the returns.

“Remind me why we said yes to a Thursday morning shift?” You called out to Steve, who was half asleep next to the computer.

Well, you knew Keith had you where he wanted you – at his beck and call until your last shift on Saturday. He’d been sure to let you know he’d graciously allowed the time off on short notice because of your strong work ethic. Robin had laughed so hard he’d heard from his office.

“Because we’re money hungry, Keith sucks, and Robin has school,” he groaned, rubbing sleep from one of his eyes. “I will give you all the money from my next paycheck if you go across the street and get us coffees.”

You snorted so hard you almost choked. “Tough sell Harrington. You’re closer to the door.”

“You’re the better person,” Steve huffed.

“I am,” you agreed, laughing when he shot you a look. “Uh, Steve?”

“What?” He said, voice muffled as he hid his face into his elbow.

“Is that cheerleader walking towards us Chrissy Cunningham or am I hallucinating without the caffeine in my bloodstream?”

Steve sat up, squinted, and turned towards the windows. “Oh shit, it is.”

“Fuck, do you see Carver around? He’s just like fucking Tommy,” you hissed, hating the little spark of panic you felt in your stomach. It was too early to start a fight.

“No, she’s alone, oh shit – she’s really coming this way,” Steve said scrambling up and trying to look like you both weren’t just gawking at her.

The bell above the door rang as she pushed it open, a bright smile erupting on her face. Her eyes were wide and you couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“Hi,” you said stupidly.

“Hi! Good morning!” She grinned, waving at a stunned Steve. You kicked him under the counter and he grunted.

“Hey,” he said. You shot him a look – smooth, Harrington.

“Can I help you find something?” You asked, a little thrown by her sunshine energy. Something…felt off about her. Trying your best to look nonchalant, you took in her jittering leg and wringing hands.

Chrissy’s face turned a fascinating beet red and you glanced at Steve who shrugged. “Um, I was actually looking for Eddie,” she mumbled, eyes widening even further.

“Oh,” you blinked, “well, um, he’s not here? He’s probably just waking up to be honest. He doesn’t really hang around here during the mornings. I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.”

Her eyes shifted and you felt a surge of possessiveness.

“He’s my boyfriend so, if you’re here to set up some prank I can assure you that I won’t take kindly to it. I’m not someone you want to piss off either.” You felt Steve come up behind you, his foot nudging yours.

Chrissy’s eyes jerked up to yours and she shook her head earnestly. “I wouldn’t do that, I swear!” She turned her eyes to Steve and he nudged you again. “Really, I promise.”

And for some reason – you believed her.

“Oh, well, he’s um…not here,” you finished lamely. Chrissy scuffed her shoe on the carpet and you winced as an awkward silence settled. Steve cleared his throat after a beat and Chrissy jumped as if she’d been poked. Why did she look so spooked? You glanced at the doors, looking for anyone waiting for her. If you hadn’t been so thrown off, you’d say she looked…scared.

Her eyes darted around the store nervously. “He talks about you a lot, you know? I’ve seen you at the movies with him. You both make a cute couple,” she said, expression shifting to something soft.

“Oh,” you said, scratching at the back of your neck, “thank you.” What the hell did you say to something like that?

She leaned in closely, eyes anxiously on Steve. “I’m, um, looking to buy,” she whispered. You bit back a laugh, not wanting to come off rude but you doubted that Chrissy knew how to even roll a joint. Shit, you barely knew how to roll one.

“I don’t help Eddie out with that side of his business,” you said and you didn’t. Eddie was trying to save up as much as he could for a new apartment, one you had an inkling he was going to ask you to move into eventually. Which, was probably why he was taking so long to save.

You knew he felt embarrassed at being known as the local drug dealer no matter how many times you assured him otherwise. He was waiting for graduation to find a better job - you thought he’d like the record store downtown. Either way, Eddie rarely let you come with him to deliver and even less to stock up again.

