#“I can’t imagine anything more painful than going through life alone. Except maybe one thing… going through death alone.” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-shairahhh · 4 months ago

Text

The Way I Couldn't Love You

~ A "The Way I Loved You" story continuation.

Summary: Will you and Eddie get a second chance at what you lost? Or will the history tear through everything you had once built together?

Note: This post is a continuation of the story, "The Way I Loved You".

"And there you were, years later. Again. Sobs breaking through your chest. Again. Sending tremors in his heart. Again. Except this time, Eddie Diaz knew who they were for. "

Everyday. Every single day of the first year since you moved away, you imagined in your head what it would be like to see Eddie again. A thousand scenarios swirling in your mind, tentacles of the nightmare you had to live through every day, creeping into your broken heart and imprisoning it in a tight grip, as you lay there. In the same dark corner. For hours. Until sleep showed you some mercy and reeled you in. Everyday.

Anger. Hurt. Betray.

You’d imagined it all. It was as if you could picture his stormy, hazel eyes pierce into you, the storm brewing in them upending your life all over again. And then you stopped. Squeezed your eyes tighter and stopped. You could feel the bile rising in your throat at the mere thought of seeing hatred in the eyes that had only ever looked at you with love. Pure, selfless love. No, it was too soon. You can’t see him yet. So you picked up your phone from the corner of the sofa you had slammed it in and replied to your sister’s text in a single word, “No”. And that was the hardest thing you had ever had to write, which was funny because once in a Spell-Bee competition you thought, “Embourgeoisement” was hard.

Your sister’s question did not leave your mind for the rest of the day, though. Or the coming week. Or the months that followed.

“Eddie was here again. Asking for an address or a contact. Said he really needed you. And that everything was falling apart. He looked worse than before, y/n. Should I send him your address?”

What did he mean everything was falling apart? Is he okay? Are his parents hurting him again? You tried to shut the voices out. You'd be back home on the next flight if you let them come in. Plus, he had Shannon now. He would be okay.

"I am sorry, Eddie. There's nothing more I want than to be right next to you. But if I fall again, I won't be able to get up. I can't. I need to heal. I really, really need to heal. I cannot live in this pain anymore. I am so, so sorry". You whisper into the night as you snuggle further into your pillow.

.....

“I don’t want dinner, mom! Leave me alone. Please.” The last word already more breathless and shakier than you’d like.

“That’s too bad. Cause I got you your favourite; that disgustingly sugary sweet abomination in the name of coffee” Eddie said as he entered through the door and made a very disgusted face as if someone had asked him to take Tabasco shots. Someone had once, by the way. It was you. And he had still made a better face. “And Chef Eddie’s personally mastered craft, tacos and enchiladas.” He said, proudly smiling and throwing around chef kisses.

You gave him a blank stare. And a second later, he relented.

“Fine, my abuela made them. God, woman. Lighten up. You broke up with an el tonto. I always warned you he was an el tonto. Not even a real man. Maybe you were a bigger idiot. But eh, what’s done is done. I’d say we celebrate”.

And just like that, at the mention of Josh, fresh tears broke free, replacing the now dried ones.

"Hey, hey, hey. I am sorry. I was kidding. Come here.” Eddie stepped in closer, about to engulf you in a hug.

But you pushed him away. “Go away, Eddie. Seriously. I don’t want to see you right now.”

“I will not, y/n. Not unless you eat. Your mom said you haven’t eaten anything for hours.” His light-hearted banter now long gone, a more assertive voice stepping in. You knew it meant that he was concerned but you hated when he took that voice with you. It was very different than the one he took with Shannon. That concern was always laced with a soft plea at the end or a light kiss behind her ear.

Shannon. Just her name, brought out the anger you’d been trying to hold in.

But you try once more to not let the agony engulf you. To not be the person you are about to become if Eddie does not listen to you. “Go. Away. Eddie. I will have the food when I am hungry.”

Eddie, however, was not having any of it. “Come on, here. Let me get this for you. If you try one –”

And that’s when you lost it and screamed at the last person you ever wanted to raise your voice at. “GO AWAY! WHAT DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND!” He tried to reach out again but you swatted his arm away. Hitting him on the chest once. Twice. Thrice. So he would just listen to you. Why is he not listening to you? He needs to go.

The long suppressed agony now letting itself out completely. Josh was not a good boyfriend to you. But he was a good friend before that. And when you broke up with him, you knew you’d lost that. This was all Eddie’s fault. He left you. All alone. And he went to Shannon. And you thought maybe, just maybe if you start dating, it will all go away? This... this hurt. All this pain. But it did not. But you knew. In your heart, you knew that it was not Eddie's fault. That he did loved you. He would do anything for you. Just not in the way you wanted. And that tore at you every day but that was not his fault. It couldn’t be.

And then you realise you that you are still hitting him. What are you doing? You stop as soon as you realise that and look up. There he was, your best friend. Taking it all in. Not saying anything. You feel so awful, so absolutely broken. And you feel tired. So very tired. So with a barely held sob, you slump forward, into his arms. Which were waiting for you, as if knowing. Waiting. Understanding.

So, you sob harder. Because that was the first day in all these years it had truly set in that Eddie would never be what you craved in him. You'd always thought one day it would all come back. That he would come back. But now you knew that he won't. He would always be here though. Just never yours.

But what you didn’t realise that day was Eddie’s heart was also breaking. If not more, then just as much as you. That was the first time he felt his best friend was slipping away and he was unaware. So very unaware of how much his best friend had loved this guy who broke her heart. He cursed himself for not understanding the gravity of the situation. What he didn't know was that, the sobs breaking through his chest, causing tremors in his heart were not for Josh but for him.

You didn’t notice the bandage on his knuckles for the next few days. You also didn’t notice that Josh Lawson was gone longer than the bandage had stayed.

And Eddie never told you either.

.....

“y/n?”

“Eddie.” You whisper softly.

You couldn’t recall how long you were spaced out for. When cold, familiar tears slid down your cheeks as easily as they used to, only then did you start to process the situation again.

“I- I... I have a few engine supplies to check. I should...” Buck slowly started.

No! Evan! What must he even be thinking? You slowly raise your eyes up at him. Expecting the worst. But his kind face only held understanding in them. He gave you a tight lipped smile before taking a few steps backward.

“Oh, this” you softly started and he followed your eyes and and looked down at the basket in your hands.

“Right.” He quickly took the box from your hand. “Muffins are my favourite! Ooooh, blueberry!” He gave you one last smile and walked back.

You still hadn’t looked at Eddie but you could feel his eyes follow you. With a deep breath, you somehow muster the courage to look up and nothing would have prepared you for what you saw.

You wished it was what you feared it all those years ago. You truly did. Anger. Fear. Betray. But he wasn’t any of those things. He was simply... lost.

Third Person POV:

There comes a time in everyone’s life when we lose something precious. A person, a memory, an object, a feeling; something we always, effortlessly considered a part of us. We would look everywhere, drive ourselves insane and would not know how to survive without it.

But then we learn. Slowly. Painfully. We grasp on how to survive without it and we start living again. But then one day, it turns up. But by then we don’t know how to feel. We have learnt to live with what we have lost but that doesn’t mean we have not felt incomplete in our existence. And just like that, we are back to the day we lost and we were lost. As clueless now as we were then.

Eddie Diaz was lost. He didn’t know how to take in what he had learnt to let go, now standing right in front of his eyes. The day that y/n left, she didn’t just take away his best friend, she took a part of him with her. A part that he had willingly given away to her to safekeep the first day he saw her across the fence looking at him with eyes that promised him the world. A part that was always meant to be hers.

A soft sob escaped y/n’s lips. Tears now freely slipping down her face. She had run this day through her head uncountable number of times. She thought it would all come back. The ghosts of her night and the nightmares of her day. The girl she used to be. But they didn't.

All that came back were the memories she had long buried down. But this time they didn't strike her like a snake, angry and hissing, it's fangs out, ready to poison her. This time, the memories hugged her like Eddie used to. Soothe her like Eddie used to. Make her feel understood... Like Eddie used to. And in that moment, all her doubts dissolved, and she knew that she had made the right choice when she decided to leave. Had she stayed back, she would have started hating Eddie, every memory she had of him and she knew that she would have started hating herself.

But she had still done Eddie wrong. She knew that. While her heart had healed for her, it also tore through her for what she had broken. There was no escape. Her only escape from everything life threw at her for the longest time, was now standing right in front of her; eyes wide, mouth agape and tears, years worth of tears threatening to spill through the barriers of his eyes behind which Eddie had managed to hide himself for a long time now.

"You're not in uniform" y/n whispered out. Her heart had started to spiral down several dominoes of emotions. And she could no longer think straight. Instead, she decided to focus on the patterns on his mustard yellow shirt.

"Yes, because my uniform totally should be your first concern after you just up and left the night of my wedding. While you're at it, why don't you go inside and check the logs to make sure whether I was on time for my shift or not?" Eddie replied.

What further pushed y/n down the ledge was the fact that Eddie did not shout, or scream or throw the words at her. He simply sounded... Defeated. Long gone was the boy who held fire in his eyes. Standing next to her now was a man who had seen it all fade away.

Soldiers. Friends. Humanity. His best friend. His Marriage. And maybe somewhere, himself. Or atleast the version of him that she used to know. She could not stand there pretending he had changed when she was the one who pulled away first.

So, she kept quiet and focused on the colours running checks on his shirt.

Brown. White. Blue.

"You left me, y/n. Why." He did not ask it as a question. More like a statement. As if he too, had gone through that one moment he found out y/n had left. For a very long. In a never ending loop. And when you do that enough, your mind starts to give you answers. Not the one you necessarily seek but the ones that bring out your worst insecurities. And there he was, her heart's closest confidant doubting all that he was, for himself and for her, on the basis of a single memory that turned both their worlds upside down all those years ago.

Brown. White. Blue.

"You told me you would be there for me forever but you weren't. During the worst trials of my life, you weren't".

She could feel his voice tremor slightly as he slowly stepped closer. A single treacherous tear making its way down his beautiful face.

Y/n's POV:

Brown. White. Blue.

"You told me you'd always be my by side. But maybe you didn't mean those promises enough"

Brown. White. Blue.

"Or maybe I wasn't enough. Your family obviously knew everything. And our friends did too, I'm guessing. Everyone content with your decision, happy for you. I felt it."

Brown. White. Blue.

"And there I was, the only one left in the dark. Driving around like someone took away a part of my soul. And guess what? That is exactly what happened".

Brown. White. Blue.

"And I waited. For the longest time. Because I couldn't have imagined my life without you. Because I loved you. And I thought you did too. So why?"

"It's because I loved you." You scream at him through the tears, each word that he had said, striking all the cords that you had yourself been stricken by before.

You looked up at him through your clouded eyes and knew, that still, he had no idea.

Well, what time like the present? Infront of a firehouse, where he works. Where you'd come to meet one of his colleagues. What would be a better place to share the most vulnerable, sensitive corners of your heart?

"It's because I loved you that I let all the hurtful emotions of a teenage heart tore through me but stayed by you when you needed to talk about your relationships. It's because I loved you that I stood beside you and fought against your family so that you could marry the woman you loved, when all I wanted to do was scream at you, ask you to not marry her. It's because I loved you that I left the people, the home and the family I'd known all my life so that I didn't end up hating you. Everything was always because I loved you. And it was because you couldn't love me back".

You fall apart, sobs wreaking through you but no sound making it out because you were pressed into his comfortable, warm chest. One hand tightly holding you, as if he still couldn't believe you were here, as if you would disappear if he let go. The other weaving through your hair. Like he used to do all those years ago, something he knew would always calm you down.

And there you were, years later. Again. Sobs breaking through your chest. Again. Sending tremors in his heart. Again.

Except this time, Eddie Diaz knew who they were for. As everything started to make sense to him.

"You know I loved you. I always did." He spoke softly into your ear. His voice heavy with emotions, trembling at every pause. His cheek pressed against your hair.

You could feel the realisation coursing through him and the guilt digging in his chest. It was Eddie. You knew him better than yourself on some things. The way he pulled you closer and tightened his arms around you, burying his face into your hair; told you enough.

"Yes, you did. But not the way I loved you. And that is so okay. I couldn't be more at peace. But that's now. That was not what was going on then. I needed to leave, Eddie. I am sorry. I really did. Every corner of that town spoke to me of us. I felt suffocated in my own home. I needed to be there for myself. I never meant to leave you. But if I hadn't, I would not have been able to be there for you either". You whispered back. Putting it all in your words. Hoping he would still get you like he always did.

He nodded. Just once. Softly.

"There's a chinese place down the block. I just got off duty. Wanna get some food? Maybe I will tell you about this y/e/c eyed beauty Buck couldn't stop talking about ever since he met her. I'm guessing that would be you?" Eddie smiled down at you. It wasn't a lot. But it was a beginning. Or the promise and hope of one. But where would you be today, had you not been living for the hope of it all.

"Actually, tell me about you first. And the very handsome Christopher. I know there's a lot to catch up on but spring rolls are a very good place to start. But then we are jumping right back to what Evan said about me." You smiled back as he led you to his car, shaking his head at you.

Things might not be okay for a long time maybe. It will take time and efforts. A lot of both. Some things you've to let time heal, others you have to work on for an even longer time. But it's efforts you're willing to put, maybe more than Eddie this time. And that's okay. Both of you are gonna be okay.

"Oh, you won't believe who I met in LA. And right on my first week. A little piece of shit we went to high school with. It was so annoying. Character development really is not for some people. Also, about Evan.... Uhmmm..."

#eddie diaz x reader #911 on abc #911 x reader #911 imagine #911 show #911 abc #911 fox #eddie diaz x y/n #eddie diaz x you #eddie diaz #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley x you #evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckely #evan buckley #childhood best friends #unrequited love

139 notes · View notes

the-sappho-of-lesbos · 2 years ago

Note

I get what you mean, re that post about feeling sad/weird when a woman you think is also a lesbian has a boyfriend. In a similar boat, i'm in my late 20s and my friends are getting married and I feel more isolated than ever, especially since some of these friends identified as lesbians when I met them but then "met the one man"/met their "exception". I can't say anything about it without sounding like an asshole and I truly am happy for them finding love, but I feel like something is wrong with me. I don't know a single lesbian in real life anymore. I feel very alone.

I’m so sorry you are going through this anon. I know I can’t take this pain away, and I know I can’t fix anything, but please know I hear you and I’m sending you lots of love 💕 And I hope with all my heart that this is something that doesn’t weigh you down and hurt you forever. I know that’s easier said then done, but I hope it for you none the less. And I believe in you. I believe in you so much. You’ve got this and I just know you’ll find happiness, in whatever form that may take. It may take a while, and maybe it won’t end up looking like everyone else’s , and that’s a whole other bucket of hurt I know, but regardless I know deep down you WILL find happiness. It’s such a shame lesbians have to be so strong , and I wish we didn’t have to be, BUT we are made of sturdy stuff. You are a blessing solely and fully just as you are - you are beautiful, and the happiness you build for yourself one day will be just as equally beautiful. I know it will. But until then, I’m sending you my love and giving you the biggest air hug I possibly can. Being a lesbian is so hard sometimes, but I like to think that maybe it’s so heavy because the blessing are worth it. And I hope your future happiness is worth it - however that may look. And I hope you are able to find either people or places that let you be weak, so you don’t have to be strong anymore. So you can be soft and relish in the comfort and beauty of your personhood. 💕💕💕

I also 100% get what you mean on those conflicting emotions. Because on the one hand it’s so wonderful these people have found and have gotten to a place where they accept and understand their sexuality in it’s entirety. And obviously we aren’t owed anything from them. BUT in saying that it can be really lonely seeing people who once though we’re like you be able to enter a type of love you don’t understand. I can’t speak for you, but I know for me it can spend me into a spiral sometimes over if there is something I’m just not doing right to be attracted to men. And obviously thats no ones fault. It’s just a sad side affect of the world we live in.

And I can imagine for you it’s especially hard since you don’t know any single irl lesbians. I’m in the same boat as you. I’m still sort of in the pit where seeing lesbian couples can make be feel pretty low. Like looking at someone who won the lottery and just thinking that’s never going to be me, there isn’t anyone left. Everyone is already taken or not like me. And that sucks. It really does. And I’m sorry you feel that way too. I know it might not mean an awful lot coming from me, considering my rants lol, but there isn’t anything wrong with you. You are okay just as you are. I can’t promise you love or relationships and I can’t take that pain away, and you are allowed to feel angry and sad and cheated over that, but thing I can promise you is that there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all.

I’m sorry you feel so lonely. Genuinely loneliness is such a horrible and all consuming emotion. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But I’m so proud of you for making it this far despite that. And I hope you can be proud of yourself one day too. I also hope this loneliness is one that doesn’t stay with you too long. I don’t know you personally and obviously I can’t promise anything, but anon you seem really in touch with your emotions and open to connections, so I truly feel connection will find you. And I’m not just saying that either, I truly believe this is a loneliness that won’t last forever. People like you are bound to draw people to them - and I hope that day comes soon. So please keep believing in yourself and having the bravery to feel lonely. Acknowledging that feeling takes a lot of courage , but because you acknowledge it you are that much closer to it one day being bridged. So please hold out for that. Kind souls meet kind people and I can tell you are very kind. 💕

I’m sorry you are struggling with this , but thank you for popping in and sharing your story. I hope you have a beautiful and wonderful day and do something kind for yourself. And just know I’m giving you a big hug!! You’ve got this 💕💕💕💕💕

#asks #anon #answered

31 notes · View notes

avictimofthejazz · 1 year ago

Text

The Hardest Talk--Missy & Face

@timeguardians

Continued from HERE

Missy’s anger is predictable, something Face expects as soon as he starts talking. It is the way of teenagers—to lash out violently when their sensitive spots are pricked, and exposed to the light. Her emotions are running through her like a roller coaster, first sinking lower, before rising to an angry high point, before dropping down again. He lets her run through them, from her defeated admission that she is giving everyone what they want, through her defense of settling for Stetson, to her sudden outburst when he spots the bruises. When she stands up, he does so too in a subtle gesture meant to stop her from storming out. To reach the front door, she has to get through him, and he might be comfortably into his forties now, but he is still a formidable barrier to an irate teenager. Besides, he suspects Missy is having a moment of dramatic flair. As much as she might claim it, she does not really want to go storming out of his house. “Take it easy, Missy.” Face holds up one hand as Missy blurts out a glimpse of her pain regarding George’s early death. “I’m not trying to sound like your father. I just sound like a father. We all get the same basic manual the minute our first daughter is born, and interfering with her teenage desire to date jerks is on page 183. He knows Missy has never had a proper chance to grieve for George. It had all been chaos and madness since he passed, and Missy threw herself into partying and chasing boys rather than dealing with her losses. Face tilts his head as Missy gives an explanation for her bruises. “Okay… so maybe a few bruises came when he had to yank you away from the bus—I’ll give you that one. I’ve left bruises too, when I had to tackle people out of danger. But what about these ones?” The con artist gestures at some fading marks higher up on her arms, like she had been pinned in place. “Or these?” He points out a few purple-ish marks just peeking out from her tee-shirt near her collarbone. “Since you don’t play any serious contact sports, I can’t imagine those bruises came from anything other then a guy getting too rough with you.” Face takes a deep breath, his eyes narrowing seriously. “I’ve spent most of my life doing really stupid stuff—in school, in the army, when I was on the run… it was pretty much my M.O. No matter how badly I pissed off Father O’Malley, or Hannibal, or even Amy, none of them have ever hit me over it.” He automatically discounts play-swats, friendly tackles, and light cuffs up the back of his head. Those are natural outcomes of interacting with old friends, most of whom are men. “Even when BA threatened to punch me in the face, and he probably had a right too, he never actually did it. That’s because you don’t hit people you love, no matter how much they annoy you, or how stupid their choices are. If Aaron is knocking you around because he says you’re doing stupid things and deserve it, then he’s lying. It doesn’t matter how stupid your choice might be, or how dangerous an action was. There’s nothing in this world you can do to deserve getting hit.”

