#'why so nervous miss agnes' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nerdanel01 · 5 months ago

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All Things Grow, All Things Go

Emmrich Volkarin/F!Rook 4k+ wc | SFW EXCEPRT: “...you do know how deeply, how profoundly I care for you, don’t you?”

Did she? Agnes had thought she knew, but the fact that Emmrich saw fit in this particular moment to remind her had her calling that knowledge into question. A mild terror seized her of what could possibly follow, if it had to be qualified by that preamble. Given the choice, she would have gladly faced any of the uncatalogued horrors of the Necropolis in place of whatever it was Emmrich was going to say next.

“Emmrich, you’re frightening me,” Agnes said, flashing him a nervous smile. Trying to work a teasing lilt into her voice, as though it were all in good fun. “Just tell me. It can’t be that bad, can it?”

9:50 Dragon

Three days had passed since Emmrich had visited the Dietrich estate to make the arrangements for Lord Dietrich’s imminent passing. Agnes hadn’t the faintest idea what could have transpired on that visit to disturb him so, but this much was clear: he had been behaving strangely towards her ever since his return to the Necropolis.

It was not that Emmrich was rude with her, exactly; Agnes was not sure he had the capacity within him for rudeness, so genteel was his manner. But he had been clipped and short with her, almost formal, and their friendship—otherwise warm, familiar, cherished—had become inexplicably strained. Yesterday, they had planned to make a trip into the Necropolis, an excursion they had been planning for weeks; only a few hours before scheduled their descent Emmrich had postponed it, without offering any satisfactory explanation as to why he had done so. When Agnes had asked how else she might be of assistance to him if they were not descending as planned, Emmrich had waved her offer away, encouraging her instead to take some free time and enjoy the summer weather in Nevarra City above.

Impossible to enjoy anything, though, with the paranoia and anxiety his behavior had inspired in her. Agnes was trying her very best not to jump to conclusions, but it felt awfully like Emmrich had been purposely avoiding her.

And so, that night at dinner, when Emmrich had asked Agnes to join him afterwards for tea in their shared study (Emmrich’s, really; though he had long ago ceded the second table to Agnes for her own experiments) the relief Agnes felt was indescribable. Emmrich could not really be avoiding her, could he, if he was asking for her company? Or at least, that was what she told herself as she made her through the corridors of the Mourn Watch residence to his door.

Agnes rapped her knuckles on the door, prepared to wait patiently for Emmrich’s thrall to answer. But most unusually, the door swung open almost as soon as she had knocked. Emmrich stood in the doorway, dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Agnes,” he greeted her, lacking his usual enthusiasm. There was something oddly harried and distracted about the way he carried himself. He offered her a smile, but it was as cold as the dead; his eyes avoided hers. ‘Is he nervous?’ Emmrich gestured to the pair of chairs in front of the hearth. “Thank you for coming. Have a seat, the tea is steeping now.”

Emmrich shut the door behind her as Agnes entered, then crossed the room towards the tall wooden cabinet beside the water spigot. With his back to Agnes, he began to pull the tea set off the shelf, setting out teacups, spoons, saucers on a serving tray. The crackle of the fire, the clink of the fine porcelain in the study were both unusually loud. Taking in the uncomfortable silence, Agnes finally realized what was missing.

“Where’s Wilfred?” she asked. The thrall had not answered the door, and she saw no sign of him in the study.

“I sent him on an errand,” Emmrich replied, offhandedly, without turning to face her. As though he was talking to the teacups, he managed, “I wanted it to be just the two of us.”

An extremely bizarre sentiment, coming from Emmrich. Wilfred was a fixture of the study, as Alfred had been before him. More out of nerves than amusement, Agnes laughed. “What could you possibly have to say to me that you could not say in front of Wilfred?”

Was it her imagination, or did the muscles of Emmrich’s back tighten reflexively at her question? “It isn’t that I couldn’t, it’s just….” Failing to find the right words, Emmrich sighed, then turned at last, carrying the serving tray laden with the kettle and cups, and set it down upon the table between the armchairs. “It is important, and I did not want there to be any distractions.”

The tea smelled incredible, but Agnes’ stomach suddenly felt very tight. She steeled herself; commanded of him, “So tell me.”

Emmrich hesitated. Even now, sitting beside her, he could barely meet her eyes. When he did, Agnes was alarmed at the sober, melancholy look he gave her.

“Nessa…”

And Agnes stopped breathing. Cold all over, everywhere at once, like a bucket of ice water had been splashed over her head. No one called her Nessa—only Emmrich, and only when he was very, very tipsy, and feeling especially tender towards her. But his voice did not sound tender, now. It sounded guarded, and anxious.

“...you do know how deeply, how profoundly I care for you, don’t you?”

“It’s not bad at all,” Emmrich said, returning her smile with a feeble one of his own—but the look in his eyes said otherwise. He dropped his gaze, took his steaming cup and saucer in hand; staring into his tea, stirring it. “It is only that there are going to be some… changes, in the guard. I wanted you to hear about them from me, first, before Johanna told you.”

“Johanna?” While Commander Hezenkoss was technically their superior, Agnes could count on one hand the amount of times she’d been called to speak to Johanna in any official capacity. For the most part, her and Emmrich were allowed total autonomy to conduct their studies as they wished, provided they did not neglect their other Watcher responsibilities. “What does this have to do with Johanna?”

“Well…” Emmrich began, and heaved a mighty exhale, deflating with it, “it has been over twenty years, you know, since you joined the Mourn Watch.” Twenty years—more than half of her life spent at Emmrich’s side, in the company of the dead. “Twenty years of you… going above and beyond, in your responsibility towards me, and in your role. Twenty years of excellence.”

Why all this flattery? Why the sudden lavish praise? It did nothing to warm her, only doubled the fear in her heart.

“Certainly it has taken long enough, but that is finally being recognized,” Emmrich said at last, and met her eyes again, forcing a smile. “You’re getting a promotion, dear.”

That couldn’t be right. The Mourn Watch was a fairly flat organization, not hierarchical. “People don’t get promotions here,” Agnes said, stating the obvious; not unless they were being moved up to the position of Commander or Captain, or and that could not possibly be what was happening. Agnes had many admirable qualities; a facility for leadership was not one of them. ‘Do not jump to conclusions.’ She reached for her tea, longing for the reassuring warmth of the cup, for the sake of having something to do with her hands. She counted out the number of skulls on the rim cup and the saucer in time with her breath: one, two, three. Trying to keep her voice even, to keep the panic out of it, Agnes asked, “What does that mean?”

“You’ll be working directly under Johanna,” Emmrich told her. “She has something particular in mind for you, a special project. It is a wonderful opportunity for you.”