“He actually had a gig a town over so that’s probably why you haven’t seen him,” you said. “I’ll tell him to keep an eye out for you. He’ll bring you what he has tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much,” she said, looking desperate and relieved. With another curious glance, you realized that she actually screamed of exhaustion, like she hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Are you okay?” You asked her, throwing it out there. Chrissy looked startled and she, once again, looked nervously around the store.

“Yeah, totally, I just really need something,” she said, cheeks pink. “Thank you for helping.”

Before you could say anything else, she all but ran out the doors.

“Well, that was weird,” you said after a beat of silence.

Steve laughed, dropping his head back into his arms. “Everyone gets stressed in the last final months before graduation,” he said, eyes closing, “you almost choked me out when I spilled my soda over your textbook.”

“I had a final the next day!”

“I barely got the cover wet!” He retorted.

You rolled your eyes and chucked a paperclip at his head. “The cover is important too!”

The man in question barged in a few hours later, five minutes before your shift ended.

“Lady Henderson,” he called out, smile wide and eyes bright. You grinned, shifting your body towards him and taking in his outfit. He’d worn his favorite black Metallica t-shirt – the one with the tear in the collar - and your smile widened when the memory of Eddie ripping it as he tore it off you a few weeks ago flashed across your memory.

The mischievous glint in his eyes as he kissed your cheek said he knew what you were thinking of.

“Hello,” you said, grabbing his chin and kissing him properly. He made a happy noise that you wanted to sink into and almost jumped when Steve’s groan echoed in the empty store.

“Every time! Do you need to rub salt into the wound guys?” Steve said, huffing. He’d been conned by Robin into staying with her until closing and was cranky about it. Robin, however, looked like she’d won a gold medal.

“Hey Munson,” Robin said, coming out the back with a stack of tapes.

“Lady Buckley,” he greeted, bowing.

Without preamble, you’d grabbed your bag and sweater, already ducking under the counter. “See you guys on Saturday!” You called out, not having a shift tomorrow since you normally had class.

This time, however, Eddie wanted to take you to your favorite Italian restaurant two towns over to celebrate the beginning of spring break and your road trip up. He’d made the reservations earlier yesterday and you could practically taste the garlic bread already.

Intertwining his fingers with yours, Eddie brought your hand up to his lips. “I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you too,” you said, pushing the door open and pulling him towards his van. “Did you tell Wayne about our trip?”

“Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes and flushing a little. “He loaned me his duffel to take with me.”

“That’s nice?” You said, not sure why he was turning red.

“He’d packed about a month’s worth of condoms,” Eddie said, huffing.

You froze, stopping in front of the van. His eyes were firmly on the door in front of you and you threw your head back in laughter.

“I don’t know why you find this so funny. It’s weird when your family knows you’ve having sex,” Eddie grumbled, opening your door for you and herding you in. You were still chuckling when he hopped in on the other side. “Princess, please.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, hiding behind your hand. “It’s just – so funny how much you hate it.”

“I’m glad my pain brings you pleasure,” he said, smiling. Eddie threw the van into reverse and pulled out the parking lot. The radio blared to life, surprising you, and you turned the volume down a little.

“You know, considering how much you can’t keep it in your pants we’ll probably go through them before we’re back,” you said, batting your eyelashes at him, never one to skip the chance to tease him, “especially considering the bathing suit I’m bringing with me.”

Eddie groaned and you knew that he was picturing you in the suit you’d shown him earlier in the week.

“I remember being worried that if I didn’t tie it hard enough the top slips off,” you said, tapping your chin, “since we’ll be alone it doesn’t seem like that’ll be problem. Right, sweetheart?”

“Princess, I’m driving,” he said, shifting himself.

“You’re too easy,” you smiled, tucking a leg under you.

Shooting you a glare, he sighed. “What movie did you get for us this time?” He asked, voice still a little strained.

“Since your pick last week was horrible, I went for a classic.”

“Not Splash again,” Eddie sighed.

“Hey, it’s dealer’s choice – no complaining! I sat through a Nightmare on Elm Street for you.”

“At least let me grab some beer so I can get through it,” he said.