Missy’s outburst passes, and her next statement is much quieter. It also gives Face some painful context for how her mind is trying to rationalize the situation she is in. “Is it really better then being a nobody, if you have to pay for it in pounds of flesh?” he asks gently. “I know you’re lonely, and I know how crippling it feels to be alone… but trust me, guys who beat you aren’t a solution. They’ll just isolate you, and make you feel even more alone in the long run. It’s better to be single and free, then to be surrounded by people who only want things from you.” Face’s last statement carries the heavy weight of experience in it. He has spent years learning that painful lesson firsthand, discovering that his best friends are the people who want nothing from him except that he exist in the same world they do. That is why, no matter how fond he is of BA and Hannibal, he always declares Amy and Murdock to be his best friends. From the very first moments of their friendship, they did not want anything from him. Neither of them wanted him to scam anything, or steal something or supply answers. They just want him to exist, and to share their lives. It would take him years to realize just how liberating those friendships were to him. To not be wanted for his skills, but merely for himself made him look at his life, and the variety of masks that covered it, in a new way. Eventually, those friendships gave him enough courage to begin dismissing a few of those masks, and growing comfortable in his own skin. That is the kind of friendship Missy needs, honestly… but unfortunately, she is reaching a stage where her relationship with Callie is not nearly enough. She wants the attentions and validations that can only come from a young man… and Aaron is the kind of man who preys on that vulnerability, and manipulates it into something ugly.

#Muse: Templeton 'Face Man' Peck #timeguardians #Missy #Missy & Face Need a Tag

7 notes · View notes

mousegirlheart · 1 year ago

Note

Personally, I wish there was something my very broke ass could do for you. It feels wrong for someone like you not getting the help you deserve! Like there should be easy to use systems and technologies set in place for you! What is this society if you’re in constant pain with no immediate solution? Shouldn’t people be working on the solution? Shouldn’t people be working to make it easy to access?

But maybe it’s more complicated than that. You’ve undoubtedly asked yourself this before. And I don’t want to burden you by saying your pain makes me sad. That’s not it. I turned on anonymous in order to make this less about me, as I have a tendency to contrast and compare to my own life, and it doesn’t always come across well.

I knew a person who, while not disabled as it is normally defined, lost a lot of their strength as they got older and suffered horrible pains quite often. They were, ableist, to themselves, really thinking they should be above that pain, work harder, push past it. They died from exhaustion, overwork, and untreated sickness.

I know someone like you doesn’t have the same delusions, nor the need to put yourself in the kind of danger she did, that you’re in pain to. And I just wish there really was something I could do to help beyond giving money I yet do not have. Maybe kind words but, I bet you might’ve heard it all before. Someone like you should really deserve all the kind words and more the world can offer. I can’t apologize, it’s not my fault. I can’t say get well soon, it’s a chronic pain, like a curse in real life, except with no evil wizard to kill for retribution.

But I know there are people out there who could be doing something. I’m just not one of them. I’m not someone who can, meaningfully help you out, and that is what I’m sorry for. It’s not really a you thing specifically, I jump at the opportunity to help people, and my instincts are all messed up, because I know someone needs help, but I don’t know what I can do. I bet you’ve received a lot of nice words from people. And you deserve it. You really do. There’s not more else I can provide other than reassurance you’ve probably already heard. “There’s light at the end of the tunnel.” “It won’t last forever.” “There’s more to life than just pain.” Even if it were all true, it’s not really your situation. There’s not much either of us can do is there? Even I, perfectly “able bodied” as I may seem, can hardly help myself.

I could talk about how, great you are, how much people really love and care for you, but no matter how true that is, and it is true, it’s not going to match that pain, it’s not even on the same level and you know it. Even when you’re happy, or doing something else, the pain persists regardless of emotion, it’s in your body, not your head, kind words alone can’t fix that, at least to my knowledge. You know people here really like you. There’s probably people in real life who really like you. Despite the mistreatment I hear you go through. But again, that’s not gonna help the source, you’ve heard it before, it’s nothing new. And maybe there’s nothing I can do for you.

You don’t have to answer this. This isn’t an ask, really. It’s more of an earnest message. I can't imagine how much it hurts to be in your body, and I shouldn’t really. I shouldn’t have to know how much it hurts to care about someone hurting. I’m just a voice in the dark to you, behind sunglasses. I can’t see you, you can’t see me. But I bet I’m not the only person who cares like that. I’m willing to bet a lot. I just wish more people who cared were in positions to do something about it. Some sad irony.

This is probably just another painful day to you, not a day any more or less deserving of this, droning letter of an ask. I’m sorry if I brought down your mood with all the hopelessness and talk of “Nothing I can do.” If there was something, anything I Could do, I would. Honestly. But again, this is probably just one more painful day for you in an already painful existence. There’s no “Light at the end of the tunnel.” No matter how much light there is, you’ll still be feeling pain, huh? The saddest, most painful thing for me, is knowing you just have to live with it for now. That there really is nothing, at least we can do yet. That I really can’t help you, I can’t even try. Maybe there’s a bit of solace in that? Best to take in anything good from this. That’s how I cope with things. My delusion.

I can’t shake the feeling of injustice though. Like it doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t have to be in that pain, that pain doesn’t have to be in you. At least I think so. I always think there’s something to be done. That’s what makes me so stupid, irrelevant of any other skill or intelligence I may have.

All that being said;

For being in that kind of position, genuinely screwed over by life and people, I think you’re doing great personally, at least from what I can tell. I think you’re a great mouse, irrelevant of the pain and stress that your body may have, or how you express those bodily feelinngs. I know you can’t ignore it, it’s always there, and regardless of how much people or I say “Your pain is not all you are!” That won’t make it go away. But I really hope you already know, you really prove to me how exceptional everyone and everything here is. No matter how many of you mice, humans, and animals ``sentient/sapient/conscious`` or not I meet, I don’t feel like anyone is any less special or amazing in their own right. And you are not any different, because your qualities shine through, and you are a quality mouse, suffering what I think is a great injustice, the injustice being a lack of help, respect, and support. I can’t provide that first or last thing, at least in a significant or real way, but I can prove that middle thing. You have my respect. You may not want it, you may not care for it, and you may prefer love or honor, but I think you're a highly respectable mouse, who deserves far more than you’re currently getting in life, and respect is all I have to give. So please, accept this. Accept my respect, and accept that you are worth a lot. Not to anyone or anything in particular, you are just a worthwhile mouse, and maybe you should he happy being you, not the painful body, but the big strong heart behind it.

Again, you don’t even have to answer. Just know.

thank you for this... this really, genuinely made me tear up and cry... this really means so much to me...

#for later #< tag to read this again later if i feel bad again

8 notes · View notes

esotericepiphany · 2 years ago

Text

What it is like to experience and come out of mania/psychosis for the first time.

Please forgive the clunky metaphor but it increasingly apparent to me that the average person cannot conceive of the damage that mental illness and trauma can cause without using a physical example. Wounds of the mind are often divorced from wounds of the body, even though they are inseparable. Our research into psychology and trauma supports this. One of many things about our culture that enrages me to no end.

Imagine you’re driving with your partner to visit family. The weather is perfect. You’re listening to your favorite music. You’re teasing each other and discussing mutual friends, and plans. And then pain. Fire. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You can’t see. You hear distant screeching and crunching of metal. You try to cry out to your partner but you can’t speak. You are trapped in the burning wreckage of the car unsure if your partner is alive, if you will survive, how many people are piling onto the wreck, if medical personnel will show up in time and even if they do will they be able to do anything? You drift out of consciousness terrified, cold, and unsure.

You wake up in a hospital room, alone, unable to move your body. You’re in the most excruciating pain of your life. A nurse pops in to check on you, sees you’re awake, and promptly brings in the doctor and a police officer. Where is your family? Your partner? Your friends? Anyone? The police officer informs you that you are being charged with murder for the accident. “I wasn’t even driving!” The police officer assures you that you were. You’re horribly confused. This isn’t justice. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. This is literally not how this works. The nurse puts something in your IV. It makes you feel heavy, and it makes it harder to understand what is being said to you. But you don’t have time to worry about that because the doctor is informing you that your body is horribly damaged. You may never be able to walk again. You’re fed through a tube. You have no vision in one eye. You can’t even get up to use the bathroom. The doctor apologizes then informs you that you’re being released that very day. You’re in shock. You have months of recovery in front of you. He says there is nothing more he can do for you. You’re taking up valuable bed space. You’re discharged to figure out how to manage your own recovery. What has happened to the world? You wonder if you’ve woken up in an alternate dimension. Why was there no medical care? Why are you being charged with murder? What happened to your partner? No one will tell you. You are expected to figure it out on your own.

As you attempt to manage your own recovery it becomes increasingly obvious that you are not medically qualified to do so but no matter who you call you receive the same answer, “you’re responsible for your own recovery - we’re not equipped to help you. You can keep taking the pills we gave you.” The pills haven’t done anything except make you groggy and tired. It doesn’t matter. You find out that your partner survived the accident, but blames you for it and is managing their recovery with their family. They’re doing well and they never want to see you again. You can’t keep up with your friends because you’re so injured. You try to communicate this but they get angry and you can’t manage their disappointment on top of everything else. You cut ties. You slowly become isolated because you can’t do anything. You find out your former friends and partner are making fun of you on social media and publicly sharing the details of the accident with anyone who will listen. You’re still horrifically injured and cannot understand how people you’ve known for years can be so cruel about something that was outside of your control. You feel shame, more shame than you’ve ever felt in your entire life. If so many people are convinced you were and are at fault you must be, right? But you weren’t even driving the car. You didn’t know you were going to crash. Maybe if you’d left sooner. Maybe if you hadn’t been distracting your partner. Maybe if you had driven instead. Maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe. You live in a vortex of the past. You try to be accountable, but it doesn’t matter what you do - you know you weren’t driving and you’re tired of everyone acting like you were. And even if you were. EVEN IF you were it doesn’t justify the suffering you’ve endured. It doesn’t justify the failure of the professionals who were supposed to help you recover. A year later you’re still trying to heal. You can sit up in bed now, you can feed yourself. You’re exhausted from achieving just this. Your family tells you that you’re a survivor. Not a victim. They’re disappointed that you don’t want to go back to your old job and lifestyle. They can’t understand why you’re so angry and you’re not improving faster. You just feel broken, miserable, and unsure whether life in this new world is even worth it. You can’t afford a lawyer for your trial, you know that it is likely you will be found guilty so you just avoid the notices in the mail. You assume they’ll come take you to jail eventually. Maybe then someone will help?

No one wants to listen, no one wants to help, and you’re too fucked up to provide for yourself let alone meet social expectations and go to work. But if you don’t you will die. It doesn’t sound so bad. It sounds like relief. You’ve never felt like that before and it scares you. You wonder if you should have taken all the pills in the cabinet that you googled to find the fatal dose. You wonder how long it will take for anyone to notice. You grudgingly decide, “not today” but you know it may not be long before the escape is worth it. You can’t survive without support. It’s a question of a long drawn out painful death or falling asleep. It makes sense to choose peace. But when you mention this you’re sent back to the hospital. Your friends are angry with you for even thinking about it. “This isn’t like you” – the world isn’t how you remember it. It’s cold, hostile, painful, and lonely. You can’t trust the people who are supposed to help. You’re exhausted. You aren’t healing properly. You can’t even walk. Your frustration is met with annoyance, and platitudes. “One day at a time” you tell yourself. But you don’t know how many more days you have in you.

#tw: suidice #tw: psychosis #tw: car accident #tw: car crash #tw: mental breakdown #tw: mental illness #personal #I really needed to get this out #tw: mania

0 notes

lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 3 years ago

Text

Grabbing Smoke

As much time as Sam spent with her best friends, sometimes she enjoyed a little bit of time alone.

Tucker was helping his mother bake cookies for some kind of fundraiser for the hospital, and Danny was busy visiting Pandora for fighting lessons. Apparently they were using swords today.

As fun as it sounded, Sam opted to stay behind, it had been a while since she'd been down to the park to feed the ducks. She didn't get quiet moments like that very often any more.

There was an uncharacteristic skip to her gait as she walked to the park, a canvas tote bag swinging from her arm.

Living in Amity Park, and especially hanging around with Danny, gave her an eerie sense to when something was amiss. Nothing quite like Danny's ghost sense, but she'd learned to detect a particular chill to the air, a prickling at the back of her neck. It could easily be mistaken for a chilly breeze, but Sam knew better. The crunch of gravel under Sam's boots was the only sound permeating the still air, not even the trees were rustling.

She continued her walk through the park, past the wishing fountain and through a trail where the trees grew slightly more dense.

The trail opened up to a large pond, it wasn't anything especially picturesque, the reeds were a little overgrown, the ground was muddy, but there were a few simple weather worn benches by the path that looped around the water.

Sam took a seat, pulling out a bag of frozen peas. She opened it, tipped a few into her hand and tossed them into the water.

The ducks immediately sped across the pond toward her, fighting for the peas that the turtles hadn't already gotten to.

Instead of grabbing another handful, she held the bag out to the empty seat to her left, waiting for a moment before shaking the bag impatiently.

A green hand slipped into the bag, pulling out a handful of peas before tossing them into the water.

"How'd you know I was here?" Kitty asked, now sitting visibly on the other end of the bench as Sam poured out more peas for both of them.

"I have my ways." Sam smirked. "What I want to know is why you've been following me all week."

"You knew for that long and you didn't say nothin'?" Kitty huffed. "Damn, I gotta up my game."

A duck waddled up and nibbled on her boot.

"Alright alright, ya hungry little doofus." Kitty lowered a hand full of peas and cooed as the duck happily ate from her palm. "Aww these guys aren't shy at all, do you come here a lot?"

"When I can." Sam tossed a few more peas into the water for the turtles. "So why are you following me?"

Kitty sat back and pressed her lips together, thinking.

"Look it's just... I don't remember much from when I was livin', you know? It's all sorta grey and fuzzy, I can't remember what anyone looked like, except Johnny." she tossed some peas to a smaller duck at the back of the group. "But as soon as I showed up here in town and I saw your face, I thought I felt... I dunno, somethin'. Like I'd seen you before, or maybe you just reminded me of someone, but I can't remember who, it's like grabbing smoke."

She lobbed a few peas a little harder than was necessary at the water. The turtles sucked them up greedily.

"So you've just been following me hoping you might remember something else?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Kitty sighed. "But it's not working."

Sam swung her foot idly between a pair of scuffling ducks, splitting them up before tossing out some more peas.

"Maybe I'm related to someone you knew. Where did you grow up?"

Kitty frowned down at the water.

"I... I don't know." she said, deflating somewhat. "I didn't even realise I forgot that."

Sam couldn't help but feel for her, Danny had told her that ghosts would often forget things from their past, especially once they'd been dead for longer than they'd been alive. Somehow she had never really considered how terrifying that must be.

"You know..." Sam started carefully. "I could show you some old family photos. Maybe you'll recognise someone?"

Kitty looked up, eyes shining brightly.

"Really? You'd do that for me?"

"Why not?" Sam shrugged. "If you were here to cause trouble you would have done it by now."

"Aw, I never thought you'd wanna do something like that for me." said Kitty, smiling brightly. "You always seemed like such a bitch."

Sam laughed.

"If you'd spent a week being someone that wasn't Paulina, I would probably have seemed like less of a bitch."

"So you guys are big rivals or somethin'?" Kitty asked, grabbing some more peas and giggling as three ducks tried to eat from her hand at once.

"It's more that we have... conflicting ideologies. She thinks that appearances and reputation are the most important things in life, just like my parents." Sam lobbed some more peas into the water, they both watched them disappear as the turtles quickly snapped them up. "It's shallow and stupid, and I don't get why they have to push that shit on everyone. I don't care what people think, I just want to be whoever the hell I wanna be without having to fight for it all the time."

Kitty's face turned contemplative as she tapped her nails on the back of the bench.

"I think... I was like that." she said, slowly. "I wanted to feel fun and exciting, but my parents..."

She trailed off, frowning.

"My parents... I didn't like them. They didn't like me bein' the way I was, I can't really remember why."

Sam emptied out the last of the peas and scattered them over the ground, she scrunched up the empty packet and shoved it back into her tote bag.

"You know, if we went to school together we would probably have gotten along." said Sam as she stood up, gesturing toward the path. "Let's go check out those photos."

Instead of floating invisibly behind, Kitty walked by Sam's side as they headed back to her house. She idly waved at people as they drove past, grinning when someone stared a little too long and almost ran a red light.

"You know, it's nice bein' able to walk around in the day." Kitty said, skipping a little. "Wish I could do it more often."

"What's stopping you?"

"What do you think?" Kitty's lip pulled up in disgust. "Any time I show up your dumb friend sucks me up in his stupid thermos. Only reason I can walk around right now is because I got you as my get out of jail free card."

"Danny doesn't care if you just want to walk around." Sam scoffed. "He lets ghosts wander around town all the time, he only gets involved when you start breaking things."

"Uggghhh but just walking around is so boring." Kitty pouted. "I mean yeah it's nice and I like it but it gets old real quick."

"Then you'll have to get used to getting tossed back in the ghost zone. Do not pass go, do not collect $200."

"Don't you ever get sick of his goody goody attitude?" Kitty asked. "I mean you and I aren't so different right? You're all about the rebel gig, don't you ever feel like keyin' some asshole's car, or takin' a baseball bat to some mail boxes?"

"Only if they deserve it." said Sam with a smirk. "But I feel like you aren't especially picky about whose stuff you're breaking."

They approached the door to the Manson mansion, Sam hopped up the steps and stuck the key in the lock. She touched the mezuzah on the doorpost without a second thought before opening the door and standing aside to invite Kitty in.

The ghost stared up at her warily.

"I can't get past it."

"Past what?" Sam asked.

"The mezuzah, it keeps me out."

"What?" Sam frowned. "It hasn't stopped other ghosts from getting in."

"Well it stops me." Kitty insisted. "I think it's got somethin' to do with what we believed in when we were alive. I haven't got a problem with churches but when Johnny tried to ride his bike through one he couldn't get in. His mom raised him Catholic, he says he doesn't believe in any of that stuff, but I think he still does, deep down."

"So does that mean you were Jewish?" Sam asked, smiling curiously.

"I AM Jewish." Kitty crossed her arms. "Bein' a ghost hasn't changed that, it just... means that we got a few things a little wrong."

Sam thought about that for a moment, before stepping aside and gesturing toward the door again.

"Well, if you've been invited and you're not going to cause any trouble, then I don't see why you shouldn't be able to come in."

Kitty climbed the steps slowly, fingers reaching out and cautiously brushing over the mezuzah, she didn't feel anything unusual, no zap or burn or pain. She took a step through the doorway and passed the threshold without issue, no invisible force or barrier like the last time she tried to follow Sam inside.

"Well, what do you know." she said, grinning.

Sam lead her into a large, open planned kitchen and dining area, the tiles were bright white save for the specks of mud Sam's boots tracked through the room. The decor was minimalist, the atmosphere bland and sterile, she could smell some kind of citrus surface cleaner.

The back wall was all windows, leading to a patio surrounded by perfectly trimmed grass. As they approached, Sam turned, heading towards a door to their right.

The next room felt a lot more friendly, it was full of bookshelves and red tones. The lounges looked soft and inviting, a fireplace sat cold and empty against the back wall, but Kitty didn't have to try hard to imagine it roaring to life, filling the room with its warm glow.

"This is basically my Grandma's part of the house." Sam informed her, voice low. "Her bedroom is just through there, she's usually napping around this time of day so try not to make too much noise."

Kitty slipped off her jacket and laid it over the back of the lounge, already feeling at home in the cosy little room. She looked over the books as Sam fussed around some kind of large ornate chest.

"Here it is." She hefted a large photo album from the chest, carefully closing and latching it again. "Let's see if you recognise anyone in here."

Kitty sat down beside Sam as she opened up the pristine book, the outer cover was beige with the name Manson inscribed in golden cursive on the front. The first page was full of old faded photos, in greyscale or sepia tones.

"Ugh, I'm not that old." said Kitty, flicking ahead a few pages.

The pictures were colourful now, but still grainy, there was a young blonde boy in seventies style jeans leaning casually against a Chevrolet.

"Wait hold up," Kitty pointed at the boy. "Him, I feel like I've seen him before."

"That's my dad." said Sam, surprised. "His name is Jeremy, did you know him?"

Kitty hummed a little, gently tracing a finger over the picture.

"Jeremy... Jeremy, I'm not sure," she frowned. "But he definitely looks familiar."

They continued through the book, when suddenly Kitty slapped her hand down roughly on a photo of a pair of young women.

"Her! I know her! She was a mega bitch!"

"Shhh keep it down." Sam hissed.

"Sorry," Kitty pointed to the blonde girl in the photo. "That one! I don't know how I knew her, but I definitely knew her. She was a total brat."