Agnes’ grip on the teacup tightened involuntarily; nothing Emmrich was saying made any sense. She felt her heart racing, the dizzy rush of her pulse. “Johanna brought me here from the Circle to work with you,” she said, unable to keep the emphatic edge from her voice. “We work well together. Why would she—”

But no, that wasn’t it; Johanna’s intentions hardly mattered. That was not the urgent question burning on her tongue:

“Are you pleased with this?” she managed, at last. “This… ‘promotion’?”

Emmrich’s gaze fell back into his teacup, to the slinking curl of steam rising from it. His upper lip gave a faint, uncomfortable twitch, the line of his mustache dancing. Silently, Agnes begged him to look at her. Prayed he would look her in the face and smile and take it all back, tell her it was a joke, or a terrible mistake. And when he did not—when he could not look at her—Agnes felt like her stomach had fallen out of her. Like she had been eviscerated, like her entrails had spilled from her abdomen and were lying, steaming like the tea, on the unswept study floor.

Quietly, as though he was ashamed of his answer, Emmrich told her:

“In fact, I recommended you for it.”

A terrible, treacherous clatter arose as the base of Agnes’ teacup struck against the saucer beneath it, shaking in Agnes’ hands. Before it could get worse, Agnes set both cup and saucer back down, the spoons on the serving tray jumping with the force of the impact, tea sloshing out of the cup and pooling like an amber moat in the saucer below.

Agnes bit the corner her lip, grounding herself with the sharp pain of it, fighting for control of her voice. She cleared her throat, then managed a bitter laugh. “You didn’t—you did not think to ask me, first?” But obviously he has not, as they were having this conversation after the fact. For whatever reason Emmrich had done this, he had concealed it from her until the decision had already been made. “And—this cannot be right. Who will protect you if I’m busy working with Johanna?”

Perhaps she had misunderstood. Perhaps this promotion, this project with Johanna was simply a special assignment; that must be it. She would split her time between Emmrich and Johanna for awhile, but ultimately, surely—

“Myrna will begin working with me in a few days, when the promotion becomes effective.”

“Myrna?” Agnes laughed in disbelief. Myrna was talented, certainly—a better necromancer than Agnes would ever be—but she was far less experienced. Her mind hissed at her, insidiously: ‘Younger.’

But then the second shock hit, and it was impossible to keep the anger (and deeper hurt it failed to wholly conceal) out of her voice.

“In a few days?” Agnes repeated, incredulously, quietly, almost unable to believe it. If she spoke much louder than a whisper, she knew her voice would break; she would not give Emmrich the satisfaction “You are that eager to be rid of me?”

He did look at her then, his brows drawn together, expression wracked with pain and guilt. “Agnes, the last thing I want is to be rid of you,” he began, though the fact that this change had come so quickly, so secretively, said otherwise to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Agnes saw Emmrich extending his arm towards her, reaching for her.

She snatched her hand away before he could take it, refusing to look at him, staring instead at her lap as she twisted her hands tightly together.

The silence that followed was terrible.

“We will still see each other often,” Emmrich told her, at last. But whether it was because he was so shaken by her rejection of the comfort he had tried to offer her, or because he did not fully believe it, his voice sounded anything but confident. “At meals. In the halls.”

Not in the city. Not in the evenings, over tea, in the study that they would no longer share. To him, she would become like anyone else. A coworker. Nothing special.

“I know it is rather abrupt… that is part of why I wanted you to hear it from me, first. Instead of Johanna.”

Agnes could hardly believe that he was still speaking, making excuses, trying to convince her. “Did you really think that would make it better?” she asked, glowering at him from beneath her knit brows. “More palatable, to hear it from you?”

Agnes shook her head, sniffed, focusing on her hands in her lap. Wringing them together, desperate to control the stinging in her eyes and the lump in her throat. She hated how much she sounded like a child when she asked him, “What did I do wrong to deserve this?”

“Nothing!” Emmrich cried. “By the Maker, Agnes, why are you so determined to see this as a reprimand?” He kept talking, talking. Agnes barely heard a word he said, her own thoughts racing as fast as her heartbeat. ‘Did he find out? Does he know, at last, that I…? Could that be why…?’ “This position will afford you greater power, greater comfort.” ‘Two things I have never wanted, never asked for.’ “The opportunity to work on projects that interest you instead of following me down into the Necropolis every time I have a theory to test, or a restless spirit to soothe. There is even a very generous pay raise associated with the new position. Of all the things you could be doing in the Mourn Watch, I really do think it will be for the best for you, Agnes.”

At that, Agnes could not help but laugh. Long and low, and building to something slightly hysteric. A pay raise? Did he think she could be bought? The compensation for a Watcher was already more than generous, and other than the splurge she’d made on Emmrich’s ring ten years ago, Agnes had hardly spent her earnings. Nearly twenty years of wages were sitting, barely touched, in a small trunk beneath her bed.

How could more cold, heartless gold possibly compensate for the richness she was about to lose? It was ludicrous to think the two could compare.

And then Agnes was no longer laughing. Her mouth was a razor thin line, full of daggers.

“Who are you,” she asked him, low and seething, “to decide what is best for me? You are not my father.” ‘By this recent betrayal, I am left to wonder if you were ever really my friend. Better for me?’ “It would have been better for me never to have come here, and the only reason I did was because of you.”

Agnes kept her gaze fixed on Emmrich’s face, waiting for a reaction. His jaw was working, chewing at the inside of his cheek. If her words had wounded him, he was doing a very good job of hiding it.

“You’re right,” he said at last, softly, staring fixedly into his teacup, a defeated note in his words. “Perhaps it would have been better for you, if you had never come here to begin with.”

He might as well have struck her. Agnes had thrown the first stone, but she had been entirely unprepared for how deeply it would pain her, to hear Emmrich agree with her. ‘He cannot believe that.’ But Emmrich was not a man to lie, to say something he did not wholeheartedly believe to be true.

“Agnes, don’t you…” Emmrich sounded so tired. Exhausted. Of her, she supposed. “Do you ever think perhaps we are too close?”

Too close? For twenty years, they had not been nearly close enough for her liking. “What are you trying to say?”

“I am saying,” Emmrich said, emphatically, “that you should want more for yourself and your life than to spend the rest of it serving a weary, eccentric old man. And I am trying to give that to you.”

Agnes breathed out, her exhale shaking fitfully out of her. Chest heaving with it.

She was glad that Wilfred was gone, otherwise she would be fighting the juvenile urge to smash him to pieces—just to cause Emmrich even an ounce of the pain that she was feeling in that moment.

But Agnes was better than that. She was more in control of herself than that. She bared her teeth in something akin to a snarl.