“Deal,” you said, bumping his fist.

After a pitstop for beer and pizza, you were snuggled into the sofa in a pair of shorts and Eddie’s Hellfire t-shirt within the hour. Pressing play, you watched as Tom Hanks followed Daryl Hannah.

“You know, The Breakfast Club wasn’t as bad as this – and that’s saying something,” Eddie complained, dropping into the couch next to you.

“Ah, ah, no commentary please. Besides, you like romantic comedies!” You said as Eddie pulled your legs onto his lap.

Eddie shot you a look. “I am a man of many genres-” you snorted and he ignored you, “- I simply don’t like this one.”

“Well tough luck,” you said, sinking further into the cushions. You could feel Eddie’s eyes on you as Daryl observed the televisions curiously. “You’re not watching the movie.”

“You’re more interesting,” he said, “did you know that you mouth along to some of the lines?”

“I do not,” you huffed, poking him with your foot. His hand caught your ankle, his fingers dancing across the delicate skin making you tense up. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, innocently glancing up at you.

Yeah, okay, you snorted. “We’re not even halfway through the movie,” you groaned. Eddie’s hand drifted higher towards your bare thigh. “Eddie.”

“Hmm?” He said, pressing a kiss to your knee. A jolt of electricity that always hit you whenever Eddie was around shot through you.

You resisted for a few more minutes, his lips traveling up to your shoulder. While your attention had been slipping, you’d only closed your eyes when he bit down onto the sensitive patch of skin at the base of your neck. “I hate you,” you breathed, your voice hitching when he nudged you onto your back.

“Sure seems like it,” he teased, hair curtaining around you. Legs falling open, as if by habit, Eddie grinned as he settled between them. “Absolutely loathe me, do you?”

“You’re unbearable, you know that? Next week I’m seducing you two seconds into your movie.”

Eddie chuckled into your skin, the rumble of his chest travelling into your own. “Feel free to feel me up whenever you want, princess. I promise you; I won’t fight it.”

“Shut up,” you said, patience snapping. Lifting your hips to press against his, he hissed at the pressure. Before he could say something smug and full of himself, you fisted his hair and brought him down to you. Lips clashing together, you wrapped your legs around his hips and kept him close. Swallowing one of his groans, you tugged on his hair lightly and Eddie froze.

“I feel like the situation has managed to run away from me,” he panted, jumping when you palmed him through his pajamas. “Sweetheart, if you keep doing that this is going to end before the fun really begins.”

Huffing a laugh, you let your hand drift up higher to his side and Eddie’s eyes screwed shut as you bit down onto his neck. “Your sorcery won’t get the best of me,” he said shakily.

“Won’t it?” You smirked, lapping at bite. With a grunt, Eddie managed to capture both your wrists and press them above your head. He grinned, stupidly excited to have caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. Keeping your arms up, despite his loose hold, you let him take the upper hand.

Daryl, on the television, cried and you caught a flash of blonde that reminded you of something.

"Oh,” you said, Chrissy’s face swimming to the front of your mind. “Cunningham was looking for you." You squirmed as he sucked what would no doubt be a very visible hickey onto your neck.

“Who?” Eddie asked, uninterested, as he focused on nipping your skin. He dropped your wrists to ruck your shirt up above your chest. His hand quickly unhooked your bra, pulling it up, and his warm hand had your breath hitching as he trailed light touches across your bare skin.

“Cheerleader,” you breathed when he licked at the valley between your breasts, hands kneading your skin.

“There’s a lot of them.”

You sighed as his teeth scraped across a particularly sensitive spot. “Blonde, short, bubbly.”

Eddie huffed, breath fanning over your skin and your skin erupted in goosebumps. “Princess, that’s half the squad.”

You sighed, pulling back from his grasp. “She’s Jason’s girlfriend? I think.”

“Sure?” He said, "I'm trying to seduce you over here and you're talking about cheerleaders."

“Don't worry sweetheart, Jason's not my type,” you joked.