Sam slipped the photo out of its sleeve and read the neat cursive on the back.

"This is... my Aunt Caroline, in 1985. She's my dad's sister." Sam looked up at Kitty, amused. "I can't believe you had beef with my family."

"Your family are snobs." Kitty sniffed. "Carrie was such a ditz, she thought she was sooo bitchin' because her daddy bought her a Mercedes."

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Sam grimaced. "Did you guys go to school together or something?"

"Maybe..." Kitty took the photo from Sam's hand, staring intently. "I'm pretty sure I skipped school a lot, I hated it there. It was a private school, we had to wear uniforms, barf."

"I would never have guessed you were a private school kid." Sam shook her head. "But most people would say that about me so it's not like I can judge."

"You went to private school?" Kitty asked, "How'd you end up in that Casper High dump?"

"Got myself expelled." said Sam, voice thick with pride. "Elementary, middle and high school, got kicked out of all three."

"Damn, you're good."

Sam grinned, slipping the photo back in its sleeve and continuing to the next page.

Kitty pointed to a few other photos, remarking on their familiarity, but not quite able to grasp how she knew them, the memories only flickered in her periphery.

"Wait," Kitty whispered, fingers brushing over a polaroid containing three people. "This is..."

The picture looked as though it were taken at some kind of party, a man and a woman faced the camera, each with a glass of champagne raised in their hands. The woman's other hand rested on the shoulder of a teenage girl with auburn hair, pulled into a tidy braid. She stared glumly at the camera.

"That's Katherine." Sam said, pointing to the girl. "She was my dad's cousin, but she got hit by a car when she was-"

Sam paused, looking over at Kitty's wide eyes and then back to the photo.

"Noooo way." Sam pulled the photo out of the sleeve. "Is this you?"

Kitty took the photo in trembling hands.

"I... I forgot I used to look like that." she fiddled with a lock of her green, teased hair. "I remember this party, I didn't want to go but mom and dad threatened to take away all my records and cassettes if I didn't."

Sam stared at Kitty, mouth agape.

"You're Car Crash Katherine?! My dad talks about you all the time! He always told me about the shit you used to get up to, he'd tell me that any kind of 'rebellious behaviour' was a slippery slope to 'dying on the back of some delinquent's motorcycle'." Sam put a hand on Kitty's shoulder. "You were my bad influence role model."

Kitty's red eyes shone with tears, photo still in hand, she wrapped her arms around Sam.

"This is majorly wicked! My legacy lives on! Corrupting the youth from beyond the grave!" Kitty laughed. "My parents would go totally mental."

She stopped laughing, her face turning forlorn as she drew back from Sam and stared down at the picture.

"Are they still alive?" she asked, a tremble in her voice.

"Yeah..." said Sam. "They live in a retirement home in Florida. They don't come around very often."

Kitty traced a finger over their faces.

"I wonder if they miss me." she said quietly. "Or if they were glad to be rid of the family embarrassment."

Sam didn't answer, she had wondered the same thing herself, if her parents would even care if she died. They hadn't given her a lot of reason to think they would.

She rested a sympathetic hand on Kitty's arm.

"Oh, you have a friend over bubbeleh?" a croaky voice spoke from the bedroom doorway.

Sam and Kitty both turned to see Ida Manson shuffling into the room, cleaning her glasses with her sleeve.

"Sorry Grandma, we didn't mean to be too loud." Sam apologised. "This is my... um, friend, Kitty. Kitty this is my Grandma Ida-"

"Ida?!" Kitty shot to her feet, staring in shock at the old woman. "Aunt Ida?!"

Ida squinted at Kitty, before quickly setting her glasses back on her face.

"Well as I live and breath, is that you Kathy?"

"Oh my god this is getting super weird." Sam whispered.

Kitty leapt over the ottoman to wrap Ida up in a tight hug, the old woman was surprised for a moment, but held her warmly in return.

"It's me Aunt Ida! Not really living or breathing but it's me!" Kitty laughed breathlessly.

"Oh my goodness, when all the ghosts started showing up all over town I wondered if I would ever see someone I knew." She rubbed comforting circles on Kitty's back as the ghost choked on a few sobs. "It's good to see you again Kathy."

Ida pulled away and wiped a tear from Kitty's face.

"And I'm so glad you aren't stuck wearing what your parents buried you in."

Kitty couldn't help but laugh through her tears.

"Let me guess, it was that putrid blue dress, wasn't it?"

"The dress wasn't nearly as bad as what they did to your hair." Ida snickered, patting Kitty's hand. "It had little ribbons in it and everything."

"I almost forgot you." Kitty placed her palm gently against Ida's face. "You were the only one in the family who ever loved me for being me, and I almost forgot you. I'm so sorry, I should have come to find you sooner but I just-"

"Shhhh, it's okay bubbeleh." Ida grasped her hand tight. "I think being dead is a pretty good excuse for forgetting a few things."

Sam stood beside the lounge, watching the two in shock, she wasn't entirely certain whether or not to intrude. Whatever she had been expecting to discover with Kitty today, it certainly hadn't been this.

Though in hindsight, it did explain Kitty's familiarity with Sam, people always said she had taken after her Grandma.

Ida let go of Kitty and hobbled over to the photo album still sitting on the lounge.

"Oh you don't want to look at that album." she said, as she shoved it onto the coffee table. She wandered to the other side of the room and began rummaging around in a small cupboard. "You want this one."

She pulled out a book with well worn, peeling edges. Pieces of the plastic sleeves had cracked off and crumbled away. It was old, and weatherbeaten, it was obvious that Ida had looked through it many many times.

"Here we go." she sat down in the middle of the lounge, gesturing for the two girls to come sit beside her. "These are the forbidden photos."

She opened the pages, the photos inside were entirely different from the 'official' album, there were no perfectly poised, prim and proper photos of people in nice, presentable clothes. They were all candid shots, people in the middle of eating or laughing, some were stumbling around blind drunk, a few were smoking joints. There were pictures from parties and protest rallies, in backyards and drive ins.

There was a picture of Jeremy as a young boy, grinning with one of his front teeth missing and grass in his hair.

"Only in this family would losing your baby teeth make a photo 'unsavoury'." Ida grizzled as she continued through the album. "I saved so many pictures that my husband would have thrown out otherwise."

"Ugh, Uncle Peter was such a prude, he wouldn't even let me in the house if I didn't have my shoulders covered up." Kitty rolled her eyes.

"He used to be so much more relaxed when we were young." Ida sighed. "He changed when he inherited his father's business, he forgot how to have fun."

A few pages later Kitty squealed in excitement.

"Oh my god! That's Frankie! She was my best friend, we used to do everything together!"

The Kitty in the photo looked far more like the Kitty Sam knew. Her hair was teased up, and she was wearing a crop top and a miniskirt. The other girl, Frankie, had short curled hair and a leather jacket. They each had an arm around the others' shoulder and grinned wildly.

"I love this one." Ida smiled as she pulled the picture out of the sleeve. "That was the night I gave you a lift to that concert."

"Oh that show was sooo good! I got my nose pierced there! It got so infected, Mom grounded me for a month." Kitty laughed.

"Man, and I thought I was cool for skipping school to go see Circus Gothica." Sam grinned. "I'm gonna have to come home with a tattoo next time."

"I can't believe I forgot about Frankie, I can't believe I forgot about all of this." Kitty held the photo close to her chest, a few tears running down her face. "I'm so glad it's not gone for good."

She kept the photo in hand as they looked through the rest of the album. There were many pictures of Ida, all of them with other people of all walks of life.

"Oh this was when you took us to that pride parade!" Kitty smiled. "You made Frankie so happy, and you knew a lot of the drag queens there, like a LOT."

"Grandma took me to a drag show when I was 10," said Sam. "Even took me backstage to meet them all, my parents thought we went to the theatre to see Romeo and Juliet."

"Oh I have photos from that." Ida flipped through the pages, getting closer to the end of the album. "Here we are, oh Evelyn just LOVED you."

Sam looked at the picture of Evelyn, frowning slightly.

"Oh weird, she kinda looks like Mr Lancer's sister, he keeps her photo on his desk..." Sam paused as she processed what she just said. "That's not his sister is it?"

"You probably shouldn't bring it up." said Ida gently. "Teachers can get in trouble for associating with this sort of thing."

"That's so bogus!" Kitty cried. "I really thought this kinda stuff would be better in the future!"

"It is," Ida assured her. "But we're a long way from perfect."

Ida flipped back through the album, searching for more pictures of Kitty and Frankie. There were a good few of them, each one Ida pulled out and passed over for Kitty to look at and hold onto.

"Oh woah, is that Johnny?" Sam pointed to a picture of Kitty sitting on the back of a motorcycle with a blonde boy. "He looks exactly the same, just a little less pale."

"Oh, did Johnny come back as a ghost too?" Ida asked.

"Yeah! We've been together all this time, in sickness and in death." Kitty beamed. "Mom and dad blamed him for everything I did, even if he wasn't around when I did it. They said him and Frankie were 'corrupting' me."

She rolled her eyes.

"I bet they blamed him for my death too. They'd be so mad if they knew we were still together."

"Just goes to show they had no chance of keeping you two apart." Ida said. "Not even death could do that."

Kitty held the photo tight in both hands, her shoulders began to shake slightly.

"It was my fault you know." she said with a trembling little giggle. "Funny huh? My parents always blamed him for everything, but in the end it was my fault we got hit. We were havin' a fight over somethin' stupid and I distracted him-"

Ida wrapped an arm around Kitty, patting her head comfortingly as she laid it against the old woman's shoulder.

"I think you're being too hard on yourself bubbeleh." Ida whispered gently into her hair. "It was raining, the truck that hit you was running a red light, the driver was charged for both your deaths. Even if you did distract him, you weren't the only card at play that night."

She gave Kitty a light shake.

"And don't think I didn't see the way Johnny used to drive that thing, he was reckless. I have no doubt that he wasn't paying as much attention as he should have been." She placed a kiss on the girl's forehead and squeezed her tight. "It's not fair to hold all of that responsibility on yourself, even if you both did everything right, that truck still would have run that red light, it still would have been raining. It was just pure rotten luck."

Sam had never heard a ghost talk about their death before, even Danny didn't like talking about his accident, and asking about it was incredibly taboo. Sam had been pushing her luck earlier just by mentioning the car crash.

It said a lot about Kitty's love for Ida that she chose to open up about it. Sam couldn't say she was surprised, her Grandma had always been like that. Never anything but an endless well of love and support, and the occasional kick in the pants if you needed it.

"Johnny's always had rotten luck." Kitty sniffed. "Follows him like a shadow."

"Literally." Sam snorted.

After a few more moments, Ida pulled herself away from Kitty, she got up and began rooting through the cupboards, muttering to herself.

"Aha, here it is."

She brought over an empty photo album, it was roughly the size of a small pocketbook, containing only one photo sleeve per page.

"I meant to fill this with photos for Sam to keep." Ida admitted as she shuffled back over to the girls. "But I don't think she'll mind donating it to a good cause."

She winked at Sam, who nodded back.

"Here," Ida pressed the little album into Kitty's hands. "Memories are a fickle thing, but photos are forever."

"I can't take these!" Kitty insisted, pushing the album back. "They're your memories too!"

"Oh my god you're both so old." Sam laughed, "Dad has a printer/scanner. I can make copies."

As Sam took the polaroids to her dad's office, Ida and Kitty pored over the rest of the album, Kitty picking out more photos to copy. She chose a few of Ida and Sam, and even one of Carrie.

"She was a total loser and I hated her but I don't hate remembering her, you know? I want to remember everything, even the bad stuff."

She took a photo of her parents, just one.

When Sam came back with the last batch of photos, Ida finished slipping them into the little album.

"There's still a few sleeves left." Sam pointed out, holding up her phone with a smile. "We've got room for a couple of family reunion pics."

The two girls squished up against Ida as Sam snapped as many shots as she could. Ones where they smiled, ones where they laughed, ones where they laid haphazardly across the lounge together.

Then Sam took a few candids of just Kitty and Ida, as they looked through the new album they'd just made together. Capturing Kitty laughing at something as Ida looked at her with a soft, loving smile.

Kitty clutched the album to her chest as she gave Ida a long, drawn out hug.

"Thank you so much." she said, her voice thick with gratitude. "It's like I can see my life in colour again."

She left the house with the assurance that she would always be welcome back, at any time, and a promise that she would always be looking out for her 'new favourite cousin'.

Sam flicked through the photos she took on her phone, she would have to make sure to have copies printed by the time Kitty returned to visit.

She knew Kitty coming over regularly was going to make things complicated, her apparent newfound protectiveness over Sam could potentially backfire in many spectacular ways, she was petty and troublesome when in the right mood.

But then again, so was Ida, and so was Sam.

At least she had better things to do now than beat up strangers' mail boxes, Danny was certainly going to be glad to hear that.

#lula's fanfics #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #kitty #sam manson #ida manson

656 notes · View notes

seijorhi · 4 years ago

Text

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too.

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it.

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo.

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away.

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy.

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences.

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife.

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would.

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.”

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you.

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication.

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder.

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign.

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you.

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in.

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is.

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever.

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you.

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin.

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place.

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her.

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign.

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator.

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening.

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold.

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law.

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally.

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide.

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit.

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites.

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with.

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you.

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same.

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick.

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is.

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind.

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you.

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second.

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind.

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him.

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland.

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance.

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

1K notes · View notes

dreamy-jaeger · 3 years ago

Text

Love Thy Neighbor | Ch. 6

Neighbor!Au, Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader

Content: Enemies to lovers, Fluff, Angst

Summary: Eren and the reader have an unexpectedly good time together, but it quickly falls apart with the appearance of a certain firefighter and the truth that no one dares to speak.

Masterlist

A/N: I really had to fight myself not to post this guy early 😩😩 mostly because I haven’t been working on chapter seven... (I’ve been working on a oneshot for Valentine’s Day instead). But anyways I hope you enjoy! this one kinda gets rough 🥴

Chapter 6

Humans tend to romanticize the mundane in life. They do it when riding the bus or studying at the local university’s library, or even when doing something as simple as shopping for groceries. Hopeful dreamers are stretched thin by their overactive imaginations and precious scenarios all backed by a soundtrack fit for a coming of age indie movie. In their minds, grocery shopping is far more than just an errand. It’s a chance for domestic bliss, with lingering touches and bashful laughter, while pushing the cart with someone you think you could end up loving.

But when Y/N shopped for groceries she saw it for what it was, buzzing fluorescent lights that give you a headache and the squeak of a broken wheel on the shopping cart she was unlucky enough to pick, all set to a generic pop song that was popular nine years ago.

Y/N liked to consider herself a romantic. She was no stranger to the daydreams that found her when she sat with her usual drink order at the local cafe. But if there was one place she couldn’t help but see under the painful truth of reality, it was the grocery store. For some reason, this was just a task that couldn’t be anything more than the boring chore that it was. Unlikable for the reasons that were bothering her now. Headache inducing lights and a squeaky wheel. As well as the fact that this store was all out of froot loops.

She huffed as the empty shelf glared back at her. The main reason she went grocery shopping was to restock on her guilty pleasure. And now that she was left without the sugary goodness of a breakfast food made for children, she saw no point in being here. Unless you count the rest of the groceries that were sitting in her cart.

The wheel squeaked pathetically as she walked away from the ghost town that was the cereal aisle, the sound recreating what she felt at the loss of her cereal… Maybe it was a good thing that Y/N would rather go grocery shopping alone. She felt too much even through the simplest of troubles. It was probably best that no one was here to witness her despair.

That, and she hated people getting in her way when she could just grab her things and get out, as quickly as possible. Proven by the fact that she had been here all of fifteen minutes and had already gotten every item off her list. Except those damned froot loops.

A sigh escaped her lips at the thought of her loss, turning her cart to head to the register. But as soon as she entered the next aisle over, her brash movements had caused her to almost run into someone. A large hand, clad in silver rings caught the end of her cart, stopping it from causing any damage.

“You just can’t stay away from me, can you, Kid?”

Y/N blinked, barely registering that it was Eren who she almost bruised with her cart. She was trying to decipher if he was a hallucination or not. Mostly because, between her thoughts on how much she hates the grocery store and the harsh blow of there being no froot loops, she couldn’t stop thinking about Eren. How he looked last night, standing there in the middle of the hallway. And the burn of his stare when she shook off the underlying advances of Bertholdt. She replayed that moment in her mind countless times. And now that Eren had materialized in front of her with his veined hand holding her cart, and a smirk on his face, she didn’t know if he was real or not.

That was until her eyes shifted to what he was holding. A pristine box of froot loops was tucked under the leather clad arm that wasn’t braced on her shopping cart.

“Where did you get those?” Were the first words she graced him with.

“What?” Eren replied, confused as to why she wasn’t responding to his teasing with her usual sarcasm. But then he took notice of her pointed stare. He looked down at the box of froot loops he acquired.

“In the cereal aisle, where else?” Eren answered with furrowed brows. He looked back up at her to find her lips already pursed with annoyance.

“You took the last box.”

“I know, pretty lucky, right?” Eren said with a blinding grin. Y/N returned it with a literal ‘ugh’ as she pulled her cart away from Eren’s grip, maneuvering it past him so that she could continue down the aisle towards the front of the store.

“Do you have to ruin every aspect of my life?” She grumbled, knowing that Eren was following her, since the sound of his Doc Martens rang out against the linoleum floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you happen to want these froot loops?” Eren asked innocently.

“You’re such a jerk.” Y/N responded, “You know, if you were a decent human being, you would hand those over since you stole mine.”

“Hm, that is true.” Eren agreed, and then added with teasing in his tone, “But since I’m not a decent human being I think I’ll keep these for myself, thanks.”

Y/N glared at him, which he responded to by lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “You snooze, you lose.”

“I hate you.” She responded, as she stopped at the end of the checkout line that was moving at a snail's pace. A bored looking teenager sat at the register, her movements sluggish, obvious that she was slowly losing her mind at the repetitive process of scanning strangers' groceries only to receive minimum wage. Y/N couldn’t blame the poor girl. But it also meant she would be stuck in this line with Eren annoying the hell out of her for the next twenty minutes. Which he did now as he stood far too close. She tried to ignore how the scent of his cologne almost made her want to lean back into his warmth.

And as Y/N spoke of her disdain towards him, a wicked idea had surged to the front of his brain. The words were at the tip of his tongue, begging to be spoken so that they could wrap around the girl, causing her to flush with embarrassment. A disposition Eren found way too alluring. He leaned forward with the intention of making a pointed comment that would remind the girl that her sentiments seemed to be different when he had her cumming on his tongue just a few nights ago. But then, at the reminder of her body writhing in pleasure underneath him, the words were suddenly lost.

Eren choked. Usually, teasing the girl came so easy to him, to the point where it was almost second nature. But the minute he tried to tie in their unexpected sexual exploits he somehow lost the nerve. It was like he was a scrawny little teenager with performance anxiety and apparently his newfound fragile heart couldn’t take it. Eren decided he hated the feeling. Since when was he shy about eating a girl's pussy? This unfamiliar bashful side of him wasn’t who he was. He had half a mind to open his mouth and say the stupid teasing line.

But then Y/N shifted in front of him. The delicate scent of her lavender shampoo releasing itself from the tendrils of her hair. Eren grew weak in the knees as it washed over him. Bringing more memories from when their bodies were far closer than they were now as they stood in the checkout line. And then that spurred on the memories of last night. When it was Bertholdt’s hands that were on her waist. Not his.

Bertholdt was the one who could be what she needed and most likely what she wanted. And Y/N most definitely did not want or need any perverted comments spilling from Eren’s mouth. So he swallowed the words, keeping them to himself, a bitter taste on his tongue.

“I wouldn’t be so quick in saying that you hate me.” He said instead, securing himself back into the role of annoying neighbor — where it was far more comfortable and made more sense. The girl turned towards him, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

“Why?” She asked, warily.

“I’m the one who holds the power.” He smirked, holding up the precious last box of froot loops.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Y/N questioned, already annoyed with his childish demeanor.

“Well, let’s just say I’d be happy to share them…” Eren shrugged. Y/N glanced at the box of cereal and then back to Eren. He smirked. Bingo. “If, and only if, you can admit that you don’t hate me.”

“Are you in fifth grade?” Y/N scoffed, taking a step forward as another customer walked away from the register with their packed groceries. “I’m not so desperate for a bowl of cereal that I would lie like that.”