“That’s lovely of you,” she told Emmrich, though her tone said it was anything but, her words laced with venom. “My deepest thanks. Really.”

And then, without further comment, she stood to make her way towards the exit. She would not stay here in this study, with Emmrich trying to convince her he’d done her a favor. She would not linger in this space—this space which had for twenty years been her space as much as his, but would soon no longer be.

She heard the clatter of Emmrich’s cup on the tray as he leapt up to follow her, calling after her. “Agnes, don’t go. Please, can’t we talk about this? It was not my intention to—”

Agnes called upon all the spitfire and rage she had within her. Feeling as hideous and fierce as a cornered beast when she turned her face just enough to throw the words over her shoulder:

“It is my intention to smoke my pipe,” she said, casting the words like stones in his direction. “Which you disdain, and prefer for me not to do in your study, so I will go.” She delivered her farewell as firmly as a slap to the face: “Good night, Volkarin.”

Upon her exit, she slammed the door of the study closed behind her with such force that the sound of it carried and echoed through the halls.

‘Don’t run,’ Agnes told herself as she hastened down the corridor. ‘Don’t weep. Not yet.’ Not in the hallways, where anyone could stumble upon her, witness her in a state of such deep distress. She just needed to hold herself together until she made it to the safety and privacy of her own room. Breathing shallowly, unevenly, she counted down the dormitory doors to her own, feeling her control over herself crumble with every step she took. By the time she reached her own door, her hands were shaking so badly she might as well have been Alfred, for all the difficulty she had with her own doorknob.

When at last the door yielded, she slipped inside and shut it firmly behind her. Cast a hasty barrier over it to make sure that any sounds she produced within were not audible without. Then she let her body fall back, the door supporting her weight, and finally released the sob that had been building in her chest, aching in her lungs.

A second sob chased the first, then a third, and she was sinking to her knees, holding her head in her hands, her whole body shaking with adrenaline and rage and—worst of all—grief.

Emmrich was right—she was pathetic. She had no plans for herself, no lofty personal goals or higher accomplishments she was working towards achieving in her life. All she had had was this: the pleasure of working with him, and that had been more than enough. Had she—at times—wanted, wondered if the relationship between them could become more? She had; but that did not change the fact that working alongside Emmrich, for the last twenty years, had been all the purpose she needed.

And now that, too, was gone. And she was close to forty years old, and she was utterly lost.

What would become of her now? What would her life be? How could she possibly endure the Necropolis—for which she bore no special love; the Necropolis which, she had quite possibly all of this time, secretly hated—without the light Emmrich’s brilliance and warmth guiding her through it?

Agnes wept until she exhausted herself, until her stomach and her lungs ached from it and she could weep no more. When at last she was finished, she took two deep breaths, then pulled herself to her feet. Walking straight to the hearth, she plucked the box from the mantle that contained her smoking pipe. She was nothing if not a woman of her word. Letting her body drop limp into her armchair, she began, with automatic movements, to pack the bowl of the pipe with dried royal elfroot, not wholly present in her body, glad for the mechanical distraction it afforded her from her thoughts.

It was petty of her. She did not blame Emmrich in the least for forbidding her from smoking in his study; she would have agreed with him that it was a rather filthy habit, but over the last few years she’d developed a penchant for it, particularly in the rare moments when she was feeling vindictive and spiteful towards him. She lit the pipe, coughed deeply at her first inhale, but then the smoke sedated her, lifted her above and away from all the pain and the anger so that she could dissociate from it, hover in the skies above it and see it for what it really was.

Agnes stared into the cold, ash-laden hearth in front of her, puffing, sending smoke circles spinning around the room, thinking. ‘Why has Emmrich done this?’ Because she did not believe, even for a second, that it was simply in recognition of her merit as a Watcher. Not after twenty years. But all of the answers she could come up with were too painful; and it was not productive, Agnes realized, to sit here trying to guess at Emmrich’s motives. They did not matter. She had no power over Emmrich‘s decisions, only the ability to decide what she was going to do about them. And no matter how many times she turned it over in her head, no matter how many different ways she imagined what her life could be like in the Mourn Watch without him, there seemed to be only one viable course of action available to her.

For twenty years, Agnes had devoted herself to protecting Emmrich. Perhaps, at last, the time had come for her to protect herself.

And if she were going to do that, she could not stay.

Decided, Agnes practically leapt to her feet, walking to her wardrobe and throwing wide the doors. From the bottom of the wardrobe she withdrew the only present Lord Halkias had ever given her: a carpet bag, gifted to her after her magic was discovered and she was bound for the Circle at Perendale. The bag was bigger on the inside, enchanted to carry much more than its exterior volume suggested. The message, at the time, had been quite clear: pack everything that is dear to you when you leave for the Circle, because we are glad to be rid of you, and you will not be welcome back here again.

She had not touched the thing since she had first unpacked into this room. Now she beat two decades worth of dust off of it, and stood it open at the foot of her bed. One by one, she folded up each of her skirts and blouses, then emptied the underwear and stockings from her drawers into the bag as well. Withdrawing the small chest from beneath her bed, she glanced at the gold within, making a hasty approximation of her total earnings, then added that to the bag as well. There was a neat stack of books on her desk, half read, but only a handful of the volumes were her own; these she packed, leaving the borrowed books in place. She threw her pipe and the rest of her elfroot in the rubbish bin. Without the satisfaction of irritating Emmrich, she would no longer have a use for either.

It did not take her long to gather her things. Though she had spent half her life in the Mourn Watch, now she left it with only a handful more possessions than she had when she arrived. At last she scanned the room one final time, checking under and within all the furniture. All was clear, except—Agnes discovered—for the topmost drawer of her desk.

The sight of the wrinkled programs inspired another swell of grief within her, and set her lower lip trembling all over again, but ‘No,’ she scolded herself, blinking past the tears, ‘you have already cried enough.’ Still she held the stack of paper programs reverently as she withdrew it from the desk, shuffling through the pages. Don Pasquale; The Barber of Treviso; The Marriage of Figaro. Agnes has cherished these mementos like sacred relics, each of them a reminder of a much-beloved, oft-revisited memory of Emmrich. Of time they had spent together. Of moments—however brief and delusional and champagne-induced they may have been—when she had imagined he might one day love her in return, as deeply and as hopelessly as she loved him.

Those, too, she consigned to the rubbish bin, along with her pipe.

One program alone she kept separate from the rest. Agnes set it down on the surface of the desk, before proceeding to clean the room. She beat the dirt from the small woven rug at the side of the bed; she swept the ashes from the hearth and scoured it clean. With a bucket water and lye she scrubbed determinedly at the floor of the bedroom until the tiles shone—as if, by removing all biological evidence that she had once lived in this space (filled it with impossible dreams) she could similarly wash away the indelible marks it had made upon her soul.