Eddie nipped at the swell of your breast in retaliation. "Please don't say another dude's name while we're naked together. I'm sensitive."

"Bossy, bossy," you said, shoving him over so that you were on top. Eddie's arms came to rest behind the back of his head and he grinned at the view. You trailed a hand down his chest, stilling above his buckle. "Look, just..."

Sensing your shifting mood, he propped himself up on his arms and ducked to catch your eyes. "What? What's wrong?"

“She looked desperate, scared? I don't know," you said, trying to remember her expression. "Just - could you make sure she is…okay? Before selling her anything.”

“Yeah, I’ll take a look,” he assured you, "don't worry."

“Yeah? Thank you," you kissed him, relishing in his immediate reciprocation.

“Can I go back to what I was doing now?” He asked, eyes dropping back to your chest.

Pretending to consider the situation for a beat, you nodded. “Proceed.” Without waiting, you laughed when he surged up and suctioned himself to you.

“Hold on, let me take this off,” you said, starting to pull his shirt over your head.

Eddie’s hand on yours made you go still. “Wait, can you keep it on?” He asked, pupils blown.

You glanced down at his club t-shirt and grinned. “You want to remember this every time you wear it, don’t you?”

“Am I that easy to read?” He asked, shameless.

Kissing him deeply, you smiled into it. “To me? Yeah.” You pulled your bra out from the sleeves and tossed it onto the floor.

Eddie grinned, ecstatic at your answer, and leaned over the back of the couch to break open the new box of condoms. You let out a surprised burst of laughter and Eddie quirked his brow. “Wanna share with the class?”

“Nothing, just that – Wayne’s gift is being useful already.”

He froze. “Henderson, definitely don’t mention my uncle’s name when I’ve got a condom in my hand,” he groaned, shaking his head, “that’s worse than the first one.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you laughed, not sounding even remotely sorry. Eddie growled, flipping you back over. Out of breath, and astounded that neither of you had tumbled off the sofa, you caught sight of the time. “Hey, it’s officially Friday.”

“Two more days until we’re on the road,” he said, kissing you, “and out of this fucking cursed town, even if it’s just for five days.”

“Gosh,” you said, voice bright, “I wonder what we’ll do for five days? All alone…in a cabin in the woods…”

“I’m sure we’ll entertain ourselves somehow,” Eddie said, hands inching towards the seam between your thighs.

You gasped, heart fluttering when he smiled. “I’m sure we will.”

“Are you wearing the shirt I had on last night?” You asked, squinting against the sun streaming into his trailer and sipped your coffee.

Eddie glanced down at his chest and smiled. “Guess I am.” He flipped the pancake and slid it onto your overflowing plate. Sleep clung to both of you, making everything fuzzy.

“Why do I feel like that wasn’t an accident?” You asked, drowning your fluffy pile in syrup. “At least wash it first.”

“I resent the implication,” he said, grasping at his imaginary pearls. “How dare you even imply that-”

“-I mean it’s a miracle if that didn’t get dirty after what you did.”

“We did, you mean?” He said, waggling his brows. “I surprise even myself sometimes.”

“Oh, so humble too,” you grinned, giving him a sugary kiss when he bent over your shoulder for one.

“You’re the one who screamed so loud I thought Max’s mom was going to come over and ask if we were okay,” he teased, “was that a new record?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, hiding your smile behind your mug. You hadn’t been able to walk straight last night and Eddie was being unbearable about it.

Eddie smirked, humming as he placed the pan in the sink. He sank into the seat next to you, curling his ankle around yours. The vinyl table rocked a little when either of you placed your elbows onto it and the sounds of the trailer park waking up snuck its way into your peaceful quiet but to you, these mornings were perfect.

“Hey,” you said, curving your fingers over his wrist. “Do you mind dropping me off before you go in?” You usually slept in and drove yourself home on movie nights.

“Sure,” he said, chewing on a bite, “I can pick you up at eight? The campaign should be done by six. That way we’ll have enough time to make it to the restaurant.”