“Then how about the whole box?” He offered as they moved down the line. Y/N stayed facing forward. Trying to seem uninterested, because really who would get involved in such a childish game…

Apparently Y/N would. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth as she contemplated his terms. Internally, she was begging herself not to get caught up in the whirlwind that was Eren’s antics. But she really wanted that damn box of cereal. It was the whole reason she came to the stupid grocery store. She was so close to admitting it just so she could get her hands on the box.

Y/N wondered where in her twenty-three years of life did she make a decision that would lead her to where she was now. She rolled her eyes at herself, feeling dumb that she’s even humoring Eren and his schemes.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” She murmured, shaking her head, still facing straight ahead. “Why would I do that when you owe me a box with no conditions?”

“You’re no fun.” Eren groaned, acting like the child that he was. Pouting, as he leaned up against the magazine rack that sat in front of the register.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I’m beginning to think you and I have different definitions for fun.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious.” Eren retorted, as Y/N began placing her items on the conveyor belt. She stayed silent as she did.

She was annoyed by Eren, that was for sure. Who would go to that much trouble for a box of cereal? But there was something else that bothered her. In the back of her mind, she realized she didn’t like the idea of Eren thinking she was boring. Even if he was just teasing her. So as she placed the last of her items onto the moving conveyor, a sigh escaped her lips. She turned towards Eren, a bit hesitant, but eventually she gave in.

“Fine.” Y/N said, and Eren’s head snapped up from the tabloid he was mindlessly flipping through.

“You’ll admit you don’t hate me?” He perked up, which was actually kind of cute. Y/N didn’t realize she was starting to smile until she spoke again.

“I’ll admit it…” She started as she procured her debit card from her wallet, Eren’s grin was spreading across his features once again, “After you pay for it.”

“Deal.” Eren grinned, putting away the magazine and shoving his hand into the pocket of his jeans, a crumpled up ten dollar bill now in his hand that he handed to the cashier when she rang up his cereal.

At that point, Y/N had already begun making her way to the parking lot with her tote bag full of groceries, so he left without his change, following after her with cereal in hand. He didn’t even register the young girl who called after him, trying to explain that this was a grocery store and that they didn’t take tips. But when he disappeared through the sliding doors, chasing after the girl he was so obviously flirting with, the teenager shrugged, looking around to see if there were any supervisors before pocketing the extra seven bucks.

Meanwhile, Y/N was halfway to the designated spot for two wheelers as the sky was painted with pinks and oranges from the oncoming sunset. With her cream-colored moped up ahead, she honestly couldn’t believe that she didn’t take notice of Eren’s shiny black motorcycle two vehicles down. She was seriously questioning her observation skills when Eren caught up to her.

“I’ve changed my conditions.” Eren grinned as he fell into step with her.

“You can’t change the conditions! We’ve already made the deal.” Y/N argued, hooking her tote to the handle of her moped when she finally reached it. She turned back to face Eren, who was still donning his shit-eating grin.

“Hey, as of right now this is my box of cereal.” He responded, “You have no claim over it until you agree to the new rules.”

Y/N just stared at Eren before silently brushing past him, bending over to unlock the chain that was looped around her back wheel. He waited for her to respond, as he was sure that she was contemplating his words, the gears turning in that pretty head of hers. A soft huff escaped her lips as she stuffed the heavy metal of her chain into the seat of her moped. And when she slammed down her seat with a satisfying click, she turned towards Eren once more.

“Lay them on me.” She gave in with a sigh, gesturing for him to continue.

“You have to hang out with me after this. At my place.” Eren smirked, Y/N opened her mouth, most likely to argue, but Eren held up a hand, shutting her up.

“You don’t have to admit you don’t hate me anymore.” He said, walking backwards towards his bike, where he shoved the cereal into his leather saddle bag, “But I'll prove to you that you enjoy my company. At least a little bit.”

He winked at her as he finished his sentence. Y/N rolled her eyes.

“You really have an obsession with proving yourself, don’t you.” She commented, swinging her leg over her vespa and shoving her key into the ignition. A deep laugh rumbled from Eren’s chest as he got on his own bike, his helmet now in his hands.

“I’m always right, aren’t I?” He grinned before hiding his handsome features behind the tinted visor of his helmet. His engine roared to life, cutting off the chance for any tension to seep into their conversation at the very first mention of what they had done. And all Y/N could do was respond with surprisingly affectionate laughter towards the man as he whipped out of the parking lot.

With a twist of the throttle, her own moped sparked to life, and she followed after him. Her smile was still present on her face, cause even though she wanted to deny it, Eren did have the annoying tendency to be right.

They met again at a red light. Eren— who had been waiting there since it first turned red, could have easily slipped through on the technicality of the yellow light. But he could see the cream of Y/N’s moped in his side view mirror a little ways down the road. And Eren prided himself in many things. Road safety could easily be one of them. So when the traffic light ahead flashed from green to yellow, he released his clutch, the two wheels of his vehicle slowing down to a stop.

Y/N pulled up next to him in the lane over, placing her feet flat on the asphalt below to keep her balance. She stole a glance at the leather clad man beside her, who flipped up his visor, his teal eyes shining through the slot of his helmet when their eyes met.

“Wanna race?” Eren called over the rumbling of their two engines. Y/N let out a laugh of disbelief.

“My moped wouldn’t stand a chance against that monstrosity.” She replied, nodding towards his bike. Surprisingly she was grinning at him and that damned smile caused Eren’s stomach to flip.

“You have no faith.” Eren tutted, shaking his head. “If you’re too chicken, you could just say that.”

Y/N laughed again, and the sweet sound seemed to soar it’s way through the air between them, hitting Eren square in the chest. His own grin faded from his face as he became enamored with the way Y/N tossed her head back with soft laughter. When she turned back to face him— his cheeks probably tinted pink to match the sky, she bit her bottom lip through her smile. His eyes flickered down to that bottom lip, wishing it was between his teeth instead. Her own smile slipped away as well when she finally registered the way he was staring at her, with parted lips and what seemed to be a hungry look in his eye.

“Eren…” She breathed, her attention settling on his pink tongue darting out of his mouth to drag over his own bottom lip.

“Yeah?” He replied, his tone coming out huskier than he intended it too.

“There’s… something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She said, her lips quirking into a half smile. At her words, Eren’s heart effectively started to hammer in his chest… or maybe his heart had already been doing that, but the anticipation had caused him to notice.

“What?”

She leaned over the side of her moped, bringing herself as close as she could to Eren in the middle of the street. Eren’s breath hitched as the smell of lavender overcame him once more, carried by the spring breeze that surrounded them. Instinctively, he leaned closer as well.

Eren would’ve been surprised with how badly he wanted to kiss her at that moment. But he honestly couldn’t find a fuck to give to try and hide what he truly wanted. And he wanted to take back the breath that she was stealing from him now by slotting his lips against her own. He almost did.

But then Y/N’s soft smile twisted into a teasing smirk.

“You snooze, you lose.” She repeated his words from earlier, before leaving him, blinking in her dust.

When Eren was teasing her about being a chicken, Y/N had caught sight of the flashing red hand that sat at the end of the crosswalk a few feet away. She had thirty seconds to distract him if she wanted to get a head start. And when she caught him staring at her, Y/N had found her perfect escape. Victory had caused giddiness to take over her form as she forged on ahead. But there was still something strange about the way he was looking at her, that caused the back of her neck to prickle with uncertainty.

Y/N was so sure that he was staring at her in bewilderment only because she had let go of her inhibitions and actually allowed herself to fall freely into the true emotions she felt around Eren. And she was having fun. So, she was certain that Eren would make a sly comment about her newfound demeanor, but instead she was met with silence as he stared at her.

His look had caused involuntary shivers to run up and down her spine. Deep within his teal irises it looked like he wanted something from her. Something more than what she had already given him… But Y/N quickly pulled herself out of that downward spiral of disappointment. Because he didn’t want anything more. He explicitly told her that himself. So she quickly regathered her senses, clearing her mind from any mixed signals that might’ve been floating in the air, and now she was way ahead of him, winning the race that Eren started.

Though that didn’t last for long. With the horsepower that stupid motorcycle held, he was easily able to catch up within seconds of Y/N’s headstart. She caught a flash of that blinding grin through his helmet, as he shook his head at her, silently condemning Y/N for obviously cheating. More of her own laughter spilled from her lips as he drove beside her.

Which was honestly a surprise. Eren could’ve easily left her behind, finishing the race and winning by miles. But he stayed with her. Y/N sort of expected him to be unbearingly competitive, and maybe even a sore winner. But that was contradicted as he drove idly beside her, weaving his front real back and forth, carving S’s into his path. Y/N found herself relaxing, letting the wind caress her cheeks, a feeling she always loved.

Their adrenaline-filled race soon faded into more of a simple cruise, the sun dipping down over the horizon, covering their journey in darkness as they made their way home. Comfort finding the two unlikely friends as they winded through the streets of their neighborhood.

The parking lot was free of any other living soul when they finally arrived. A silence that was broken by their engines and the proof of their joy, as their laughter followed them into their parking spot.

“You’re such a cheater.” Eren accused, pulling his helmet over his head.

“What else was I supposed to do? I was at a disadvantage.” Y/N defended, as she unhooked her bag of groceries. Almost immediately, Eren gently pulled the strap from her hand, slipping it over his shoulder. A silent offer to carry her things even if her bag wasn’t that heavy. Y/N felt warmth bloom in her chest at the action, but didn’t want to admit it out loud, so she continued with the conversation.

“Why do you care if I cheated, you could’ve easily won.”

“Well, unlike you, I hold myself to higher standards than that.” Eren teased, as he grabbed the froot loops from his own vehicle, tucking it under his arm. “It would’ve been cheating if I used the full force of Charlotte. I was trying to give you an even playing-field.”

“Charlotte?” Y/N laughed, crinkling her nose at what she assumed was the name of Eren’s bike.

“Yeah?” He said, dragging out the word, as if daring her to say more at her own risk, “Like Charlotte’s Web.”

“You named your motorcycle after a fictional spider?” Y/N giggled, as she locked up her moped.

“Of course.” Eren shrugged, “Not only is she a devoted friend, but a great role-model. It’s the perfect name for my bike.”

He patted the seat of his motorcycle for good measure. Y/N laughed again, shaking her head in disbelief that a man who looked so intimidating would have such a soft side to him. The unexpected trait had caused a tugging feeling to pull at her heart. She ignored it as Eren went on.

“Oh don’t act so smug.” He responded to her laughter with feigned offense, “I’m sure you have an embarrassing name for your moped. Let’s hear it.”

“Beowulf.” She said simply as she stood.

“Like the monster hunter?” Eren questioned.

“Yep.”

Eren nodded. And then looked between the two vehicles. The sweet innocent look of her vespa was quite the contrast compared to his dark, dangerous looking bike. When he was done contemplating the difference in their modes of transportation, his eyes landed on Y/N.

“I think we should switch names.” He declared.

“Nope. No way.” Y/N shook her head, starting to walk back towards their building. “You chose Charlotte and now you’re going to have to live with it.”

“Come on, Kid.” Eren groaned, following after her. “Beowulf is so much better.”

“Exactly, I’m not about to give it up anytime soon.” Y/N laughed. .

Eren opened his mouth to protest even further, but before he could, Y/N stopped in her tracks, causing Eren to shut up in confusion. He looked back at the girl, frozen in her spot, to find her staring straight ahead, her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at something in the building.

Following her line of sight, Eren’s stomach plummeted at the sight of Bertholdt waiting in the lobby, waving at them with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

The three of them met at the glass door.

“Bertholdt!” Y/N breathed, in a tone of surprise, once the sound barrier was lifted as Bertholdt pushed open the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, be saving a cat from a tree? Helping an old lady cross the street?” Eren added, sarcastically. That elicited another elbow in his side from the girl. He rubbed at the blooming pain. Man, this girl could pack a punch.

“Don’t listen to him.” Y/N interjected, causing Eren to deflate, her annoyed dismissal of him hurting a lot more than her side-wounding blow. She then grabbed Bertholdt by his arm, tugging him back into the building. Eren followed, begrudgingly. Suddenly free from the good mood he was in seconds earlier.

Once inside, the fireman stood awkwardly between the two, scratching the back of his neck, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. “Um, I was in the neighborhood. I thought I’d swing by.”

“I tried calling but you didn’t pick up.” He added, sending a wary glance towards the tall man who stood brooding beside him.

Y/N stiffened, at the unspoken insinuation, a flush creeping over her form as she once again felt like she betrayed Bertholdt. The girl quickly pulled out her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. Sure enough, a notification for a missed call sat alone on her lockscreen.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I was driving.” Y/N explained, nervously, jutting her thumb over her shoulder towards her moped. “I was at the grocery store where I ran into Eren.”

Bertholdt’s mouth formed over a silent ‘oh’ as he nodded. And Y/N wasn’t sure why she had to explain in such detail where she was and what she was doing, but it felt like she had to.

“Where are your groceries?” Bertholdt then asked. The question was answered by Eren silently holding out the bag in front of him. Bertholdt glanced at Eren, the same wariness in his eyes from before, and then slipped the tote from his fingers, throwing it over his own shoulder instead.

Y/N ignored Bertholdt's stare when he turned back towards her. Instead she pressed the elevator button, praying that this whole situation would be over soon. But unfortunately that wasn’t the case. The whole journey up to the seventh floor seemed to take years as it was filled with awkward silences and failed attempts of small talk.

Anytime Bertholdt tried to get to know the man that lived next to the girl he was dating, the brunette would only respond with one worded answers. And with every curt response from Eren, Y/N was begging for the elevator to move faster.

When the doors finally slid open, Y/N wasted no time grabbing a confused Bertholdt by his wrist. Not even looking back at Eren as she brought him into the hallway. Eren rolled his eyes, stepping off the elevator. It wasn’t going to be that easy to get rid of him. He was only a few steps behind them as they ventured towards their apartments.

Before the couple disappeared behind Y/N’s front door, Eren stopped beside them, gaining their attention. He didn’t say anything. Just handed Y/N the box of froot loops that he was still holding.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked down at the box in her hands. “What are you doing, these are yours?”

“I was getting them for you.” Eren replied, simply. “I owed you a box.”

He then brushed past her, moving to his door where he could spend the rest of his evening alone and any hope he had of spending time with Y/N was completely out of the picture.

Y/N had tried her best to bring back a normal atmosphere once Eren left her and Bertholdt alone. To be fair, Bertholdt tried too, with strained laughter and forced smiles as she showed him around her apartment. He made nice enough comments about the art on her walls and the color scheme she painstakingly picked out when she first moved in. But there was still tension that hung thick in the air, brought forth by the boy who lived next door and he wasn’t even in the room with them.

Silence now found them as Bertholdt helped her put her groceries away. Awkwardly shifting from her bag of groceries on the counter to various storage units in her kitchen. Y/N was standing on her tiptoes, placing her newly gifted froot loops on the highest shelf so that she wouldn’t be tempted to eat the whole box in one sitting. Though she struggled, the box almost slipped from her fingers as she pushed on it half-heartedly. Her not-yet boyfriend sighed, grabbing the box from her, to place it on the shelf himself. And there it stood alone, almost like a beacon of what it represented and where it came from.

“Thanks.” Y/N whispered, as she turned back to the bag of groceries, her hands growing cold as she grabbed a bundle of carrots, still moist from the faux rainshower that kept them fresh in the grocery store. The fridge brought forth another wave of cold, as she shoved them into her vegetable crisper.

“He seems to really like you.” Bertholdt responded suddenly. Y/N stared at him with confusion as the man plucked a box of tea from the confines of her tote, which he observed to avoid the girl's stare. Jasmine Tea. It seemed fitting of Y/N’s personality.

“Who?”

“Eren.” He shrugged, placing it on one of the lower shelves, nodding up to the cereal her neighbor so readily gave her.

Y/N laughed at the ridiculous idea. At least, it was ridiculous to her. But when she looked over at Bertholdt to find a serious expression on his face, she immediately shut her mouth.

Taking a step forward she grabbed one of Bertholdt’s cold hands.

“You got it all wrong.” She shook her head. “Eren hates me. And I hate him. We’re more like enemies than anything else.”

“Enemies who buy each other froot loops?” Bertholdt questioned, quirking his head to the side, and Y/N inwardly cursed at Eren for pulling such a move in front of her potential boyfriend. She had a strange feeling he did it on purpose. But that wasn’t what mattered. Her grip strengthened around Bertholdt’s hand and she made sure to look him directly in the eye.

“We tolerate each other… sometimes. But even then we barely get along.” Y/N said lamely, but it seemed that Bertholdt believed her as his features softened. “He stole my cereal so he was just paying his dues. I promise that’s it.”

“So… he doesn’t like you.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“And you don’t like him?”

“No.” Y/N said immediately. Maybe too immediate. But Bertholdt didn’t question it.

“Okay.” Bertholdt nodded with a sweet smile. And he saw how Y/N’s shoulders visibly relaxed. But at the sight of her comfort, he couldn’t help the strange feeling that told him Y/N was relieved she got away with something. A smooth criminal hidden by the exterior of the cute girl he met on a mission all those nights ago. He tried to ignore it as he pulled her into his arms, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. But as she kissed him back he wondered if she wished that he was someone else. That someone being the man who lived on the other side of her bedroom wall.

Bertholdt left shortly after they finished unpacking her groceries. Y/N had offered to put on a movie for an impromptu date, but he told her that he didn’t want to overstay his welcome, and that he had to be at the station soon anyways. So she let him go and watched from the window in her living room as his shiny car pulled out of the parking lot.

And for the first time ever, Y/N’s thoughts seemed to be stuck on Bertholdt as he faded from view.

Which already was a bad sign. If she couldn’t spend one measly hour thinking about the man she was dating without any other interrupting thoughts, then maybe she didn’t like Bertholdt as much as she thought she did.

But that made no sense at all. He was the perfect guy. He was nice to her. He held open the door for her wherever they went. He calls her beautiful and he means it with his whole heart. He was responsible, he had a job, and he was the type of guy you brought home to meet your parents. Bertholdt checked off every single box that made up the list of Y/N’s dream boyfriend. On paper he should have been perfect. But in real life he was… boring.

It was surprising that she wanted more than the simple uncomplicated relationship she always dreamed of. Y/N wondered when that change happened. It wasn’t like her to go out of her way to make her life more difficult. Maybe she didn’t want to follow the path that she had set for her life when she was younger. Maybe she just wanted a challenge,

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three sharp raps on her door pulled the girl from her thoughts. Padding over to the front entrance in sock-clad feet she opened it to find Eren standing in the hallway. Already in a crisp white t-shirt and his classic gray sweats. His hair was tied back into a neater bun that was no longer messed up by his helmet, revealing his teal eyes that were trained on her, that same look in his eye. Like he wanted something from her.

“Hi.” He breathed, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweats as he shifted his weight from the back of his feet to the front. He didn’t realize he was rocking back and forth out of nerves, until he literally had to stop his obvious movements.

Eren didn’t know exactly why he was nervous. He was simply here to… actually he also didn’t know why he was here. All he knew was that through the thin walls of this apartment complex, he heard Y/N’s front door slam shut after a muffled awkward goodbye. Before he knew it, Eren was tripping over his feet and shoving on his shoes so he could visit the girl next door. And he found himself here, knocking on her door before he could think better of it.

“You got me in trouble.” Y/N pouted, turning her back to Eren as she moved deeper into her apartment. She left the door open. He took that as an invitation to follow her inside, and closed the door behind him as he did.

“What do you mean?” Eren questioned, as he moved into her living room, finding her standing in the furthest corner, with her arms wrapped around her body. Like she was trying to keep her distance from him. Maybe it was best… considering the last thing they did in this room.

“Bertholdt tried to tell me that you liked me.” She said slowly, her eyes pointed to the ground as she spoke potentially revealing words.

“What?” Eren blurted with strained laughter, his heart leapt up to his throat. But he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t like Y/N. This should be easier than it is.“That’s insane.”

Y/N lifted her gaze, staring at him blankly. As if she didn’t believe the words out of Eren’s mouth. Did he even believe them? “Yeah, that’s what I tried to tell him.”

“He didn’t believe you?” Eren asked, his adam’s apple bobbing, sweat beginning to prickle in the palms of his hands.

“Not at first.” Y/N shrugged, letting her arms fall back down to her sides. “But eventually he did.”