And when she was finished—when the room was clean, the bed made, the whole place looking sterile as an infirmary—she set the program for The Elixir of Love, the first opera they had seen together, square in the center of the mattress, the creamy parchment standing out in sharp contrast against the crimson bed linens. In the tempest of her emotions, Agnes did not trust herself to leave Emmrich a goodbye note. It was too likely that she would say something she would ultimately come to regret. The program would have to speak volumes for her: the full weight of both her gratitude and her grief.

One day, perhaps, when all of this was far behind her, she could look back on that night and be happy, instead of feeling so utterly heartbroken and bitter.

It was a cowardly act, to creep out of the Necropolis in the small hours of the night as she was doing. Perhaps she owed it to herself and the other Watchers to formally put in her resignation, but Agnes was certain she could not endure it. She would not endure it. Johanna would ask too many questions Agnes could not answer, not without risk of revealing exactly why it was she needed to leave. And before she knew it all of her secrets would be out, and she would not only be grieved then but ashamed and humiliated, too, for everyone to know how much and how long she had loved Emmrich, and how easy it had been for him to cast her aside.

And it did not matter, really. She would never see any of them again. She did not intend to ever return to Nevarra.

Where would she go? Agnes wasn't sure. It was said the south was kinder to mages since Divine Victoria had assumed the Sunburst Throne, but all that evidence was anecdotal at best. Tevinter seemed the safer bet. What would she do there? Agnes wasn't sure, but she was a mage, and Tevinter ran on magic; she would figure out something. Surely with the Qunari invasion, she could find work as a mercenary, or a bodyguard. And in the short term, she had no need for money. If she was thrifty, she could stretch her twenty years' wages to keep her sheltered and fed for at least a few months, perhaps almost a year. What mattered most was that there was no joy left for her here in the Necropolis, no life left for her here. Anything else would be preferable to staying.

When she emerged into Nevarra City, the night was cool, blossom-perfumed. A clear sky full of stars stretched above her. And although she carried a terrible pain within her, the future seemed pregnant with possibility, if not promise. That, at least, was something.

Agnes breathed the cool air deeply, unpinned her hair from her head and let it cascade down her back. A gentle riverbreeze tossed her dark curls around her face, and as the wind blew past her, Agnes imagined that it carried Watcher Gallatus away with it. Whoever she became next, it would not be the lovesick, heartbroken woman she was leaving behind.

One foot in front of the other, she descended the grand staircase that led from the mouth of the Necropolis and into the city. She did not once turn back.

#emmrich volkarin #emmrook #Emmrich Volkahrin #dragon age emmrich #emmrich the necromancer #dragon age: the veil guard #dragon age fanfic #fanfiction #angst

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biggrimace · 13 days ago

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Run To You | Peter Maximoff

Part 3 / 3

Part 1 , 2

Summary: Peter is keeping away from you to keep you and your baby safe, but it's killing him. Vision comes to question him about you and then helps you regain control of your memory. You go to find and reunite with the man you love.

Warnings: pregnant reader

—

It had been a few days since Peter had seen you, and it was killing him. Wanda was keeping you away from him, and he knew it. He could see how angry she was on her face. That night, you became lucid only briefly and got under Wanda’s skin. After she guided you out of the house and closed the door, he didn’t miss how she scowled at him as she walked back to the kitchen.

Stay away from her if you want them safe.

She whispered into his head menacingly. Since then, he’s basically been on house arrest, living with some lady named Agnes.

Oh, Petey! How’re you doing today, you little sourpuss?

She called as she entered the attic. He was lying on an old couch, staring up at the ceiling. His mind was racing, but he felt so empty. He couldn’t get that night out of his head. He was so worried about you that warning scared him. He just wanted to keep you and your son safe, but he knew to do that he had to abide by Wanda’s wishes and stay away, no matter how much it hurt.

Owh...

Agnes tutted, pouting at the site of him. Dried tear stains on his cheeks, eyes puffy and red, laid out on the couch where he hadn’t moved in hours.

Still being a big ol’ crybaby, I see.

She teased. He just sniffled and wiped his cheeks with his sleeve.

What do you want, Agnes?

He asked hollowly. She just scoffed and went over to the couch. She grabbed his feet and tossed them on the floor, causing him to turn abruptly into a sat-up position.

Hey what the fu-

His sentence was immediately caught in his throat when he saw who stood in the doorway behind Agnes.

Oh, should I have mentioned that first… whoopsie.

Agnes said sarcastically, pointing to the figure.

Are you Pietro Maximoff?

Vision asked, approaching him. Peter could only stare, mouth agape and eyes full of anxiety.

I- um- ya. Ya, totally robo-bro. What’s up?

Peter said shakily, hesitantly rising from his place on the couch and landing a gentle, playful punch to visions shoulder. Then there was silence. Peter watched as vision stared into his eyes as if trying to read his mind, but he didn’t feel any familiar pokes like when the professor did it. Finally, Agnes cleared her throat.

Alright, well, I think you got this handled; I’m just gonna leave you, girls, here to chat. I gotta go give somebody a one-way ticket to doggy heaven.

She said this quickly and then left the attic, but neither acknowledged nor even really heard her. Once she left, Vision spoke again.

I’m only going to ask you this one more time... Are you pietro Maximoff?

He was stern but not angry. Peter was scared. It was obvious Vision knew something, and he wasn’t sure if he should be honest or play his given part, knowing making a mistake could hurt you and your baby.

I- I’m not...

He whispered shakily. Keeping Visions gaze.

I- I’m Peter Maximoff. I’m- I’m uh- I’m from another d- dimension.

He stuttered, unsure of if he made a mistake.

Who is yn to you?

Vision asked. Peter took a shakey breath.

My uh- my wife. Her name is yn Maximoff. We’ve been m- married for three years. She’s preg- pregnant with our s- son.

He explained, deciding to stick with honesty. Vision only frowned.

Why are you here?

We’re not here to like- hurt you or- or Wanda or your uh- your sons. We were s- sent here. We’re part of a uh- team of mutants. We’re called X-men. We’re just- just investigating this place.

He pleaded. Vision took a moment to think.

Why were you so disturbed upon seeing your wife the other night?

He asked and sat on the couch, gesturing for Peter to join him. Peter suddenly felt more relaxed, like he had passed a test. He was still nervous that if he messed up, it’d put his family in danger, but he also felt Vision wanted to actually have a conversation. He sat down, rubbing his palms on his thighs, then joined his hands and looked at the floor. He spoke.

She’s not supposed to be here...

He admitted. Vision just listened.

We heard of this place and the insane amount of power going into it about half a year ago. I just found out yn was pregnant, and we were so happy.