“I got a new outfit for tonight,” you said, licking a drop of syrup that had trailed down to your wrist, feeling his eyes on you,“I think you’ll like it.”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s eyes darkened and you smirked. “What color is it? How short?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you said, licking the tip of your fork clean.

Without much warning, Eddie grabbed your wrist and dragged you towards his room. You stumbled, taken by surprise, hand reaching for your half-full mug. “Eddie, wait – my coffee’s going to get cold!”

“I’ll brew you a new pot,” he said, pushing you down onto the bed. You bounced once before you watched him rip his pajamas off. “We’ve got thirty minutes before we have to get out of here. Good news? I’m only half dressed.”

“Oh, but I’m the insatiable one,” you snorted, already wiggling out of your shorts.

“It’s that spell of yours,” he said, chasing your lips, “it’s too strong, warrior princess.”

Laughing, you gave into his nudging and wrapped your legs around his waist. “It won’t fall or falter, you know. I make sure it’s ready to weather whatever comes. You’re mine, remember?”

A genuine, small, smile grew on Eddie’s face, the heat in his eyes softening to something deeper – something dear to you.

“Yeah, I remember.”

It had felt like Eddie had just dropped you off home when the phone rang. Sprawled on your bed, you groaned. Crawling towards your night stand, you barely managed to grab the receiver before it stopped ringing.

“Hello?” You huffed, a little out of breath.

“Mrs. Henderson?” A familiar stern voice called out.

You straightened, eyes widening. “Yes?” You said, clearing your throat to try and imitate your mother’s. “Who is calling?”

“We’re calling from Hawkins High. This is the front office and I’m calling because your son has requested he speak to you urgently.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Hello?”

“What the fuck?” You hissed. “A little warning would be nice. What’d you do this time?”

“Nothing!” He squeaked. “Please, please, please-”

You groaned. “No, Dustin, I had a long night and today’s the first day of spring break. I was going to nap. I haven’t slept more than three hours in a week.”

“Have I ever told you how you’re my favorite? Of all time?”

“Ugh, Dustin.”

“I swear, I’ll owe you for the rest of the year.”

“What? What do you want?”

“I forgot my midterm paper for English on my desk.”

“You want me to bring it to you?”

“Preferably within the next two hours. It’s my last class of the day and like worth half of my grade!”

“Dustin,” you whined, not wanting to move.

“Please?”

“Fine,” you hissed, knowing there’s no way you wouldn’t have done it anyway. “You owe me.”

“Holy shit, thank you!”

“Language!”

And that’s how you found yourself back at Hawkins Highschool, a visitor’s pass stuck to the front of Eddie’s hoodie – that you’d stolen – looking for your little brother like Gollum following the one ring.

“Jesus, where the fuck is he?” You grumbled, checking the time.

Lunch, you realized. Spinning on your heel, you made your way to the cafeteria. Right as you turned into the hallway, a familiar voice shouted your name.

“Buckley!” You grinned, throwing an arm around her. “Skipping out on lunch?”

“More like late to lunch,” she grumbled, wrapping her arm around your waist. “My calculus teacher gave me a few extra minutes on my midterm.”

“Aced it?”

“Listen, Cs get degrees,” Robin snorted, pushing the swinging doors open into the chaos. “What are you doing here? I thought you took the day off to catch up on sleep.”

“Dustin,” you sighed, “forgot his English paper. I’m thinking of making him cook me breakfast every morning until Christmas.”

“Oh, or do your laundry!”

You gave her a high-five. “I like how you think.”

“I’m gonna grab food – Dustybuns is with your boyfriend by the windows, see you tomorrow?” She said, squeezing your arm once before stumbling off towards the questionable food.

Glancing towards the tables on the left-hand side your eyes met Eddie’s. Confused, he straightened and lit up anyway. Looking to see what had caught his eye, Mike followed his stare. Smiling, he nudged Dustin who scrambled to his feet and jogged over to you.

“Oh my God, you’re the fucking best,” he said, snatching the folder from your hands. “I owe you my life.”

“I was thinking laundry for the rest of the year,” you said, wrapping your arm around his shoulders.