Eren nodded. His tongue dragged over his bottom lip and his brows furrowed as he thought harder about this whole thing. He was certain of his feelings for Y/N. He didn’t like her. He didn’t want to be her boyfriend. But there was no denying the fact he was attracted to her. And was that tiny piece of information really that readable? Or was there something more to the puzzle that Bertholdt noticed. Something that caused him so much turmoil that he just had to bring it up to Y/N.

“What about you?” Eren suddenly asked.

“What about me?” Y/N responded with her own question, growing a tad defensive.

“Did he… Did he think that you might have feelings for me?”

Y/N sucked in a breath. “That didn’t come up.”

“Oh, okay.” Eren scoffed, “So, in this hypothetical and totally unrealistic fling we’ve got going on, it’s one sided on my part?”

“Of course it is!” Y/N retorted, her voice slightly raising at Eren’s sarcasm, “I’m dating someone for fuck’s sake, I’m not really in the right place to humor hypothetical flings.”

“That’s bullshit, Kid, and you know it.” Eren laughed bitterly, “If there’s a hypothetical fling for Bertholdt to notice, it wouldn’t solely be based on my hypothetical feelings for you.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Y/N practically shouted, “Why are we even talking about hypotheticals? There are no feelings, there is no fling!”

“Oh really?” Eren spat, heat creeping up on his cheeks, “So you agree that it wasn’t hypothetical when I brought you to an earth shattering orgasm right on that very couch?”

Embarrassment washed over her form. Not at all prepared for Eren to outright mention what happened between them. Y/N opened her mouth. And then closed it again. Eren was seething as she waited for her response.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘earth shattering’.” She retorted, crossing her arms again, pointing her nose away from Eren as she did.

“Jesus fucking christ, are you kidding me?” Eren groaned, rubbing a hand over his features in exasperation. “I mentioned the one thing that would actually scare off Bertholdt, and you decided to nitpick about the level of intensity of your orgasm?”

“Well it wasn’t earth shattering.” Y/N fought, and she was most definitely lying but Eren didn’t need to know that. “You have a big enough ego as is, let me be the first to tell you that you aren’t the sex god you claim yourself to be.”

“Do you have to argue with me about everything?” Eren shot back, his voice straining as he lost his temper.

“You make it pretty easy.” Y/N yelled. “And it’s a moot point anyways. It was my orgasm. I think I’ll be the one to say if it was good or not.”

“Fine! Forget the orgasm.” Eren gave up to the relentless girl standing in front of him, but he took a step forward, his breathing heavy as he continued, “But did you forget about the fact that we’re talking about something that happened between us? Something real and not at all hypothetical?”

“Yeah, okay it happened!” She relented, throwing her hands up in exasperation, “I just don’t know why you’re bringing it up all of a sudden.”

“Maybe because it’s a piece of information that your boyfriend might want to know if he’s worried about our relationship.” Eren pointed out.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Y/N snapped. “We’re not exclusive. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.” Eren responded, his tone considerably softer than they were just a second ago, but she could still see that anger or confusion twisted his features. “If anything it’s my fault. I basically proved what Bertholdt was thinking by coming on to you like that.”

The tension in Y/N’s shoulders slowly disappeared as she took in Eren’s words.

“Are you saying that you like me?” She asked softly, her eyes searching Eren’s face, maybe looking for the answer before it rolled off his tongue. Eren paused, his own shoulders dropping.

“I…” He started, did he like her? He still wasn’t sure. His brain was clouded with unanswered questions, new found feelings and unresolved tension. Eren was going insane because of this girl. But he still didn’t know if he was sure. But what he was certain of, was that Y/N deserved someone who was.

“I don’t like you.”

“Then what are we doing here?” Y/N laughed, but there was no humor in her tone. She turned her back to him, moving towards the window to watch the scenery go by, her pretty features lost to him.

“I don’t know.” Eren murmured.

“I think I do.” She said, softly. Eren didn’t respond. But Y/N answered the question anyway.

“We’re not doing anything.” Y/N sucked in a shuddering breath, “What happened between us meant nothing. And it was a one time thing.”

Eren felt like a knife had plunged through his chest. But he didn’t argue. He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him.

“I agree.” He replied.

“Good.”

“Great.”

They stood in silence. Their breathing still heavy from the absolute shitshow that just took place in Y/N’s living room, neither party feeling good about how it ended. But neither one of them were brave enough to speak that part out loud.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” Y/N asked, hoping that he couldn’t hear the tears in her voice that started spilling the moment he admitted he didn’t like her.