Peter said, smiling at the memory.

We talked about it, the X-men. We tried to research it from our dimension because the professor was worried that whoever was controlling it would jump to our dimension and pose a danger to us since it was like a shit ton of power. He wanted to take "preventative" action.

He explained, making air quotes with his fingers and looking at vision, who nodded, encouraging him to continue. He turned back to the floor.

Anyway, the power in this place was off the charts, like nothing we’d ever seen, and the professor was worried, so we did everything we could to look into it from our dimension. Eventually, the professor decided it wasn’t enough and wanted to send one of our people here to look into it in person and report back anything we found.

Peter paused and took a shaky breath.

It was supposed to be her...

He admitted looking to Vision, lips pressed together.

Yn was supposed to come. Her mutation is more compatible with the type of power used here, and the professor said she would get the best results the fastest.

He said, his eyes tearing up again.

He sent her here? In her condition?

Vision asked, taken aback for a moment by this professor's lack of compassion. Peter shook his head, turning back to the floor.

No. I wouldn’t let him. At the time, she was almost 5 months pregnant. Just started to show. There was no way in hell I would let her go on this mission in her condition. I didn’t want my family at risk.

He said, jabbing a thumb in his chest and meeting Vision's eyes.

The professor offered to send me with her. I said no I don’t want her going at all. The professor said no, she has to go; she knows about this shit better than anyone.

Peter rambled.

Finally, I said. She’s not going. That’s final. I don’t want my pregnant wife going to another dimension that is this unknown. I’ve been with her for six years. I know about this stuff; she’s taught me. Send me.

Peter said strongly.

So he did...

He finished and Vision nodded.

Why is she here if you demanded otherwise?

He asked, and Peter scoffed, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

I should’ve known better. She’s always been stubborn. Never one to listen to me, or anybody for that matter.

He chuckled.

I don’t know how she got here or when she got here, but that night was the first time I’d seen her in two months.

He cried at the thought head in his hands. Vision just watched with a frown

She's not supposed to be here. She was supposed to be home. Where they’d be safe.

He cried, gesturing forward with his hands.

And I just- I saw that look in her eyes. That empty look. She wasn’t herself, she wasn’t dressed like herself, she didn’t talk like herself. She was-

He cut himself off from continuing. Vision looked on intently, but Peter wasn’t sure if he should continue. Fuck it.

She was under Wanda’s control.

He finally said. Vision was taken aback.

Then we were on the couch, and she remembered me. She called me Pete and told me we were having a baby boy. She let me touch her belly, hold her, kiss her, and… I had her back.

He cried smiling.

Then Wanda came into the room, and she was gone again. And after she left for the night, I heard Wanda in my head. She warned me, saying, "Stay away from her if you want them to be safe."

His tone suddenly turned scared, and he pointed to his head frantically.

So I’ve been here, keeping away, making sure my family is safe in the only way I can think of.

He finished. Vision just sat there as Peter cried. He didn’t know how to comprehend everything he had just been told. He waited for Peter's crying to ease up before speaking again.

Thank you, Peter.

He said, rising from his spot on the couch. Peter followed him with his eyes.

You’ve been most helpful.

He said, exiting the room. Leaving Peter sat there, mouth agape, staring at the now shut attic door. He suddenly felt sick. He was absolutely terrified that he’d done something wrong and worried beyond belief for the well-being of his wife and son.

—

You were humming quietly to your baby bump. Wanda was in the kitchen, and the twins were in their room. You were sat in the living room watching your baby bump stretch with every kick your son landed in response to your humming and giggling quietly to yourself.

Yn...

Vision calls gently as he enters the room, pulling in your attention. You smile widely.

Hello, vision. Come here!

You greeted him and waved him over. He listened and came to sit at your side. You grabbed his hand and put it on your bump.

Watch this...

You giggled and began humming again. It didn’t take long for your baby to respond with a kick, and you giggled again.

He’s quite the dancer.

Vision joked with a smile, and you nodded. He pulled his hand away, folding them on his lap.

I would like to talk with you about your husband.

Vision said bluntly. It made your smile falter and stopped your humming. You loosely hugged your bump and nodded.

Ok...

It’s not that you didn’t like talking about him. It was just a painful topic.

Who is your husband?

He asked, and you laughed like it was an obvious answer he should’ve known.

Oh, come on. You remember him. He used to attend Mommy and me classes with us.

You explained simply.

No yn. Who is he?

He insisted, causing you to frown. You thought about it for a moment, but all you could remember were those classes, and even those felt like a dream. You couldn’t remember a name, a personality, or a face.

Um- I don’t know- I- I- think I’m getting confused again.

You said nervously, laughing. Vision shook his head.

When did you find out you were pregnant?

He asked. And you paused again. You had no idea. You began to panic, your breathing picking up slightly. You wanted so badly to remember something... Anything.

I don’t know...

You whispered, your head beginning to pound. Vision watched as your eyes darted across the floor as if physically searching for an answer to Vision's questions.

Why did you come to Westview?

After a moment, he finally asked. His tone was serious. It was like he wasn’t asking you conversationally but rather pushing for the answer, demanding it. You tried your hardest to remember what you were doing here. When you got here. Nothing came to mind besides a memory of your husband saying you should move there. But it felt so wrong, so fake, like it was planted there, which sent you spiralling.

Vision, I’m going to Agnes’ for an hour or so. I’ll be back shortly. The boys are in their room, and lunch is on the stove.

Wanda said cheerfully. He responded by standing and giving her a quick goodbye kiss, hoping she wouldn’t notice her best friend regaining her self-control. He said, guiding her to the door.

Oh, yn would you like to come?

Wanda quickly asked, but Vision moved between Wanda and yourself again.

Darling, yn and I are engaging in a rather enjoyable discussion regarding existentialism. I’d prefer to continue it.

Vision explained, and Wanda chuckled, rolling her eyes and moving to the door.

Oh, you big thinkers. Alright, I’ll let you get back to your oh so important discussion.

She said teasingly, and Vision smiled, opening the door for her.

Thank you, darling. Have fun.

He said, and she quickly waved to yn before heading out the door.

Vision...

Yn called desperately from the couch. He closed the door, turning back to yn He quickly responded to her call by sitting back beside you and comfortingly rubbing soothing circles on your upper back.

Vision, my head feels like it’s going to explode. I think I’m going to be sick.

You whined, grabbing your head as tears rapidly ran down your cheeks. You didn’t remember anything but a simple fabricated backstory. The more you tried, the worse your head pounded and spun.

It’s alright, yn. Keep going.

Vision encouraged. Going where? What does he want from me?

Who are you?