“What?” He screeched; gob smacked. “Don’t you think that’s a little far?”

You narrowed your eyes at him and he grumbled. Walking over towards their table, you were suddenly intercepted by a wall of muscle. Jason Carver’s patronizing eyes took you both in.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Henderson siblings,” he sneered, quick hands snatching the folder in Dustin’s hands. Your brother squeaked, eyes widening and you sighed. Was there ever going to be an end to this?

Without hesitating, and with speed that would make Max proud, you grabbed the folder back from him. Pushing Dustin a step behind you, you took one towards Jason. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve last seen me, Carver, but if you need a refresher of that sucker punch I gave you before I graduated; I’m happy to do an encore.”

His eyes narrowed and he took another step forward, his chest almost brushing against you. “I don’t remember what you’re referring to, unfortunately,” he hissed.

Eyes flashing, you clenched your hand and Jason’s eyes shifted to them. “You should call your buddy Tommy, see how picking on me and my brother ended up for him,” you said loudly, his friends snorting behind him.

While you hated the confrontation and they’d both taken every opportunity to take jabs at you – you’d learned very early on that you could never roll over. With a swift move forward, Jason flinched minutely but it was enough for you to smirk.

“Catch you later Carver,” you said, grabbing Dustin’s sleeve, and hitting his shoulder with your own as you passed by.

“Holy shit,” Gareth said, eyes wide and excited. “You just almost punched Jason Carver.”

“She just got him to flinch,” Jeff hissed, glancing over at their table. “I forgot how badass you are.”

“I didn’t,” Eddie said, his arms coming to your waist and pulling you firmly into his lap. “Hey warrior princess.”

“Hi,” you said, kissing his temple.

“Ugh, guys, please,” Dustin groaned.

You glared at him and he shrunk. “I suggest you not say anything lest I shred that folder.”

“Holy shit, that was so hot,” Eddie said into your ear. You rolled your eyes and tugged on his shirt.

“I can’t believe you really wore that,” you said.

“It’s the last campaign,” Eddie said, grin mischievous, “what else would I wear?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Mike asked, eyes wandering over Eddie’s regular Hellfire shirt.

Eddie snorted and you sighed. “Nothing,” you said, shaking your head.

“Still smells like you,” he muttered. You reached beneath your leg to pinch his and he jumped. “Now, now, no need to resort to violence.”

“I’ll show you violence,” you grumbled, leaning into his warmth.

The bell rang, a five-minute warning, and like always, everyone in the cafeteria ignored it.

The basketball team stood, however, and a pair of blue eyes burned a hole into your back.

“I should’ve known, the town Freak and Henderson would shack up together,” Jason said as he passed towards the door. A few of his friends chuckled, shooting you looks.

Jesus Christ did these guys not have anything better to do? You’d forgotten how judgmental this town could be. “Do you just like the sound of your own voice?” You snapped back. “The adults are having a conversation sweetie; remedial math is that way.”

Gareth snorted, water coming out his nose and Jeff pounded his back, eyes riveted.

“You just let you girl handle your battles?” Jason called out, trying to have the last word.

“Uh, yeah, I make a cute damsel in distress,” he said, batting his eyes and everyone at the table laughed. Jason and company scowled and disappeared through the doors.

“See you tonight?” Eddie asked, kissing the edge of your jaw tenderly. You pecked him once before standing up. “Can’t wait to see the infamous outfit.”

Grinning, you walked towards the side exit. “See you,” you said, and with the eyes you felt watching you why not take a page out of Eddie’s book? You blew him an exaggerated kiss, knowing he’d get your point. Eddie pretended to catch it and tumbled backwards off his seat with excessive force. The table laughed, Dustin pretending to gag, and Eddie dusted his shirt off as he stood. He pretended to put in his pocket and smiled at you.

“Behave, children are present,” Eddie said loudly, a fake bashful expression on his face.

You winked, grinning, and disappeared out door. Dinner tonight couldn’t come fast enough.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson

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