“Yeah. You will.” Eren replied, the knife twisting in his heart, which slowly brought on a new dawn of comprehension he wouldn’t fully understand until he lived to regret it.

~~~

A/N: Oh maaan, so they ended up fighting whoopdie doo!! the inspo for this chapter was obviously That’s The Way I Loved You by T swizzle, and that one episode in New Girl when Jess wanted something more passionate from her BF and when she didn’t get it she immediately started fighting with Nick (the true love of her life 😤) so obviously, look at how those ended, and try to put the puzzle pieces together... this fight isn’t the ending.. obvi bc we got quite a few chapters left lol anyways I HOPE YOU LIKED IT! pls feel free to message me :D

Taglist: @didiyogo @the-princess-button @coyloves @prblmtic @httpjaeg @tenaciouswritersheep @erentoes @mariaerdgzn @jaegersdiary @mvtcha-latte @s8m-atemynoodles @artsyblkkid @sashatanaka @pina-chan @dilf-city

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren #eren jaeger #eren yeager #aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyoujin #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #snk x reader #shingeki no kyoujin x reader

184 notes · View notes

canonicallyobserving911 · 2 days ago

Text

“I can’t imagine anything more painful than going through life alone. Except maybe one thing… going through death alone.”

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

New Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - 8x6 "Confessions" through mid-season finale Speculation: “I can’t imagine anything more painful than going through life alone. Except maybe one thing… going through death alone.”

Chapter 3 is now available on AO3.

“I can’t imagine anything more painful than going through life alone. Except maybe one thing… going through death alone.”

Fic Summary: Eddie feels completely alone, he isolates himself and the weight of it causes him to slip into a deep depression. Once he accepts the fact that he’ll die alone, he has a decision to make regarding his life. Buck finally gets clarity about his relationship status and once he does, realization sets in and he becomes frustrated that he didn’t see it coming. Will they finally figure out they’re each other’s person before it’s too late?

Currently 3 of 6 chapters completed: 50.5K Words; Rated: Teens and Up Audiences

One chapter will be posted at a time.

___________

Here are two snippets from Chapter 3. One is of a conversation Buck's having with a victim during a call and the other is of Eddie having a heated conversation with his mother about his son. (I don't like how the show is handling the Eddie and Chris situation so I'm fixing it.)

___________

Buck

Once Buck looks at Ed again, he can see he’s worried so he tries to get him to talk. “Ed, uh… you said you and Chuck were firefighters until you retired but you um… didn’t say which firehouse you worked from.”

“I didn’t but it was the 142 until I went to EMS Operations and Chuck got promoted to captain.”

He keeps talking about the lives they’ve lived and Buck learns a lot more about the two of them and he’s not sure if he should call it déjà vu or future déjà vu but he knows there are lots of resemblances and similarities between him and Eddie and Ed and Chuck.

After a few moments, Buck nods and when he takes a good look at Ed and Chuck, he thinks they look like older versions of him and Eddie. Ed has brown eyes, olive skin, dark salt and pepper hair with a curl that’s sitting on his forehead and from where he’s hanging, he looks like he might be the same height and weight as Eddie too. Also, he’s a medic who served in the Army. Chuck appears to be the same height and weight as Buck. His hair is curly but it’s mostly gray and the things Ed said about him reminds Buck of Thomas' and Mitchell's relationship.

Buck looks at Ed and notices he’s fading in and out of consciousness. “Hey… Ed, stay with me, ok?”

Ed slowly nods, then he turns his head and looks at Buck.

“Tell me about Chuck. When did you two meet?”

∞∞∞

Eddie

“Mom, please… I don’t mean to interrupt you and I’m not trying to be disrespectful but Chris going to El Paso was supposed to be temporary.”

“But Edmundo, I told you while we were there it might be indefinitely.”

“You’re right you did but I didn’t agree to it and neither did Chris.”

She tsks and continues. “He’s been here living with us since May. He’s happy and he’s thriving so I don’t understand why you have a problem with us being his primary caretakers. He’ll always be biologically yours but we should raise him because we know what’s best and furthermore, we’ve already started the installation of the pool, so he won’t have to go to that lake anymore.”

“Mom, I didn’t tell you to do that. The way you’re acting is like Chris is your son but he’s not.”

“I know that but he’s our grandson and his happiness is what’s important. So… don’t drag him down with you, Eddie.”

Once again this conversation feels like a fucking déjà vu movie or some shit and this is bigger than a damn song because she said the same thing to him more than 7 years ago before he relocated them to L.A.

___________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie’s avoiding conversations with everyone at the 118 to prevent having to talk about how lonely he feels. On the other hand, Buck excitedly prepares to spend a romantic weekend with his boyfriend only to learn something he should already know.

Chapter 2 - Eddie appears to be happy whenever he’s at work but the truth is he’s masking his high-functioning depression with smiles and laughter. After another call with Chris, he falls deeper into depression and for the second time since he’s been living in L.A., he considers risking it all because he has nothing to lose. Since Buck’s got clarity on his non-existent romantic relationship, his fear of being left behind resurfaces and it causes him to spiral and he thinks he’s lost everything. In his search for answers to his relationship problems, he starts asking the questions he should have asked years ago.

Chapter 3 - Both Buck and Eddie experience déjà vu numerous times over the course of three days and during those encounters, Buck’s reminded of his own definition of love while defining moments from Eddie’s past resurface and he finally forces himself to confront them.

Chapter 4 - Will be posted soon.

Chapter 5 - Will be posted soon.

Chapter 6 - Will be posted soon.

__________

Read: chapters 1 - 3 are available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

9 notes · View notes

daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years ago

Photo

Words: 6,188 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan + flashbacks in other eras Warnings: language, fear and anxiety, mention of fear of heights Summary: Y/N and Daryl head out on the run for the requested medical supplies. Things are tense, but possibly about to get worse... This part is written in Daryl's POV!

Your name: submit What is this?

* * *

“I ain’t waitin’. I got a whiff of him and I gotta go before it disappears.”

“Daryl, are you sure about this?” Carol pressed him, creases from worry between her eyebrows. “Are you sure you’ve really thought this through?”

“What is there to think through? If he finds her again, he’ll kill her. And I ain’t waitin’ around for that to happen.” The archer was a blur of activity, gathering his gear and shoving it into his pack.

“I think you need to talk to her about this,” Carol insisted, relinquishing her hold on his poncho somewhat unwillingly as Daryl pulled it from her hands.

He shook his head. “Nah. Ya know she’ll want to be there and I can’t risk that…” he trailed off. “I can’t risk—can’t risk that.”

A thick silence stretched for a moment and Carol wrung her hands. “Well, what are you going to tell her?”

He paused, his hands on the clasp of his pack. “I ain’t tellin�� her anythin’. I’ll leave before its light tomorrow. By the time everyone is up, I’ll be gone.”

“What am I supposed to tell her then? When she inevitably asks?” Carol pressed him. “You want me to lie to her too?”

“I ain’t lyin’,” Daryl snapped. “‘M just not—not tellin’ her everythin’. ‘M ending this so she can move on.”

Carol’s jaw tensed. “It feels like a lie.”

“Just tell her I went north. To see what I could see. Lookin’ for supplies,” he drawled, setting his pack and crossbow on the ground beside his bed. “I don’t know.”

Carol sighed heavily and shook her head as he straightened up. “I don’t think this is—”

“Look, tell her whatever ya want. Just wait until ‘m gone. This is happenin’. It’ll be done. S’gonna be over with. For good.”

She shook her head and gave him a long look before crossing his cell and gently clasping his shoulder. “Be careful. I mean it,” she said, surrendering to the fact that there would be no changing his mind. He nodded, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment.

“I will.”

Carol gave him one last look full of anxiety and left him.

* * *

I hardly slept. Maybe caught 20 minutes here and 15 minutes there. Anxiety about the run—that’s all it was. At least, that’s what I kept tellin’ myself. Wanderin’ into a hospital was about the dumbest shit we could do. They always promised to be loaded with unexpected bullshit and floods of undead assholes. But lyin’ flat on my back in the dark, I knew deep down it had a helluva lot more to do with her than it had to do with the run. I was tryin’ to remember the last time I’d spent more than ten minutes alone with her and it left me with a feelin’ like somebody had dropped a damn lead weight onto my chest. I turned over in bed in an attempt to throw it off, but it still sat there on my lungs. I knew exactly when we’d last been alone for longer than a few minutes. Of course I fuckin’ knew. It was burned into my goddamn memory.

But it wasn’t doin’ me a lick of good to think on it so I pushed it away and waited for the clock beside me to read 5:15 before I climbed out of bed. My gear was all waitin’ ready, except for pickin’ up a gun on the way out. I half-expected to run into her in the armory, but it was dark and empty when I grabbed a handgun and some ammo. It felt like a lonely walk to Aaron’s, up the empty street, dew heavy on the grass, and my bootsteps echoing loudly off the dark rows’a houses. I never feel right in here… with the square little lawns and lights on by the front doors. It just felt fake, like somebody had built paper houses and was plannin’ to light ‘em up to burn any minute. I couldn’t feel settled. I just felt… lost. Outta place. Like I didn’t belong.

I’d gotten rid of that feelin’ once… My mind drifted back to her like it always did. It was like I didn’t have no damn control over my own mind. She’d been the one who’d made me feel like I belonged. But now? Fuck. I’m doin’ it again. Focus, dumbass.

She wasn’t waitin’ by my bike either, so I rode up to the gate. As the lookout platform came into view, I caught sight of her climbing down, followed by Gabriel. Her pack was slung on her back, a shotgun hanging at her side and her favorite pistol in a holster on her thigh. I found myself chewing the inside of my cheek. Nerves. Anxiety. This was gonna be a long fuckin’ day.

“I’ve got the gate,” Gabriel said, heading for the latch. She wandered over and I felt a jolt when she met my eyes. I nudged my nose up in a nod, but she just looked back at me with that same stony expression. Unreadable. It always seemed like I never saw her smile anymore. Maybe she did, just not around me. I got that blank look or a glare that I probably deserved…

“Were ya on watch?” I asked, curious why she wouldn’ta gotten rid of her shift in favor of sleep, knowing we’d be heading out on a run early.

“No,” she said simply. No extra info. Typical. Why waste more on me when one word would do? She didn’t owe me nothin’. And she knew it. I swallowed my other questions and leaned forward on my bike so she could climb on. I felt her settle in behind me and glanced over my shoulder at her. She caught my eyes for a brief moment before looking away, down toward the ground. That was typical too. It was like she just couldn’t look at me. Felt like somebody twisted a blade in my chest every time she dodged me like that. And yet I couldn’t get enough of her, even if she was purposely a giant pain in the ass most of the damn time… I still felt like she was a mirage in a desert. A mouthful of cool water in a drought. Food for a starvin’ man.

Gabriel was waiting with the gate open, so I revved the bike to life again. Her arms wrapped around my waist to hold on and for a second I thought I felt her cheek press against the back of my shoulder, but I knew I must have imagined it. My heart was racing as we pulled out. I was more anxious than I had been all night. The thoughts rushing through my head moved so fast I couldn’t even focus on any of them.

Gabriel yelled at us to be safe as we moved through, kickin’ dust up that left a glowing red cloud behind from the reflection of the taillights. The ride to the city was smooth. We made good time, luckily only passing lone walkers or small herds that were easy to avoid. Around the curves, for a brief moment, she’d hold tighter to me and lean into the turns like I’d taught her in what felt like another fuckin’ lifetime. Each corner I could feel every individual fingertip pressing into my waist or stomach. It was always followed by a sudden wash of heat like somebody had shoved me in a shower with the temperature all the way up. I couldn’t control it. Didn’t matter how hard I tried to ignore the feelin’ of being so damn close against each other…

I slowed down as we neared the hospital. Cars sat rusting in gridlocked traffic, tires long gone, frozen in time—same place they were when everythin’ shut the fuck down. I slowed my bike to roll over some debris and hit a chunk of concrete a little harder than I meant to. Her arms tightened around me reflexively at the jolt before loosening again the next second. My heart jolted at the same time. That feeling… of her clinging onto me for safety—but fuck. Let’s not make it out to be more than it is, dumbass. I turned toward my left shoulder. “Sorry,” I murmured. She didn’t say anything back, just shifted in her place behind me, puttin’ an inch more space back between us. The hospital came into view ahead, tall over everything else on the block.

She tapped my arm and I turned so I could hear her over the engine. “We should park. Sound of the bike,” she said. I knew what she was thinkin’. Any walkers or people anywhere around would hear us. I turned down a side street and parked in a loading dock bay. She climbed off about as damn fast as she could. Kicking the kickstand out and swinging my leg over, she was already walking back toward the corner of the building to look down the street.

“Hold up,” I called after her. I still had to get my gear off the back. She either didn’t hear me or didn’t give a shit and I found myself gritting my teeth. But when I rushed around the corner, I nearly collided with her. She did wait. She was leaned up against the brick, her shotgun in her hands, staring ahead at the looming building.

She straightened up as I stopped beside her and we started windin’ our way down the last couple blocks, keepin’ to the shadows of the buildings, stayin’ in cover as best we could. Even so, I couldn’t help glancin’ up at the endless windows, too many high points. All it would take is one asshole with a rifle and a scope... My hands started to sweat as I gripped my crossbow. I glanced at her, but she was as stony-faced as ever. “C’mon,” I said, quickening my stride. “I wanna get the hell off this street.”

I heard her let out a small scoff behind me. “Yeah, you’re the only one worried about being out here,” she murmured. My teeth clenched again but I did my best to ignore it. There was no point gettin’ riled up this early in the day. We still had a lot of fuckin’ work to do. We reached a set of double doors on the side of the hospital, but one glance inside showed they were well barricaded. I stood there rubbing a hand over the stubble on my face. “S’try the south door,” I drawled. To my surprise, she didn’t argue. But that side was a fuckin’ bust too. “Shit,” I spat out. There was a tall cabinet blocking the entrance.

“Good call,” she said sarcastically.

I shot her a glare. And this time when I bit my cheek, I tasted blood. “Ya got a better fuckin’ idea? Huh?” I challenged her.

She rolled her eyes, studying the door for a moment. There was a large glass pane above it that was broken out and I saw her eyes lock in on it. “Boost me up there,” she said, inclining her chin to indicate the window.

Did she want to go in alone? Well, that sure as shit wasn’t fuckin’ happenin’. “Like hell,” I growled back. She rolled her eyes again.

“Just boost me through and I’ll get the door open. I’ll let you in.”

Now it was my turn to scoff. “Ya gonna move that cabinet? By yerself?” I asked skeptically. The muscle in her jaw tensed.

“I don’t have to move it far. Just enough to let you squeeze in. And you can help from the outside.”

I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth. I didn’t like the idea. I paced a tight circle, thinkin’, as she shifted impatiently beside me. “What if ya get in there and there are walkers? Huh? We can’t see shit down the hall.”

“I’ll be quiet. Come on. We haven’t got all fucking day and we’re sitting ducks out here. Unless you’ve come up with something better—”

I didn’t like it, but she was right. Shit. “Fine,” I interrupted. She leaned her shotgun up against the wall as I set my back against the door, fingers locked together and hands low at my bent knee. “C’mon. Gimme yer foot.”

She seemed to hesitate and I wondered if she was having second thoughts, but the next moment she stepped close in front of me and her hands came to my shoulders. “Ready?” I asked. Her face was maybe six inches from mine, her hands light. I started to feel warm again, a flush of heat across the back of my neck that started spillin’ into my chest. I could see every fleck of color in her eyes, the upturned curve of her eyelashes, that little scar on her chin... Fuck. Focus.

“Ready.” She planted her boot in my hands and I boosted her up so she could grab the window edge. The tinkling of glass dropping in was all I could hear for a moment, and then her weight disappeared from my hands. Spinning around, I watched her pull herself through onto the top of the cabinet. She stayed perched there for a moment, glancin’ behind her, scoutin’ the hallway, before she dropped to her feet lightly. She made it look easy. Graceful.

I couldn’t stand still, constantly shifting my weight. I watched her face tighten as she wedged her shoulder into the cabinet, using all her weight, and it started to move at an angle away from the door. I pushed in with my shoulder from the outside and we finally had enough space for me to slip through. I passed her shotgun through first before turnin’ sideways and slidin’ in. It was dark and completely silent except for the sound of our own breathin’. It felt stuffy inside, and I could vaguely smell somethin’ sharp like animal piss and a sickeningly sweet smell. Death. Decay. I paused to draw the string on my crossbow back, cocking it ready to fire, a bolt nestled in the flight groove.

She pulled her flashlight out from the side pocket of her pack and clicked it on, shining it partially up the hallway ahead. “Jesus…” Her boots crunched over broken glass. She adjusted the shoulder strap of her shotgun, her eyes fixed down the hall, following the moving beam of her light. “This place is a fucking wreck,” she whispered. In her distraction, her tone lacked the usual hostility or sarcasm.

“Somethin’ went down since we were last here,” I agreed. There was a lot more debris and furniture toppled over and strewn about. A lot of obstacles to a clean getaway if we had to make one. “Let’s just get this done and get the hell out.”

“What a unique idea…” she remarked over her shoulder. There it was. Damn sarcasm was back.

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes and movin’ past her so I was in the lead. I knew it would annoy her, but I secretly wanted to be the one in the line of fire if somethin’ was crooked. I headed for the stairwell, pullin’ my own flashlight out and shinin’ it inside before I tried the door. It looked clear. “Upper floors are more likely to have shit left. Let’s go.”

We moved in silence. I could feel her ghosting behind me the whole way, almost mimicking my movements. This was the first time the two of us had been alone on a run since… since I dun even know when. But despite it being so goddamn long, we weren’t out of step. Once we started movin’ it was like no damn time had passed. We fell right back into our old rhythm. I knew her and she knew me. We worked well together when she put aside her need to argue with everythin’ I said. It still felt like we each knew what the other was thinkin’. Not that I expected this run would magically make working together bearable again for good, or solve anything, but at least we could if we had to. I also now was realizin’ this whole thing was probably orchestrated by Rick. Did Denise really need the supplies? Sure. But did it have to be Y/N and I gettin’ ‘em? Alone? Fuck no. I dunno exactly what he was hopin’ for but I’m pretty sure he’ll be disappointed…

Moving steadily upwards, we had most of the supplies on the list, plus plenty of extra finds, but I was growing more and more uneasy as we went on. We hadn’t run into a single fucking walker yet, and to me that meant they were probably herded up in a massive hoard somewhere. It felt like a matter of time before we found them or they found us. I could sense Y/N’s tension risin’ again too. She was more fidgety, more careful about each step she took. I found myself frequently sweeping my eyes back behind us to make sure nothin’ was lurking just outta the flashlight beams. There were the usual signs of walkers nearby; smears of blood on the floor and walls, that fuckin’ smell ya could never get outta yer nose, even chunks of flesh from the rottin’ fuckers. But we still hadn’t seen one, and I was fuckin’ worried.

“Almost got everything,” Y/N whispered to me, shoving a couple more bottles into her pack. “We just need to find the CPAP machine,” she murmured, staring down at the list. “I don’t have a fucking clue what the hell that looks like.” She glanced over at me, one of her eyebrows quirked in a question and I realized she was waitin’ for some kinda response.

“What? Yer lookin’ at me? I ain’t got a goddamn clue what the hell that even is,” I said gruffly. Shit. I saw it. Just for a second, but one corner of her lips twitched up in a smile and I swear there was a spark in her eyes—like the ones I used to see in her all the time. My heart jumped and I tried my best to ignore it. She seemed to turn away, hidin’ her face right as I was puzzlin’ over it.

“Right… well, let’s try down the hall. There’s probably another supply closet at the other end,” she said, nudging her head toward the darkness ahead.

We made our way cautiously. I pushed into the lead again and was surprised when she didn’t argue. I tried every door handle but most of ‘em just led to empty or trashed patient rooms. I caught her frozen in the doorway of one that had a massive bloodstain on the floor and spatter partially up the walls. Her eyes were wide and vacant, and I wondered what she was reliving. “Hey,” I said, just over her shoulder. She seemed to pull out of it abruptly and she turned away, moving on like nothin’ had happened. I let her go ahead, mainly so I could keep an eye on her for a minute and make sure she still had her head in the game, but I didn’t need to worry. Not about that anyway. She’d always been tough. She wasn’t shaken by shit easily. I knew that. And yet I still had this drive to want to protect her, even though she didn’t need it from me. And she definitely didn’t want it from me.

“Here,” she said suddenly, slinging her gun back on her shoulder and more fully opening the door to a small supply closet. There was hardly enough room for her to stand inside, so I posted up just behind her and strained my eyes and ears for anythin’. “It’s all electronic stuff,” she whispered, entirely focused at the task at hand. Her hands floated from one device to the next, illuminated by her flashlight. She was looking for some label or model number or somethin’ to tell her what they were. She bent down and grabbed some scattered papers from among the boxes on the floor. Swearing under her breath she held one up to the flashlight. “Of course the cover and all the useful shit in the front is torn off,” she muttered. She was bending down to grab another handful when there was some sudden, deep noise on the floor above us.

My heart seemed to stall out for a moment and she straightened up and froze, her eyes lifted toward the ceiling, lips partially parted. The sound seemed to reverberate through the building. I could feel it beneath my feet. It resonated through the walls. After a moment, I was looking at her and she glanced over and met my eyes, her eyebrows a little furrowed with worry.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked in a harsh whisper. I only shook my head. She gulped and refocused, shakin’ it off, focusing back on the papers. She was flipping page after page, scanning them as fast as she could.

I started to hear some more noises above us and then eventually spilling toward the other end of the hall. My grip on my crossbow tightened. “We need to move,” I said, keeping my voice low.

She was still intensely focused on the manual in her hands. “Just gimme a minute…” she said vaguely.

I shifted, turning more toward the far end of the hallway, straining my hearing. There was more clattering above us. “We might not have another damn minute.”

“Just—hold on—”

Fuck. I stood frozen for a moment as a herd of walkers started to spill out from the stairwell at the other end of the hallway and start toward us. “We ain’t got a minute, Y/N!” I urged in a harsh whisper. She didn’t seem to hear me.

There were more walkers than I could count. They hadn’t spotted us yet but I had to move fast, so I did the only damn thing I could think of and pushed her forward into the closet, pressing in after her and shutting the door as quietly as I could. I instinctively clicked my flashlight off and hurried to grab hers and do the same, plunging the two of us into darkness in that small space.

“Daryl, what the hell?!” she snapped at me. She’d been so focused she was completely oblivious to the mass of dead wandering our way. The goddamn closet was so small I had no choice but to be pressed into her… My heart started to pound and I think it had more to do with her against me than the undead assholes outside. I was sure she’d be able to feel it and prayed she’d just think it was adrenaline or somethin’. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

I shoved my hand over her mouth, all my patience gone. Did she really think I’d shoved her in a closet for the hell of it? “For once in yer goddamn life just shut up!” I growled in a low voice. She seemed to tense against me but in the quiet the sounds of the walkers outside the door were now easily heard above our ragged breathin’ and they were growing louder every second. I still had one hand over her mouth and the other clenching my crossbow at my side. She shifted against me and pulled my hand away. I could hear and feel her breathin’ pick up pace. I planted my palm on the wall behind her, next to her head, very aware of the growin’ heat pooling between the two of us where we were pressed together. The air felt suffocatin’. I started to worry the walkers outside the door would be able to hear my breathin’ I was so nervous. I wanted to shift, move away from her like I’m sure she wanted… I wanted to change positions and get my bow up, but it was impossible.

She didn’t seem to know where to put her arms within the tight, dark space. I couldn’t blame her. I was leaned in against her, sorta over her even. I felt her hand accidentally brush my arm and my body jolted a little at the contact, like some reflex I didn’t know I had. My teeth ground together. After that she seemed to settle away from me, into the wall behind her.

We had to just stay there, fuckin’ frozen, hardly room to breathe while the hoard passed by. Every once and a while, a body would thump hard against the door and I’d feel her flinch. I could feel sweat dripping down my neck and beading up on my face, my hair sticking to it. We were so close I could feel her breath against my skin when she faced toward me. I felt the rhythm of her breathin’. And I couldn’t ignore the fact that in that tiny ass closet, the only thing I could smell was the faint scent of her shampoo. I tried hard not to notice, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t try to put some name to the smell. Lavender? Not quite. Maybe more like rose? I dunno. And despite the possible death lurking just outside, I found it hard to focus on anythin' other than the feeling of her against me.

It felt like it took hours for the hoard to pass, but it was probably only ten minutes. But after the sounds drifted away we were still left with a big fuckin’ problem. They had to go somewhere, and my best guess was that they were travelin’ down.

It was so dark in there I couldn’t even tell if my fuckin’ eyes were open or closed, and it seemed to be makin’ it hard to think… Or maybe the angle of her one hip pressed into me was—fuck. Get it together, man… I fumbled for and clicked on my flashlight, findin' the two of us both wincin' at the sudden glare, noses almost touchin'. She was lookin’ up at me, her lips softly parted, her expression only full of concern for once, that little worry line she always gets near her eyebrow.

We both stayed like for a second. I guess just struck by actually seein’ how close we were in the sudden light, until finally she tore her eyes away and turned her head.

I tried to clear my throat, worried my voice was gonna come out soundin' strained or somethin’. “Uhh… sounded like they were goin’—”

“—down. Yeah,” she finished.

My eyes traced the angle of her jawline as she kept her face turned away from me. I heard the paper manual crinkle in her hand and groped for the doorknob behind me. “Yeah,” I agreed quietly. “So, we got a problem about gettin’ out.” My hand finally landed on the doorknob and I turned it and slowly opened the door on the hall, checking both directions carefully but also feelin’ like if I didn’t put some damn space between the two of us again I was about to explode. It looked clear and I stepped out. Glancin’ back, she still seemed frozen, up against the wall, her face turned away toward her shoulder so I couldn’t really get a read on her. “Hey. What is it?” I prompted her.

“Hmm?” She seemed to snap back to herself. “N—nothing…” She went back to searching the manual in her hand, like nothin’ had fuckin’ happened. Just one goddamn time I’d like to know what the fuck is goin’ on inside her head… But I ain’t got no right to that. She’s made that pretty fuckin’ clear.

It wasn’t the right manual or the right machine. But she went through two more until she found it. “Got it,” she announced, waving the paper at me before shoving it into her already full duffel bag. She seized a small machine from the shelf and started trying to rearrange items to make it fit in her pack.

“I got room,” I said, still nervously checkin’ over my shoulder. I thought I could hear the hoard moving below us, maybe two floors down.