He asked, pulling your hands from your head and placing his in their place. Looking directly into your terrified, tear-filled eyes.

Who are you?

He asked again, the stone embedded on his forehead glowing slightly. Then it all came flooding back. Memories of Peter, your wedding, the X-men, the X-mansion, the mission. Your whole life returns in a tidal wave of emotion. He could see that you remembered. He saw how your eyes suddenly shone with a light that hadn’t been there previously, a missing consciousness because of his wife. Your breathing was ragged, and you pulled back from him, looking frantically around the house. Confused and scared.

Who the hell are you?!

You spat, but your voice gave away the fear you hid behind a brave facade.

Where am I?!

You demanded, yelling and slowly standing from your place on the couch. A protective hand on your bump.

My name is Vision. You must be yn Maximoff.

He said cautiously, slowly extending a hand to you. You looked down at the hand and then at his eyes, a frown settling on your brow.

How do you know me?

You asked. Vision retracted his hand and cleared his throat.

I am an acquaintance of your husband, Peter Maximoff.

He explained. The frown disappeared from your face, replaced by a look of shock and relief as your mouth fell agape. Vision suddenly felt his mind being poked and prodded.

Are you reading my mind?

He asked curiously, not concerned by the blatant disregard for his privacy but intrigued. The sensation stopped, and your mouth snapped closed.

No. I can’t read minds.

You said.

I’m reading your life.

You explained. Vision frowned and gestured, encouraging you to elaborate.

I can tap into your experiences, past, future, and present, like jumping through a timeline.

You said cautiously. He was impressed. He had to admit that kind of power fascinated him.

Is that all you can do?

He asked, and you shook your head.

I can manipulate memories, force you to relive them and make false ones. My mutation is reminiscent of what you would call divination magic in this dimension... Where’s Peter? Take me to him.

You demanded. Vision took a moment to comprehend all he’d been told, then considered your request.

I will take you to him.

He agrees, and you release a sigh.

But first, I must tell you all you have missed. He said, sitting on the sofa and gesturing to the spot beside him. You hesitated, but eventually, your curiosity got the better of you, and you joined him, eager to listen.

—

His foot was tapping. No, it was racing. Since vision left, it hadn’t stopped moving. He didn’t know what to do or if he did something wrong. He thought he was doing the right thing. Vision seemed so open to wanting to see the truth, and when he left, he was angry. Or was he? Peter couldn’t remember, and he’d gotten to that point where his mind was making stuff up. Maybe Vision wasn’t angry. Maybe it was a test, and he failed, and now vision was going to hurt you just like Wanda had warned. God, his whole body started to buzz at the thought. His first instinct was to race to you before vision found you, grab you, and take you as far away from this place as possible. He decided against it, though, when he really thought about it. He knew nothing about this place or the power that controlled it. For all he knows, Wanda could already hear him planning and be preparing to interfere before he even has the chance. It’s safest to stay. Especially if she’s watching him, he doesn’t know the extent of her power and doesn’t want to test it. Maybe you should’ve come originally. You probably would have already gathered all the data you could and been home. But he came, and now it’s been two months, and you're here being mind-controlled. It was his fault you’re in danger. He began to cry again. He was drowning in his fear, sadness, and guilt. His brain and sobs were so loud he didn’t hear the footsteps racing up the stairs or the attic door being opened. He didn’t hear your soft, broken gasp at the sight of him or your gentle but urgent steps toward him. But he heard your voice as you kneeled before him and felt your touch as you reached for him.

Pete...

You called concerned. His head shot out of his hands, and his eyes met yours. He was frozen for a second, stunned that you were here and that you remembered him. The moment your palms cradled his face, he fell off the couch to his knees on the floor in front of you and pulled you into a tight, desperate hug. You reciprocated by wrapping your arms around his neck and raking your hand through his hair.

Baby, I’m ok... We’re ok...

You consoled concerned. Rubbing your hand up and down his upper back. He just squeezed tighter, burying his face in your neck, crying. He was so relieved that he fell apart in your arms.

I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.

He whispered like a chant, over and over. You just shook your head, pulling back. He reluctantly let you go, and you cupped his face again, using your thumbs to wipe his tears. You shushed him.

It’s not. It’s not your fault. I came here of my own will, and Wanda took control of my mind. You didn’t do anything wrong.

You explained, and he shook his head.

I did! I left you there! I hid! I stayed away! I wanted to grab you and run, but I was a coward!

He cried, and you smiled sadly at him.

Vision explained everything. You did it to protect me. To protect us.

You said, taking his hand with one of yours and guiding it to your belly. His fingers spread as soon as he felt it under his palm. Wanting to feel it as much as possible to assure himself you both were ok.

It’s ok Pete...

You comforted him. Rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. His breathing began to slow, and his cries stopped. A stray tear sneaks out every now and then.

If you came originally like Charles wanted, none of this would’ve happened.

He said, looking at your belly.

You don’t know that. This is bigger than any of us thought. If I had come, I might have been stuck here. Under Wanda’s spell. Unable to break out because I didn’t have you.

You explained. Your silver lining outlook not going unnoticed by him. It’s one of the reasons he fell for you. You could always find the positive in any situation. He smiled gently, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into a crushing kiss full of love and desperation. You were surprised, but it didn’t take long for you to melt into him. Missing this physical contact you’ve been deprived of for the last two months. When you finally pulled away for breath, your foreheads were pressed together, and you smiled lovingly at each other. You were happy to have found your husband. Safe. Alive. And he was happy to have you back in his arms, relieved you and his son were finally where you’d be safest. With him.

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff fanfiction #peter maximoff #petermaximoff #peter maximoff x y/n #quicksilver xmen #xmen #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver #pietro maximoff #evan peters #wandavision peter #wandavision

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myosotisa · 1 year ago

Text

Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 2/2 - What did you bury?

ǁ summary: After your altercation with Eddie, you find yourself facing a lot of questions and uncertainty. Attempting to look closer at why you're in rehab, how you feel about him, and what the future holds for you feels like more than you're willing to take on until you realize it's only hurting you more not to.

ǁ tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers. happy ending!

ǁ content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ word count: 12k

ǁ Part 1 ǁ Read on AO3 ǁ

It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

You’re sitting on an examination table in the hospital wing in a paper gown with Dr. Lincoln fluttering around you like a nervous mother. Penelope had taken you right here after you had gotten all of the dirt off of your hands and pants, explaining Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln insisted on seeing you. Despite your assurances that you were completely fine, just shaken up, they had gotten you into a gown and prepared for a full exam.

“Are you able to lift your arms above your head?”

You do as asked, face stoic despite the pain in your shoulders from the movement.

“How about twisting? Carefully! How does that feel on your lower back?”

Performing the action, you also easily hide the discomfort the throbbing in your tailbone causes when you shift in your seat. “It feels fine.”

“And your head? You didn’t hit it? Does it hurt? Blurry vision, nausea, confusion?”

“No,” you sigh out, quickly losing patience with Dr. Lincoln’s anxious questioning. You can’t remember now if he was like this when you were first admitted or if he’s going overboard now because he’s worried about some kind of lawsuit. “I told you, I’m fine.”

He plucks your chart off the edge of the table, pen clicking as he begins to write furious lines along the bottom of the page. “I can give you some ibuprofen for the pain. Nothing stronger than that, of course. Given the circumstances.”

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. “I don’t want anything. It doesn’t hurt.”

Liar.

Penelope steps up from where she was having a hushed discussion with Mr. Ford off to the side. “Are you sure? It looked like quite the fall.”

“I’m sure. I don’t want any painkillers.”

This pain is good. I need it. I deserve it.

Mr. Richard Ford steps up then – a severe looking man in his late 50s, always dressed in a freshly pressed suit and tie, with his hair combed just so and his mustache neatly trimmed across his upper lip. You’re still not sure if he’s related to the Ford’s that founded the facility or if it’s just a coincidence that he shares the surname.

His dress shoes click across the tiles as he approaches you, throat clearing uncomfortably when he enters the circle that has formed around the table. “Miss…” He looks down at your file and repeats your last name like he’s never read it before, earning him a cold glare from Penelope. “I am deeply sorry for what occurred. I assure you we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here.” He adjusts his tie along with his posture, looking proud as he explains, “We’re already in the process of having Mr. Munson transferred to another facility.”

A lick of panic rockets up your spine. “No.” 3 sets of eyes lock on you, emotions ranging from curious to concerned. “You don’t have to do that.” Your fingers curl into fists where they sit on your thighs before relaxing, taking some of the tension in your body with it. “I don’t want you to transfer him.”

He seems to hesitate then, bushy eyebrows drawing together on his wrinkled forehead. “Are you positive? It’s important to us that you feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe here,” you press, looking back and forth between the three of them before settling on Penelope. “It was an accident. Eddie’s barely into his detox – barely started therapy – and I should’ve known better than to get into an argument with him.” Her face remains passive, unreadable. No insight into how she feels about what you’re saying. “It’s my fault as much as his. It wouldn’t be fair to move him, not when he’s struggling this much, this early into his treatment. I don’t want him moved.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you should be more concerned about yourself.” Dr. Lincoln takes a small step forward, adjusting the collar of your gown to take another look at the quickly forming bruises near your collarbone. “You’re not worried about something like this happening again with him, maybe even worse?”

You think back to the moment you hit the ground. Looking up at him, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun, leaving almost all of him cast in shadow. The way he looked utterly terrified at what he’d done. How quickly he had tried to apologize when he came back to himself.

Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

“No, it’s fi–” Hazel eyes narrow into a squint, stopping your sentence in its tracks. Another deep breath, in and out, and you try again. “I’m not worried. He won’t do something like this again. I want him to stay.”

A few moments of silence follows your declaration, Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln glancing at each other before looking to Penelope. Her calculating gaze remains on you, entirely unwavering even as the other two stare holes into the sides of her face. For the first time, you make a conscious effort to keep eye contact, to remain firm despite your desire to shy away.

The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in response.

“Then that settles it.” She clasps her hands together in front of her stomach, looking back and forth between the men beside her with a placating smile. “Mr. Munson will stay, pending further transgressions.”

Your shoulders sag in a relief you hadn’t anticipated feeling, but you’re quick to straighten when she addresses you again. “Any other incidents, with you or any other resident, and he will be moved to another facility. Understood?”

It feels like a lifeline. Like a chance. Like an opportunity.

If you want him here, then help him stay.

“Understood.”

The next morning when you walk out for breakfast at 8:30 sharp, there’s something sitting on your table. It strikes you as odd immediately given you’re one of the first people out of your room today and there doesn’t seem to be anyone milling around. You withhold your curiosity – follow the same pattern of line, meds, line, breakfast. Stamp down the nervous feeling in your gut as you cautiously approach.

Completely dusted free of dirt and with your bookmark perfectly in place, is Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. It had completely slipped your mind that you’d even dropped it. You place down your tray with shaky hands and pick it up, flipping through the pages like you’re checking it for wounds. There’s no note, no sign, nothing that could indicate who brought it back for you.

But you know who. It scares you half to death that you know just who, that you know it with certainty.

When is the last time anything felt certain?

The question lingers, festers, and grows as you push around your food and wait for him to plop down in front of you. Imagining what stupid thing he might say, how you would brush it off with a groan and a snarky comment, how he would take that reaction with a smile and never press for more.

He never shows.

It’s with great annoyance that you find yourself looking for him all day. Sitting in your chair by the window, you glance up every half a page to see if you can catch a glimpse of his shaggy hair around the hall. You actually take a walk during your outside time instead of hiding, and you tell yourself it’s because you want the exercise and it’s finally cool enough outside to not sweat your balls off, but that doesn’t exactly account for the way your eyes search the grounds for any sign of tattooed forearms and lanky legs.

When you walk into Therapy House with the others that afternoon, Eddie is already inside. He’s in the chair beside Penelope, slumped down so far most of his ass is hanging off the edge, legs out long, and looking every bit a kicked puppy. You silently beg him to make eye contact with you as you sit, willing your stare into a physical sensation that might force him to just look at you.

He doesn’t look away from his own hands once, silent as a mouse the entire session.

The moment group is over and the counselors come around to collect their first resident of the day, you’re walking across the sunbathed birch wood floors and stopping short just behind him before you can even think about it.

“Eddie,” it comes out as a sigh, eyes pinned to the way his shoulder blades tense before your very eyes, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve, uh… Been in here, for the most part,” he explains over his shoulder, still not turning to face you. His voice is hoarse around the edges, ragged and torn from overuse.

“Oh, okay.” Your face pinches in concern, hand raising like you want to reach out to him but hesitating there. “About… about yesterday–”

“Sorry,” he cuts you off sharply, turning halfway toward you with red-rimmed eyes still trained on the floor, “I’ve gotta go.”

He’s halfway across the room and climbing up the stairs to the lofts two at a time before you can say another word.

The image of the swollen redness around his teary eyes, half covered by his hair as he refuses to look at you for even a moment, haunts you for the rest of the week.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

Penelope is dressed in a teal silk blouse. It washes out her skin tone and the boat neckline makes her shoulders look too small. Not to mention the strange height of the cinch just below her bust, giving it the appearance of a child’s nightgown. Plainly, it looks really bad on her. All of her clothes are carefully curated and fashion forward – meant to make a statement about who she is and the authority she holds. This is absolutely not making that statement. And you were staring at it for all of group, trying to wrap your head around what it meant.