“It’s fine. I can make it fit,” she said, jostling more stuff in her bag.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the damn thing from her, slinging my crossbow strap over my shoulder. “Ya’d really rather split yer pack at the seams than take any fuckin’ help from me,” I murmured. I didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t need one…

She stepped out of the closet and I caught her wiping her forearm across her forehead. It left a smear of dirt near her hairline. I had to pull myself back to the present. “So, how are we getting out of here?” she asked, adjusting her pack and the duffel bag strap on her shoulder.

I glanced at her, knowing she wasn’t gonna like my idea.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve obviously got something. Just get on with it.”

“Fire escape,” I said.

I watched the muscle in her jaw twitch as he jaw clenched. “Fuckin’ great…”

“Unless ya got somethin’ else—”

“You know I don’t,” she snapped back at me. She wiped a hand across her forehead again, swiping away fresh drops of sweat. “It’s—” She cut herself off. “Let’s just go,” she sighed, defeated.

I looked at her for a second more, trying to gauge just how freaked out she was, but it didn’t seem to matter. We didn’t have any other options.

“Let’s go,” she snapped again. “Before I change my mind about being able to handle this.”

“It ain’t—”

She squeezed her eyes shut and I watched her body tense. “I swear to god, Dixon, if you say ‘It ain’t that bad’ or ‘It ain’t that high’ right now, I will lose my shit and attract every fucking walker in this goddamn building. I don’t even give a fuck.” Her jaw muscle twitched.

I couldn’t help letting out a sigh that was more of a growl than anything but then I turned and headed for the window a couple doors down that I’d noticed was busted out. Leaning through, I scanned the outside of the building for a fire escape. Nothing on that side.

“It’s probably around the other side. Let’s try the end of the hall,” she suggested. Her boots stayed rooted to the floor and I glanced at her again. She caught my eyes and must have read the concern on my face.

“I’m fine. You’re the last person I need worrying about me,” she growled.

Fuck. She could be infuriating… I found my hand clenching and unclenching a few times before I followed her back out of the room.

She was right. There was a fire escape down that side. I grabbed a piece of metal off the floor and straightened up. “Ya ready?” I asked one more time. “They might hear this glass break so we gotta fuckin’ move.” I thought her hands were a bit shaky.

“Just do it,” she said. And this time, I could hear the quiver in her voice.

I smashed the window and knocked out the glass before pullin' myself through. The metal grates rattled under my boots and she looked suddenly sick as she approached the window sill. I hesitated a second before reaching a hand out to help her through.

“I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t look fine, but she gripped the ledge and climbed out. “Oh, fuck. Fuck…” she muttered as her feet landed on the platform. She was keeping her eyes fixed straight out. Even just the metal grates at th prison used to freak her out, and that was one floor.

I wanted to comfort her but… I wasn’t dumb enough to think it’d help or that she wanted me to, so instead I just started down the stairs at a good pace. She followed stiffly behind me, gripping onto the railing with white knuckles and falling behind.

Every once and a while I’d glance back and she looked like she was about to be sick, but she was still following. We hit a snag as we reached the third-floor platform. A large part of it had rusted and fallen away, leaving a gaping hole we would have to edge around to reach the next set of stairs.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” I heard her behind me and when I looked back her eyes were wide and round and she was clutching onto the railing like it was a lifeline.

“S’fine. I’ll cross first. Just keep over—”

“Oh, really, Daryl? I should keep over to the side? You mean I should stay away from the huge fucking hole in the goddamn floor?” It kept drawing her eyes and I’d see her rip them back up and away, reeling.

I knew that was mostly coming from the fact that she was fuckin’ terrified, but every harsh word from her still stung. “Fine. Clearly, yer good,” I spat back. “Ya don’t need me and ya don’t give a shit and yer fine. I fuckin’ got it.” So much for trying to calm her down. I edged past the hole in the metal grating and went down the next set of stairs. Finally, I just had to push down the ladder, climb down, and we’d be on solid ground again. But when I looked back up, she was still frozen where she had been, on the far side of the platform. I watched her for another minute, waiting to see if she’d move. I knew she wasn’t gonna ask for help, not from me, but she obviously needed it and tough shit, I’m the only damn person here. I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck, anxious to even try again, and climbed back up. I edged past the rusted-out hole and stopped next to her. “Just gimme yer hand.” She didn’t loosen her grip on the railing, and her eyes landed on my face. “S’fine. Just for two seconds, lemme fuckin’ help ya.”

Her chest was heaving with fearful breaths and I guess the idea of tryin’ to cross along that edge alone was worse than puttin’ her hand in mine. Part of me still thought she’d take the heights over me, but she didn’t… She pried her hand off the railing and placed it into mine. I—I can’t say my heart didn’t jump when my fingers closed around it. The motorcycle. The fuckin’ closet. Now this. We’d hardly been within six feet of each other for years and now all this in one day… I felt dizzy. It ain’t like Rick could have predicted these things would happen. He sure as shit couldn’t command a hoard to force us into each other in a tiny closet… but he must have been hopin’ for somethin’ by sendin’ us out here. Was it gonna work on her? I fuckin’ doubt it.

As we stepped along the edge of the edge of the platform, she held her breath. She always seemed like nothing in this fucked up world scared her anymore, nothing phased her. Half the time it almost seemed like she didn’t give a shit if she died. But this? Heights? This still scared her on some level she couldn't reason away.

But we made it across just fine. She was gripping onto me so tightly I thought she might have bruised the bones in my damn hand. And as we climbed down the next set of stairs, long past the danger, she was still holding onto me. But just as quickly as I realized it, she slipped her hand out and stiffened next to me again, fixing her eyes away toward the railing, which she grabbed onto again desperately.

We made it down the ladder, dropping onto the concrete and making a run back to my bike, slippin' from cover to cover, packs heavy and weighing us down. I was thinking how batshit crazy it was that we’d just done a hospital run and hadn’t had to kill a single walker AND managed to get all the damn supplies... when we rounded the last corner and a string of curses left her mouth.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. What the fuck?!” She knelt down next to my bike and as I looked, my stomach dropped.

“Son of a fuckin' bitch.” Both tires on my motorcycle were slashed. Ruined. Fuck.

We were stranded in the city without a runnin’ vehicle and somebody knew we were here.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

497 notes · View notes

rawbins-undertale-blog · 3 years ago

Note

hey there again!!!

might i slide in this fine ask box with another HC request?

if yes, then could you please write some HCs where uf and ht sanses and papyruses (seperate of course) s/o gets put in a hospital for a lil bit? you can decide what happened to s/o. maybe a bad heatstroke cuz its summer or something (totally not because its a bad heatwave where im living rn haha nope). idk, i just crave angst or hurt/comfort again from my fave skeletons.

if you're not up for this, its totally fine!!

thank you, have a chill day/night B)

- 🌌 anon whos sunburns arent stinging that much anymore B)

*Evil cackling* OH-HO-HO, yOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT MONSTER YOU HAVE UNLEASHED…… I am an evil being who feeds off of angst and pain, and you’ve given me ample opportunity to make some of that sweet sweet angst >:-)))))))))

I tried to keep it ambiguous as to what you’re in for, mostly because I want you to be able to imagine heatstroke and me to be able to think “hahahah stab stab”! ^^

Also!!! The healthcare system in some other countries is fucking insane (like??? You guys have to pay to not die??????) so I’ll be going off of what I know about the healthcare system in Sweden where it’s free. (At least I’m 99% sure it’s free, except for like. Small things. For example, my antidepressants. I had to buy those myself when I was still on them.)

UF + HT BROS WHEN S/O IS IN THE HOSPITAL

Red (Underfell Sans):

He’s panicking so so bad, he’s terrified. What if you die?

Curses out anybody who tries to keep him from you, including the poor nurse who’s just doing their job

Actually he just. curses in general. He’s just spewing cuss words to seem angry instead of scared because That’s Definitely Better

Most likely out of all four to physically lash out at… well, anybody (except you obviously) lol

Red hates hospitals too, to make matters worse. He doesn’t know why, but they make him feel uncomfortable.

If somebody did this to you purposely and he’s not allowed by your side, he’s going out to find the person and kick their ass during that time lol

If nobody did this to you, he’s pacing and cursing and jfc Red, you do realise there are other people here right enjdjdjdjsjsk

This fucker tries to pull a “pfff nah i was never worried” but like. Red. Darling. Light of my life. Stars in my sky. Center of my universe. Bitch of my heart. Everyone can see right through your “anger” and literally your shaking voice is so not convincing. Get a better poker face and voice.

With some prodding, admits that finehewasscaredyou’ddieandhethoughthisheartstoppedforasecondwhichisweird’causehedoes’tevenhaveaheartanywaysthat’sovernowsowhocares

(He’s not great at expressing himself but it’s still progress)

WILL be staying right by you as you recover. You’ve no choice. (You do actually, he respects you and will back off if you tell him to)

Edge (Underfell Papyrus):

Oh no. Oh no.

Edge is trying his very best not to show any emotions but he’s not good at it because like. It doesn’t take a genius to see that him screeching angrily at people and demanding for the doctors to fix this is actually him poorly masking his fear. Edge doesn’t have the best poker face lol

He’s so pissed if he can’t stay right next to you the whole time. You’re his S/O!! What kind of bullshit is this?!

If you do need to be left alone with doctors and such things, Edge will do one or two things depending on why you're in the hospital, how bad what you’re in for is and for how long he can’t see you.

If you’re here for something like heatstroke - AKA something not brought on by somebody else - he’ll call friends and such while pacing and somewhat frantically share your current condition.

However, if anybody did this to you; and you’re in bad shape… Well, even fucking Satan will cower at the brutality of Edge’s revenge.

When he’s allowed to be, he’s by your side and - depending on why you’re in and for what - he might nag you for being careless, reassure you it wasn’t your fault, reassure you in general, and/or just stay silent.

It’s barely noticeable, but just noticeable enough, that you can tell that he’s shaking.

All it takes is a “are you okay?” For him to break and confess how scared he was.

For a moment he was back Underground and it was horrible and he felt so powerless and he hates that. He’s so, so happy you’re okay and he- he swears he’ll be with you on your way to recovery. Please just never get hurt again.

Dusk (Horrortale Sans):

If you thought Red and Edge were scared, just know it’s nothing compared to the absolute terror he feels.

Dusk knows how fragile the human body can be. He’s seen horrific things happen to humans and monsters alike and he’s always hyper-aware of just how easy it’d be to kill and/or hurt you.

Logically, he knows you won’t die, he knows human anatomy well enough to know this is something you’ll bounce back from, but his instincts are going haywire and all he can think of are the mangled corpses back Underground. It doesn’t matter whether your condition has anything to do with broken limbs or not, because those pictures are what his mind is forcing onto him.

He refuses to leave your side. If he’s forced away from you by nurses/doctors/staff, he’ll protest but if he really can’t be by you for your safety, he’ll be anxiously hovering as close by as he possibly can. Whenever he’s allowed to touch you, he’s practically glued onto you.

If he’s sure it’s just the two of you, and you’re unconscious, he’ll probably cry.

He… He hates being reminded of your mortality. He hates the idea that any day could be your last. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you were gone.

(He’d dust, probably.)

If somebody else got your purposely hurt, he’s going to hunt them down after a while (after you’ve recovered enough for him to be comfortable leaving you alone for a bit). He’s not going to kill them, but he might rough them up a bit -- but most likely, he’ll just intimidate them and/or threaten them. (It’d be a different story if you were murdered.)

Whenever you’re conscious, he’ll do pretty much anything you say, so long as it won’t get you anymore hurt or risk stunting your recovery.

When you’re released from the hospital, he’ll be by your side nearly 24/7 because he hates the idea of you getting hurt again just because he wasn’t there to protect you.

Aster (Horrortale Papyrus):

Tries to look calm and composed, but he does about as poor of a job as his brother. He does better in that he doesn’t act out or get in the way of the nurses, but he’s also crying and shaking and sobbing and can’t stop.

You getting injured triggers him pretty badly. If you’re not bleeding, it’ll probably be “only” a bad anxiety attack, but if there’s any blood involved it’s escalating into a full-blown panic attack.

He’s a nurse himself, but I doubt he’d be allowed to work with the other nurses when it comes to you because of how unsteady he is. He’s not sure whether he’s thankful for it or not, because he doesn’t trust himself to do a good job but he also wants to be there for you. He trusts his colleagues, but it’s still nerve-wracking.

Just like the others, he’s glued to your side when he’s allowed to be. Very metaphorically. He’s the best of them all at giving you space, partially because he’s just more respectful lol and partially because he’s a nurse so he knows not to smother you with physical affection until you’re in the clear.

If somebody caused you to go into this state, he will just like Dusk go and find them. He won’t do anything physical, but he does intimidate the person very effectively. He’s a terrifying giant and he knows how to use that to his advantage.

When you’re fine again, he’ll be acting anxious and protective for a while. He feels really guilty about it (because he should be comforting you - plus, he’s a nurse! He’s seen way worse things on his job) but you’ll have to give him comfort. This whole thing didn’t inspire much positive feelings in him and it stressed him out a lot, it may honestly take more of a toll on him than it does you.

#imagines tag #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #undertale au #horrortale sans #y/n x sans #reader x sans #sans #sans x y/n #sans x reader #uf papyrus #y/n x papyrus #papyrus x y/n #reader x papyrus #papyrus #papyrus x reader #underfell #horrortale #🌌 anon

426 notes · View notes

peakysanakin · 4 years ago

Text

a bit about Elain's trauma and why it correlates with her rejecting her mating bond with Lucien in the future, a thread:

(WARNING: this post isn't about ships, except Elucien because Lucien is a key factor in Elain's trauma. )

Everyone deals with trauma in their own way and that's totally okay. Some are destructive, some shut people up and others want to not feel anything. Elain, just as Nesta, went into the Cauldron and those moments were horrific for her.

She is literally dragged and shoved into the Cauldron while she cries, struggles and kicks to escape the guards' grasps. The guards and the King keep laughing at her during the whole time.

Elain is used as an experiment for the Queens.

She is used as if she was a mere object.

Her body has been changed forever and she is practically naked, completely terrified and in shock from whatever she has gone through inside the Cauldron. (We know how terrifying and horrible it can be because of Nesta's experience.) Everyone is looking at her, some are even laughing.

Do you know how violating this could feel? To be left naked and vulnerable in front of people who have just terrorized you? How would you feel?

We don't know what she goes through inside the Cauldron, but it was probably very painful and terrifying. Then, she is thrown off it and she experiences this horrific scene, and her mating bond with Lucien snaps.

Another thing has been decided for her.

Not only has her body and life been changed forever without her consent, now her romantic relationship has been decided for her as well. And it's with a man who participated in the plan that made this horrific moment happen.

Lucien is an accomplice of that. He isn't a bad person, but he is CLEARLY an accomplice. (GO NESTA!!)

Elain is dealing with her trauma and she doesn't own Lucien anything. She suffered so much, she was broken and traumatized by what happened to her.

And Lucien and their mate bond are a BIG reminder of the day her body and life were changed against her own will.

We don't know much about her, but we have seen enough of her suffering and how traumatized she is in the books. Feyre always admired Elain's strength, because being kind and gentle in a world so dark takes balls, you know? Later on in the books, Elain is still kind and gentle but more reserved and quiet because she is dealing with her own shit.

Strength doesn't equal to physical force. A big example? Queen Elizabeth I of England was strong and she never fought in a battlefield, but she was intelligent, cunning and brought a Golden Age to her country. She made a place for herself in a patriarcal society and that's how strong she was.

Elain's strength differs from Nesta's, Mor's and Feyre's. She isn't an active fighter like them, but yet she had the guts to fight in the war and stabbed the King on the neck to protect Nesta because she loves her sister and would die for her. Look at this.

No one wanted her to fight, but she chose to. SHE CHOSE TO! This is important. She is scared in the battle camp and doesn't know how to fight or wield a sword, yet she trusts her friends and wants to fight alongside them.

She might die in the battlefield, but at least she will fight fighting and not be a pawn.

She will enact revenge for what the King did to Nesta, to Feyre and to herself.

MOREOVER –– Another big trauma (aside from happened inside the Cauldron and the dramatic changes in her life), it will probably be center around her body.

Her clothes, body and beauty are mentioned all the time. ALL THE TIME. Elain, who was a very proper and modest lady (and didn't want to talk about periods even with her sisters), was seen naked against her will by everyone and she probably felt violated.

Feyre mentions Elain's reaction when she sees her and Nesta wearing Illyrian fighting leathers. She mentions how Elain was offered something less scandalous and more proper.

Imagine how someone so proper would feel after being used and seen all vulnerable and naked by so many people? To have been ogled against your will? To be seen as an “object” to see whether the Cauldron worked?

Nesta is a sexual assault survivor and she also suffered because of their youth, Feyre's sacrifice to provide for them and Elain suffering from the Cauldron incident. She dealt with her trauma in her own way, just as Elain deals with it in her own way. And that's okay!

In Elain's book, her choosing who she wants to be with and how she wants to live from now on will be important. She will turn down Lucien, as it is obvious from what I explained above and because of the following: Feyre and Rhys comment on how being mates doesn't equal to being right for each other.

Sarah J. Maas said this as well.

She also said that a mating bond is something rare but that some people might be lucky and end up having two. But the main thing is:

Elain will reject Lucien because they aren't right for each other and she will chose whomever she wants to because she loves that person. That's big and it will be key to the plot.

Elain might end up being lucky and while falling for another person, a new mating bond might develop. But at the end of the day, it will be her choice.

Not the Cauldron's choice, not society's choice or anyone else.

Hers and hers alone.

You think she is boring? Well, we will learn more about her and we will see her heal from her trauma. Her body and her choices have been violated, but she will heal and grow for that and gain ownership over herself once again.

Rhys, Amren and Feyre believe there is more to her than just the kindness she shows.

“Maybe she was never given the chance to be that way.” “You think I stifle her?” “Not you alone. [...] But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d dissapoint you all. [...] With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge”

“You think Elain is boring?” “I think she’s kind, and I’ll take that kindness over nastiness every day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.”

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.”

“You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

“Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Being a seer gives you many powers, but it would take me too much time so I recommend you to read this LONG AND AMAZING list of powers a seer might have posted by @miru5llec and you will be shocked and hyped.

If you like mythology and fantasy literature, you know seers are feared and respected. Kings have killed for having a seer in their ranks. They can reach levels of divine status and their ability as a seer gives them many more powers than those I have mentioned before.

Elain might not be physically powerful like Nesta or Feyre, but being a seer makes her more powerful than both of them but IN ANOTHER WAY. Look at the list above (linked) if you don't believe me.

Her being on the Night Court makes Feysand's court the most powerful in Prythian.

That's why Elain is not boring and her trauma is valid. There is much more to her than what little we have seen. SJM has said so. Rhys, Feyre, Amren, everyone has said so in the books. We will learn about her, see her heal and chose who to love in her book.

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

We will see her develop her powers and learn how to use them. She is possibly the key to killing Koschei (the big bad villain) because she might have visions of where his heart is hidden in that fucking box and guide the IC to find it.

Furthermore, stop saying “I want Elucien to happen so Lucien can be happy.” or “Azriel deserves better than Elain because she likes to garden and is mated to Lucien.”

Elain doesn’t belong to Lucien.

Elain can garden, bake and walk around on her hands while singing La Macarena and that doesn’t make her any less strong than Feyre, Mor, Nesta or any other female character.

(Also, in this stupid ship war I have seen people pointing out how she wouldn't be able to give Azriel children because her body isn't Illyrian. This is disgusting. You are basically saying that all her worth lies in whether she can give someone children or not.

Do I remind you adoption exists? Rhys, Cassian and Azriel are brothers by choice, not by blood and they are BROTHERS. You can adopt and be a mother. And you can chose to not have children and that would be okay too. A woman's worth isn't in her uterus.

And that’s it.

(I posted this thread on Twitter as well, so if you liked it you can go there and RT it or hit a like.)

[og post]

#acosf #acosf spoilers #elain archeron #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #elucien #elriel #nessian #feysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and embers #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #gwyn berdara #gwynriel

1K notes · View notes

mercy-burning · 4 years ago

Text

Pretty Please

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader hears something surprising from her next door neighbor, and it throws her off. Category: Smut 18+ (masturbation, thigh riding, penetrative sex, oral sex-male and female receiving, semi-rough sex, dom!Spencer) Word Count: 6.9k Warnings: Nothing except the smut listed above and strong language. As always, if there’s anything I missed, let me know what I should include in the warnings! I want to be as mindful as I can about what I post. Thank you!

PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / EPILOGUE

***

There's no way she heard that right.

In fact, she was pretty sure she'd made it up. She was tired, delirious, and she'd only imagined hearing what she heard.

Right?

Just to be sure, Y/N sat up in bed, put her ear against the wall just above the headboard, and listened, concentrating as hard as she could to confirm or deny.

And sure enough, the next thing she heard was, "Fuck, yes!"

It was muffled, definitely not as loud as it could have been, but if things continued the way she thought they would, it was going to get louder. Unless, of course, her neighbor was mindful, knowing that someone could probably hear what was going on. Though, for some reason Y/N doubted that.

Just to be extra sure what was happening, she stayed glued to the wall, listening carefully.

There was some muffled movement, but it could have been just about anything. Nonetheless, her heart was beating so fast, and it beat even faster when she heard what came next.

A loud female moan, unmistakable and utterly pornographic, made Y/N close her eyes immediately, her heart practically jumping out of her chest. Her first thought was Okay, he's watching porn. Everyone does that. Not without headphones, but it's completely normal and I should stop eavesdropping and go about my own life because this is an invasion of privacy.

Her second thought was ...Oh.

Because she was dead wrong.

The next thing that sounded through the walls was, "Yes, Spencer, just like that!"

Y/N's eyes shot open and she almost had a heart attack.

Her next thought was Good for him...

She and her neighbor hadn't really gotten to know each other that well. All she knew was that he had a job that kept him away from home quite a bit, either from travel or just late nights. He was shy and rarely talked to her when they met in the halls or in the parking garage, or even in the laundry room. Which is why it was so surprising to Y/N that he was having sex—and decent sex at that, from what she could hear—right next door.

Not that it would have been impossible for him to get it, of course. He was hot as hell, and it shouldn't have surprised Y/N as much as it did that she was hearing what she was hearing. It had just never happened before.

She was about to let it be, glad that her neighbor seemed to be having some fun, and it truly wasn't any of her business what he decided to do in his spare time. Though, the next thing she heard sent her into a tailspin.

"You like that, baby? You like when I hold you down and fuck you?"

Y/N almost hit her head against the wall. Instinctually her legs crossed, as if it would prevent her from being turned on. Which was stupid, considering every nerve in her body was on fire hearing those words come from Spencer Reid's mouth.

No fucking way, Y/N thought, slowly shifting her position on the bed.

It was a stupid idea. Probably one of the dumbest things she's ever done. But she closed her eyes, and as the woman's moans became louder through the walls, every slap of skin on skin getting louder with them, Y/N's right hand drifted under the waistband of her panties and got to work.

She couldn't help imagining what was going on. And it was rare that she could get off on just imagination alone, but this time she had the helpful addition of sound to aid her. Every time the woman moaned Spencer's name, she moved her fingers faster, alternating between rubbing her clit and completely fingering herself. And sometimes Y/N would make inevitable tiny whimpers of her own, careful not to give herself away.

She was almost to her climax when she heard it. The thing that pushed her over the edge.

"Fuck, you take it so well, pretty girl."

That one sentence, added to the impending orgasm Y/N was experiencing and the fact that she was picturing Spencer's face so clearly in her head, caused her to let out a loud moan and throw her head back against the wall with a loud thud.

So many feelings happened at once. Pain, because fuck, hitting her head on the wall without expecting it hurt like hell. Pleasure immediately after, because despite everything, her fingers stayed working, instinctively nursing herself through her orgasm. And finally embarrassment, because she definitely shouldn't have been eavesdropping on her neighbor's sexual encounters and she's positive they'd heard her intrusion.

All noises ceased for a total of two seconds before Y/N came down from her high and the sex next door resumed like nothing had happened.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck, no, Y/N thought as she scrambled out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Her head still hurt from hitting it against the wall, but that was the least of her concerns. More than anything she wanted to crawl in a hole and never return. And sure, maybe there was a small chance Spencer and his.. friend hadn't heard you, but it was practically impossible. There was no way they hadn't heard it.

Y/N peed and washed her hands, tapping her foot nervously against the cool tile the whole time. Eventually she calmed her breathing and decided that she'd just have to live with it. I mean, it's not like I'm friends with him anyway, she thought. I barely see him enough as it is, and I can ignore him like there's no tomorrow and nothing will change. Right?

And so she washed her face and got ready for bed, trying desperately not to think about how badly she'd embarrassed herself.

And then as she curled under the covers (with earbuds in just in case) she thought, Maybe I'll make him some muffins tomorrow and say I'm sorry.

The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was Spencer's face.

***

"What's wrong? Can't take it?"

She practically burned with pleasure, every inch of her body overly sensitive and completely fucked out. But she'd let him have whatever he wanted.

She cried. She tried to tell him that yes, she could take it. But tears and strangled moans were all she could manage as he continued to fuck her into the mattress.

"You gonna cum?" He asked, like she could form words.

She cried out again in answer.

He leaned forward, wiping tears from her face, and whispered, "Go ahead, pretty girl."

That was the last thing Y/N heard before she woke up, eyes shooting open and hands clutching the sheets so tightly her fingers ached. She let them go and tried to wiggle them back to life, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath.

"Oh, dear Lord," she muttered, stretching out and realizing that the past 10 hours of her life were going to haunt her for a long time.

I'm gonna have to move, aren't I, she thought sarcastically, sitting up slowly and rubbing her eyes. Though, right now it sounded like a good idea.

Y/N gathered some clothes and went to the shower, refusing to think about last night or the dream she'd woken up from. Instead she lasered all her attention to thoroughly washing her hair, body, and face. By the time the water was running cold, she stepped out, dried off and got dressed, brushing her teeth and then leaving the bathroom to turn on the coffee pot.

Before she could, there was a knock on the door.

Oh no, was her first thought, because naturally the first thing you do at any minor event after severely embarrassing yourself is panic. What if that's him? He's going to get mad at me for eavesdropping. The first thing I'm going to do when I see him is blush and panic. Fuck.

Y/N thought about ignoring it for a second. For all Spencer knew, she could still be sleeping. She could have fled the country immediately after giving herself away. She could have died from a heart attack, literally embarrassing herself to death. She could ha—

Knock knock knock.

"Shit," Y/N muttered to herself, adjusting her freshly-washed hair and praying she looked okay. If it really was Spencer at her door, she wanted to at least look like she was moving on with her life and not thinking about last night every waking second.

She ran to the door, took a deep breath and opened it, sure enough revealing Spencer Reid in her doorway, wearing a kind smile and holding a small something in his hand.

"Oh... Spencer, hi," Y/N said, pretending to be happy. Not that she wasn't ever happy to see him, but today of all days was most definitely not a good time. She only prayed he wouldn't get mad at her for eavesdropping.

"Hi, Y/N. Sorry for being here so early, but I, uh... thought you might need this."

He handed her what was in his hand, and it rattled, confusing her. She took it and flipped it over in her hands, studying the bottle.

"Advil?"

"Yeah. Seems like you hit your head on the wall pretty hard last night, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Her stomach dropped. "No."

"No... You're not okay, or no, you don't need it?"

Heat rushed to Y/N's cheeks and all she could manage was another, "No."

She only sounded slightly terrified.

But before Spencer could say anything else, Y/N looked up at him and almost started to cry. "I'm so so so sorry, Spencer, I didn't mean to hear, it just happened, and I couldn't help it, and I tried to be quiet, I really did, but it just slipped, and I feel really bad, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Whoa, whoa, Y/N, slow down. It's okay, really," he laughed. "I'm not upset or anything, I just... Truthfully I feel kind of bad for not thinking of anyone hearing. I didn't realize the walls were so thin, and had I known I probably would have... Gone about things differently. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Y/N's heart raced, but she was even more shocked by the fact that he was apologizing. "Spencer, don't be sorry. I embarrassed myself, really. I shouldn't have been listening anyway— what you do in your apartment isn't any of my business, and I messed up."

He smiled and shuffled on his feet, trying to avoid looking at you but failing. In the end he shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. "Well, in any case, I really do hope your head doesn't hurt too bad. That was a loud thump."

Y/N laughed nervously, turning the bottle over in her hands while looking at the floor. "It doesn't hurt anymore. Feels better now that I've slept it off... Thank you, though. I... I appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

She looked up at him and almost started crying again, still completely embarrassed over the whole ordeal. In an attempt to not cry, she cleared her throat. "Um, I was just going put on some coffee if you... wanted to come in? I can make some eggs or something too, if you're hungry. Y'know, to say I'm sorry?"

Spencer looked like he was about to tell her not to be sorry again, but she gave him a look that said don't you dare, and he settled on nodding instead. "Sure, I'd like that."

***

"Wow. These are great."

Y/N smiled, watching Spencer eat a bite of the eggs she'd made him. "Thank you. It's a family recipe. Nothing too special, but my mom always made them for my brother and I before our first day of school every year."

He smiled. "That's nice. Really, they're great. Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem... Look, again, I really am so—"

"Y/N, stop. It's okay, really. It... happens. You don't have to be sorry."

She nodded before taking a sip of her coffee. Spencer ate some more of his eggs and the two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, before it got completely unbearable.

She didn't want to keep bringing it up, but something forced the words out of her mouth. "So, your... guest... Is she your girlfriend?"

It took Spencer a minute to realize what she said, but eventually he cleared his throat, some color forming on his cheeks. "Oh, uh... no. No, I'm single. She and I had just met at a bar downtown. I don't usually do that. Go to bars, I mean. Though I suppose I don't really have one night stands all that often, either, but my co-workers and I were out last night after a... pretty rough day at work, and... before I left we met at the bar and it just kind of went on from there."

"Oh... Well, I... I'm sorry work was rough. Seems like you... handled it, though. Got over it... I mean, like, you knew how to take your mind off of it, or make it better or whatever."

Y/N froze after she said it. Immediately after, she shook her head. "God, I'm sorry. That was dumb. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, I get what you mean, it's okay, really," Spencer said quickly, seemingly amused. "It, uh... It really did help. You know, sex is a good stress reliever. The endorphins it releases puts you in a better mood and calms you down, and studies show that regular sexual activity can aid in decreasing high blood pressure during stressful situations."

"I... didn't know that. Sounds helpful. Especially with your job, I imagine."

He nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "What about you? Is your job stressful?"

Y/N shrugged, kind of glad that the conversation moved away from sexual nature. Though, she supposed the reason it was there in the first place was kind of her fault. In any case, she told Spencer about her job. "It's not as stressful as other jobs can be, but I just got a promotion so all the responsibility is a little daunting, I guess."

"I'm sure you're fine," he complimented, setting his mug down. "Though... If you do ever find yourself beginning to buckle under the stress of your job, sex is a good way to keep your spirits up."

It was a joke. A reference to their conversation, the whole reason they were in this moment in the first place. So why did Y/N respond with, "What, is that your way of offering?"

I'm just full of stupid shit lately, aren't I, she thought, immediately hating herself for saying it. Things were going well, and Spencer didn't seem mad or annoyed after the whole incident, and now she was positive she'd made everything worse.

But nothing could have prepared her for what came out of his mouth next.

"Maybe it is."

She looked up at him and saw that he was completely serious. His eyes bore into her, staring her down like he was trying to compel her to say something, to do something, to put her under his spell. Y/N swallowed, trying to speak, but nothing would come out.

Oh, now you have nothing to say? Good going, Y/N...

Nevertheless, he waited. His eyes remained glued on her, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows as if to ask her, well?

Eventually, she settled on, "You mean it?"

Spencer nodded slowly, staring at her with an intensity she hadn't experienced in forever. "Only if you want to."

Immediately Y/N thought back to last night. His nasty words replayed in her ears over and over again, repeating themselves like a mantra— You like that, baby? You like when I hold you down and fuck you?

And under his burning gaze, Y/N felt like she was on fire. Her lower stomach bubbled over with desire and she imagined him fucking her like he had in her dream.

It's almost like he knew what she was thinking about. Because right before she could tell him she wanted him, he laughed softly to himself. "What are you thinking about, Y/N?"

Her name on his lips sent shivers down her spine. "W... What?"

"Tell me. You're thinking about having sex with me right now, aren't you?"

She could barely breathe. But she managed to get out a strangled, "Yes."

Spencer smirked and stood up, walking around the table but never taking his eyes off Y/N. She swallowed and stood up too, meeting his eyes and tilting her head up to look at him— really look at him. His pupils were full-blown, his lips formed into an amused smile as he reached out to touch her face. She fluttered her eyes closed and leaned into his touch, a small sigh involuntarily escaping her lips.

"How long have you been thinking about me?" Spencer asked quietly, yet the tone in his voice rather demanded an answer more than asked for one.

Y/N opened her eyes to meet his, and almost crumbled under the weight of their intensity. "S-since last night."

He hummed in response, running his thumb over her chin and up to her lips, just barely touching them. "Have you ever thought about it before then?"

She couldn't lie to him. "A few times."

That got a full smile out of him, but it disappeared rather quickly as he stepped even closer and gripped the side of Y/N's face in his right hand, his fingers barely weaving through the hair behind her ear. She gasped and looked up at him, silently begging for him to kiss her. To push her onto the table, or choke her, or something.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, keeping that even, soft tone. It sent another chill through Y/N's body.

She could hardly breathe. Could hardly form words.

Spencer slipped his hand behind her head and gripped the underside of her damp hair, tugging slightly as she whimpered. "What do you want?"

"I want you to fuck me," Y/N gasped out, completely and utterly entranced by his looming presence.

"Now?" he asked, his own way of really making sure she wanted to go through with this.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, please, fuck me. Please."

The look he gave her after she said it was purely dirty and unlike any thing she'd ever experienced. She decided then and there that if that was the reaction she'd get from him for begging, she would beg him for anything any time.

Not to mention, the way he kissed her was enough to make any man or woman fly into the sun. Both of his hands found themselves lost in her hair, pulling her head to his and practically massaging her scalp as he glided his lips across hers with a slow burning fever that made Y/N's body completely succumb to him. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, reaching up to twist her fingers through the ends of his hair, admiring how soft and perfect it felt on her skin. Once Spencer's tongue swiped over her bottom lip and softly pushed into her mouth, it was well and truly over. Y/N was done for. He could do anything he wanted and she wouldn't turn him away.

He pulled away for a moment, taking her bottom lip between his teeth before moving back in and angling his head in the other direction, kissing her deeper and causing a groan to slip from her throat.

Y/N desperately clung to his neck, wishing he could do this to her forever, but then he took one of his hands away from her head and brought it to her lower back. He completely pulled her against him, one of his legs slipping between hers and putting the slightest bit of pressure to her crotch.

She whimpered, causing Spencer to push himself against her harder, the two of them completely attached. He brought his knee up just a little, and Y/N instinctively ground against it, desperately wanting to feel any type of friction she could manage. It warmed her whole body to the core, being completely embraced by him, and in a matter of seconds she was more desperate than she'd ever been.

She pulled her face away from his reluctantly, breathing heavily and still grinding against his leg. "Please," was all the could think to say.

"Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" Spencer whispered, peppering her neck with wet kisses as he brought his leg up higher, giving her more access. He leaned his butt against the table for support, until eventually he gave in and sat down on it, bringing her down to sit on his thigh.

Y/N hesitated, halting her movements for a second before he gripped her hips and moved them forward. "Go ahead, pretty girl. Ride my thigh."

She groaned at the nickname and obliged happily, grinding down and rocking her hips against him. He continued to kiss her neck, occasionally biting down and sucking at different spots, sure to leave marks.

He hadn't even really touched her yet, and Y/N was absolutely dizzy, high on kisses and his hands burning into her hips. She felt her stomach start to coil as an orgasm came to the surface, her legs clenching tighter around him.

"You close, baby?" Spencer muttered against her neck, right under her ear. He took her earlobe between his teeth for just a moment before rocking her hips faster, bringing his leg up just a bit higher to aid her. She shoved her head into his neck and cried out his name, somewhere between a whine and a moan.

Within a matter of seconds Y/N was shaking around him, panting his name over and over while he brought his leg just a tad higher, bringing her over the edge. Her mind raced, coming to terms with what just happened and what was about to happen, and it made her tremble again, sending one more shockwave through her lower body before her hips slowed to a stop.

Spencer slid his hands back up to her head, bringing her face to his once more and kissing her. As if she wasn't already so out of breath. But it didn't matter. She only cared about his mouth and the way it captured hers like it belonged there, like it knew she was his for the taking. And she really believed that was true.

Y/N still straddled his leg, but she wanted to give him the same release he'd given her, so she attempted to climb away and moved one of her hands down to his belt.

Spencer stopped her hand and pulled his face away from hers. For a moment she thought she'd done something wrong, and she was about to apologize, but he pulled her close and stroked her hair with his hand, tilting his head to meet her gaze. "Not yet, pretty girl. I want to taste you first."

And without another second passing by, he moved the hand that grabbed her wrist between them and snuck it into her shorts and panties. Y/N jumped a little, but only because it felt too good for her own good. Her eyes fluttered shut when his middle finger grazed her clit, but his other hand gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. "No. I want you to look at me, okay?"

She nodded, and then whimpered when he slipped a finger inside of her. She lifted herself up just a little so he had more access, and sure enough his finger slipped in and out with ease.

She wanted more, but he took his hand away, and the glimmer in his eye when she pouted, visibly frustrated, sent her into another small fit of tremors.

"So antsy, pretty girl," Spencer laughed, slightly amused. Y/N would have said something, but all words escaped her when he brought his fingers to his mouth. His tongue poked out to taste-test before he completely took them in, holding eye contact with her the whole time. As he sucked his fingers clean, Y/N felt herself growing desperate again, and she ground against his leg once more.

Spencer laughed and brought his fingers out of his mouth, resting them on her hips. "You're being awfully quiet, Y/N."

"I... I don't... Is that a bad thing?"

"Not necessarily. But you didn't have a problem being loud last night."

It brought color to her cheeks. Her first instinct was to apologize but she knew he'd chastise her for it, so she didn't. Rather, she embraced the opportunity and pulled herself closer to him. "Is that what you want, Spencer? You want me to be loud for you?" Her voice was soft, somewhat contradicting what she was saying, but she looked at him through her eyelashes, biting her lip as if asking for permission.

And now it seemed like it was his turn to groan, though it came out as more of a growl as he pushed her away from him, grabbing her arm and leading her through the apartment. All the rooms were built the same so he knew where to go. He didn't take the time to scan her room, though if he did it was fast. Y/N barely had any time to react before he pulled her to him again and kissed her roughly.

As his fingers weaved through her hair again, Y/N decided to take a chance, snaking her hands down to his belt. This time he didn't stop her, his lips opening and granting her access to his tongue as she unbuckled the belt. She unzipped his pants and pushed them down his hips, but they only got about an inch down before he pulled away from her completely, leaving her empty again.

She whined, and he smirked.

"What is it, Y/N?" he asked. "What do you want?" His tone was almost condescending, like he knew exactly what she wanted.

She didn't like being teased. "I just want you," she stated, whining a bit to prove her point.

He seemed to contemplate his words for a moment before he spoke. "And... you think I should just give you what you want? After I caught you eavesdropping on me last night?"

He was only saying it to see her flushed. To embarrass her and make her shy so he could make it better in the end. She knew that, knew better, and yet it still worked. "I'm sorry," she pleaded, getting down on her knees in front of him and looking up at him with just as much desperation as she could manage. "You know I feel really really bad about it, just please let me make it up to you. Please, Spencer."

When all he did was look down at her, amused and still, Y/N batted her eyelashes and grabbed the waistband of his pants and underwear. She waited to pull them down until he did or said something, but all he did was stare. She couldn't tell if he was making her wait or if he was waiting for her, and she was afraid of making the wrong decision. But, deciding that she'd been in enough trouble in the past 10 hours to last a lifetime, Y/N took a chance yet again and pulled Spencer's pants all the way down.

Still unsure of what would happen if she continued, Y/N scooted closer, but kept her eyes locked on his. She batted her eyelashes and ran her hands up his thighs, eventually wrapping around to his ass. She brought them up his lower back and around to feel his stomach before sliding down to the front of his hips. She stopped them there, gliding her thumbs over his skin in small circles as she pleaded once more for good measure.

"Pretty please."

Spencer gave in, bringing his hands to her hair and pulling her close. "It's all yours, baby."

The words sent heat straight to her lower half as she flicked her tongue out to taste the head of his cock. His eyes fluttered shut at the contact, and Y/N took that as her opening. She looked down and marveled at him as she took him completely in her mouth, slowly but surely, getting herself acquainted with his size.

Once she set a steady pace, she looked up at him and found that he was absolutely wonderstruck. His eyes practically sparkled as they fixed on her, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth in pure adoration and fascination. Y/N took this as encouragement, bobbing her head faster and slacking her jaw as she let him hit the back of her throat with each thrust forward. She gagged once and pulled herself off, bringing her hand up to jerk him for a few seconds before using her mouth again. This was a cycle that continued until tears were streaming down her cheeks and spit was leaking down her chin, and every time she looked up at him, Spencer would groan and tighten his grip in her hair.

Eventually he stopped her, pulling her off of him and panting. "Come here," he whispered, and Y/N got up off her knees, standing up and wiping some of the spit from her face. It didn't feel all that sexy as she was doing it, though the way he looked at her made her feel like she was the only thing in the entire world that could bring him joy.

He reached forward and wiped some of the tears from her cheek before kissing her, groaning into her mouth as he did so. His still hard cock pressed against her leg, and she groaned, too, before he pulled away.

That dark glimmer returned in his eye when he spoke. "Take your clothes off."

Y/N didn't have to be told twice. Immediately she threw her shirt off over her head and tossed it to the ground as Spencer stepped out of his pants. His eyes travelled down to her breasts and she noticed him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing a few times before he looked back up at her face. Keeping eye contact and softly biting her lip, Y/N hooked her fingers around her shorts and underwear and slid them down her legs until they reached the other clothes on the floor. She kicked them to the side and tilted her head up.

She thought he might kiss her again, but instead he nodded his head towards her bed. "Lay down on your back."

As Y/N had learned pretty early on, she was quick and eager to obey, and so she did as she was told, laying down in the middle of the bed, her head resting on her pillows and the rest of her body laying flat, eagerly awaiting Spencer's next move.

She watched him as he took his shirt off, leaving him completely bare, and before she had time to admire him, he bent down and grabbed something from his pants.

A condom, Y/N realized as he made his way to her.

"You really came over with the intent to fuck me, didn't you?" she mused, unable to stop herself.

He laughed at her words, climbing over her and leaning down to press his lips to her neck in a soft kiss. "Wasn't it obvious?"

No, she thought to herself, but she didn't say anything. Though even if she wanted to, she couldn't have, because Spencer's mouth moved down her neck and to her chest. He licked a small circle over her right nipple before enclosing it entirely in his mouth, and Y/N arched her back off the bed, running her fingers through his hair.

He laughed again, taking her nipple in between his teeth before releasing it and saying, "I love how fucking responsive you are, pretty girl."

Everything about what he was saying and doing to her sent Y/N into a tailspin. Before she had time to respond, he moved his mouth to her other breast and got right to work, repeating the process.

One of his hands trailed down her body, just light enough to leave goosebumps it its wake, until it reached where she really wanted him. As if to prove his last statement, Y/N's hips bucked upwards to feel more of him, and Spencer laughed against her chest, removing his mouth from her and using both of his hands to steady her hips, pushing them into the mattress. "Can you be still for me? Use your words."

Y/N sighs and bites her lip before answering. "Yes. I can be still."

"Louder, Y/N. You promised you'd be loud for me, remember?"

If she wasn't wet before, she definitely was now. And she thought about just repeating her words louder, like she was expected to, but then something in that stupid part of her brain said to push her luck. And so she laughed back at him.

"No, I didn't."

Spencer seemed shocked. This was the first time she'd blatantly disagreed with something he said. "What?"

He seemed a little mad, but Y/N acted innocent. "Well, I asked you if you'd like me to be loud for you, and you just pulled me in here. You didn't answer me, and I didn't promise anything."

She was scared of what he would do or say, but that turned her on even more.

And without warning, Spencer jammed two of his fingers into her mouth, forcing it open and pressing them down on her tongue. "Well, sweetheart, this is me telling you. You're gonna scream my name until the whole city can hear how needy you are for me."

She almost choked on his fingers, but he took them out and slid them down her chin and neck, leaving her completely breathless. He waited a beat before laughing to himself. "Aw, see? Look what I do to you, pretty girl," he mused. "You're so submissive."

Y/N wanted to argue, but she wanted him more, so she whined and tried to move him closer, to which he laughed again and caressed her face. "That's what I thought. Now be a good girl and wait a second while I put this on, okay?"

For fear of disappointing him, Y/N replied with, "Okay," loud and clear.

He smirked, unwrapping the condom and starting to slide it over himself. "Fast learner."

And in an attempt to patch things over even more, she batted her eyes like she knew he liked, acting patient and innocent though she was pretty sure they both knew she was the exact opposite.

It paid off in the end though, because Spencer rewarded her with a sweet kiss as he ran the tip of his cock over her pussy, just barely entering. He teased her like that for about a minute before she started to get antsy, and yet he didn't let up. He raised an eyebrow at her, and catching on she reached up, grabbing the sides of his face and blinking once before talking. "Please, Spencer. Fuck me."

"Atta girl," he praised before moving forward and entering her. Immediately Y/N moaned, her mouth open and eyes just about rolling to the back of her head. Her hands slid up his face and through his hair, weaving her fingers through the soft waves as he set a steady pace, letting themselves get used to the feeling of being wrapped up in each other like this. For a moment it seemed like he forgot his promise to fuck her so hard the whole city would hear her screaming his name, but after a while, he apparently decided that she wasn't being loud enough.

"Come on, Y/N. You can do better than that."

She wanted more than anything to tell him that if he fucked her harder then maybe she would be louder, but infinitely realized that A) that was a surefire way to get chastised, and B) if she was louder, he would fuck her harder. He was going to make her work for it, and in the end she didn't mind that at all.

So she told the truth. "Fuck, Spencer, you feel so goo— ahh!"

Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, he quickly adjusted and fucked her faster, and aside from the overstimulation, it was starting to feel reminiscent of the dream she'd had last night. She wasn't crying but she felt like she could, every fiber of her being burning alive with pleasure. She felt her orgasm rising to the surface, but she didn't want this to end yet. Maybe if she was lucky Spencer would keep going after she'd finished, though at this point she was just happy to let him fuck her for any period of time.

That being said, he slowed his movements, making each stroke harder and more deliberate, and Y/N yelled out his name, hoping to get more.

"You close, pretty girl? Hmm? You wanna cum?"

The strain in his voice sent another wave of pleasure coursing through her body. He was close too, she just knew it.

"Yes," she breathed, before repeating it louder and louder. "Yes, yes, yes!"

She was just about to fall over the edge when Spencer laughed and pulled out of her, leaving her unsatisfied, empty, and confused.

"What?" she breathed, looking up at him.

He slid the condom off and tossed it aside before jerking himself off over her stomach. "Only good girls get to cum. You should have thought of that before you eavesdropped on me."

And then he came all over her stomach and chest. She would have been more angry, but the whole sight in front of her was hot as hell. Who was she to complain? She watched as his face scrunched up in pleasure, his mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut. His hair faintly stuck to his face, and his hips jerked into his hand until eventually he was spent.

Y/N whined at the sight, completely turned on feeling his warm cum coating her skin and also utterly frustrated for not getting off.

Spencer opened his eyes to look at her, and she thought in that moment it looked like he would burst into flames. As his gaze raked over her body, covered in his cum and so obviously desperate for release, he licked his lips and got down, spreading her legs wider and opening her up to him.

"Wha—"

Y/N didn't get to finish her thought, because Spencer was immediately eating her out like a man starved, running his tongue through her pussy, occasionally flicking it over her clit. As expected, the louder she got the more he gave her, and at one point he started fingering her at a relentless pace, curling his fingers up against her g-spot while circling her clit with his tongue.

He brought his head up and looked at her through his eyelashes as best as he could, barely catching a glimpse of her face, completely contorted in pleasure.

"You wanna cum, pretty girl?" he teased, slowing his fingers torturously.

She whined and then threw her head back, pleading. "Spencer, please!"

He only got a little faster and then gently flicked his tongue over her clit again, to which she yelped and fisted the sheets.

In turn he moved faster. And she got louder. Faster and louder, faster and louder, until finally he gave her what she wanted.

"That's it, pretty girl. Cum for me."

Right after he said it, Y/N arched her back off the bed and fisted the sheets even harder, actually screaming his name until it came out as incoherent sobs, eventually dwindling down to whimpering and panting as he aided her down from her high.

Spencer's movements slowed to a stop, pulling his fingers out of her and pressing one final kiss to her clit before removing himself from her completely and coming up to lay down beside her.

She stayed there on her back, arms clutched at her sides, breathing deep and eyes almost heavy like she was about to fall asleep. He brushed her hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her lips. She could taste herself on him, and it excited her. When he pulled away, she turned her head to look at him and smiled.

"I'm definitely going to have to invade your privacy more often if this is what the end result is."

Spencer laughed, his hand brushing lightly through her hair. "So that was okay? I'm sorry if I was kind of mean, I—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there. If I was really truly mad about anything you did, I would have screamed at you, not for you. Trust me. You're just fine. That was... perfect."

"Good... And you know I was just teasing you about eavesdropping, right? I'm not actually upset about it."

"No, I know. I still feel kinda bad about it though."

"Well, you shouldn't. If anything... something good came out of it, right?"

Y/N laughed, scrunching her nose as he looked at her. "Right."

After a moment, Spencer sat up and looked down at her stomach, a smirk on his face. "I'm gonna go get you a washcloth."

"Good thinking. And while you're at it could you also grab the Advil?"

He was on his way out the bedroom door, slipping on his underwear before stopping in his tracks. "Oh no... I- I didn't hurt you did I?"

"Oh! No, you didn't. I just know that I'm going to be sore, and walking will most definitely be a problem. And I am not getting out of this bed for the rest of the day, so Advil will definitely help. Thank you for that, by the way."

Spencer laughed, leaving Y/N to admire him as he walked away.

#spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction

3K notes · View notes