“Who gave you that shirt?”

This might be the first time she’s ever looked even half surprised at something you’ve said, her lips parting slightly as she glances down at her chest like she had forgotten what she was wearing. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she looks back at you, passive expression back in place.

“You would’ve never bought it, I’m surprised you’re allowing yourself to be seen in it,” you continue, eyes narrowing into a squint as you continue to search it and her for clues. “The fact that you’re wearing it makes me think someone gave it to you and you’re going to see them today, so you felt obligated to wear it to please them. Maybe one of your parents or a sibling or a friend… A partner?”

She uncrosses her legs just to recross in the other direction, attempting to appear amused as you explain. Gotcha.

“A partner, then. One who obviously doesn’t know you very well, or doesn’t understand fashion at all, because the color is god awful and the shape even worse. But you want to impress them enough that you’re willing to wear it anyway.”

If it was an after work date, she would’ve changed after. So it’s someone she would mostly see during her normal day. Plus, she lives and breathes her job, when would she have had time to meet someone?

“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to what I wear… Or that you were so into fashion,” she offers casually. Too casually to play off.

A bit too sharp, a bit too pointed, you snap back. “I’m not into fashion and you’re deflecting.”

She blinks at you for a few moments before she settles back into her chair, draping her arms over her stomach. “And you’re projecting.”

“No, I’m not,” and it comes out defensive. Too defensive to play off.

So then the quiet kicks in. Queen Penelope Windsor’s beloved uncomfortable silence. Part of you is convinced one of her professors taught her that awkward silence is an invaluable tool in psychiatry. You want to know who that professor is, so you can inform them how utterly wrong they are.

Penelope is, however, utterly right.

“I’m projecting,” you concede, gaze casting down to your lap to settle into the discomfort.

Her pen clicks and it feels like salt in your wound. “Okay then. Would you like to talk about what you’re avoiding?”

And maybe you’re not quite done being snarky when you reply, “Isn’t the whole point of deflecting because you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It can be. But I still would like to give you the opportunity to. You never know, it might help you feel better.”

Your eyes roll hard enough to just see white for a moment, looking off to the stupid little white noise machine in the corner. It’s the size of a radio clock and sits directly on the floor by the door – you’ve almost tripped on it 10 times.

Probably an accessibility hazard. Someone should really complain about that. If someone less coordinated, or even Thomas with his cane, tried to walk in they could really get hurt.

“Fuck!” The exclamation comes from nowhere, probably just barely loud enough to draw attention from outside the room. Penelope remains incredibly passive despite the sudden change in your attitude, not making a move or a sound as you bury your face in your hands with your elbows propped on your thighs.

Probably just interrupted other therapy sessions. Made them lose track of what they are talking about. Maybe even triggered someone unintentionally with your sudden yell. Great job, idiot.

Digging your nails into the skin along your hairline, you take in a hissing breath through your teeth and attempt to exhale some of the tension. It’s been weaving through your muscles all week, infecting all of your time, distracting you at all hours of the day. A part of you hoped it was just another phase in recovery but it just keeps getting worse and worse.

Penelope’s voice is softer when she speaks next, more cautious. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking about right now that’s distressing you?”

“It’s the fact that I’m fucking thinking that’s distressing me.”

Realizing that probably doesn’t help at all, and most likely makes you sound insane, you release your hands to clasp tightly in your lap as you raise your head to look at her again. “I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop noticing everything. I can’t stop.”

“Okay,” she gives a small nod of encouragement, sliding her notebook further into her lap to focus more attention on you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything. Your shirt and the noise machine and how someone could trip on it and hurt themselves. And how we are required to have 1 hour outside a day but half of us sit in the shade the entire time because it’s too hot or we don’t want to get sunburnt, and they aren’t exactly going to start stocking sunscreen and ointment just to facilitate 60 minutes in the sun. I’m thinking about how I finally figured out that there’s a different cook on the weekends and that’s why the stupid scrambled eggs they make us every day are oversalted Friday through Sunday and undersalted all the other days. I’m thinking about how all of the books in the library used to have an organization system but no one takes care of it – so all the books are all in the wrong places and now I feel like I have to take some of my free time to fix it because I know nobody else will, even though I can’t figure out why I fucking care so much. I’m thinking about how you asked me to help Eddie so he could stay here in recovery and I want to do that because he latched on to me when he first got here and now I suddenly feel responsible for him, even though I didn’t even like the guy at first, and now he won’t even fucking talk to me so I can’t do that.”

You inhale sharply, talking way too fast but unable to stop. “I’m thinking about how this facility is built to house 50 people or more but only gets one new resident a month, maybe two. So why is it so big? Why not bring in more people? Probably because they’re only accepting the people willing to turn out their wallets in order to get help or because they know someone who will so then all the people who really need help are left to fucking die under highways and in abandoned buildings because if they don’t have money, they don’t fucking mean anything to anyone. But for some reason I still care about that and feel bad about it and feel responsible for it even though there is literally nothing I could possibly do to change any of it.”

Another heaving breath that makes your chest feel too tight and you’re squeezing your eyes shut against the brunt of the pressure. “I can’t stop thinking about everything and I feel like it’s fucking crushing me and I just want something to turn my brain off – but that’s the entire fucking reason I’m here in the first place. I started using because I just wanted something to numb it all.”

The admission feels like a slap across the face. Like being dunked head first in ice water. The reality of where you started.

The sprawling, trembling fault line that led you here – to where the tectonic plates move and shift. Where the earthquakes, that used to feel like subtle vibration in the dirt beneath your feet, now knock you to the ground with ease. Standing on the edge of the chasm between that you’re still not ready to cross.

Because what’s on the other side?

And what if I fall through?

The next week of your life passes in a sort-of overwhelmed daze. The realization of that pit before you– what it means, what it could do. It hangs around like a spirit haunting your home. It’s always been there, you just couldn’t see it, too focused on your own feet and keeping them moving to see anything beyond the inches of ground in front of you.

Now, the inches of ground before you are darkness. Unfathomably deep and impenetrably dark. And on the other side, there’s sun. Grass. Trees.

Shouldn’t I want to get there? Shouldn’t I be excited to jump?

The questions follow you through your days on autopilot as you keep to your schedule.

On the two week anniversary of your argument with Eddie, Penelope announces that, instead of talking in a circle for group today, she’ll be pairing you off into partners to play games. Trust exercises, she assures you when you all look at each other like she’s lost her mind. It wasn’t the first time she had used her slot of time to do some kind of activity – but it hadn’t been something like this.

And really you should have seen it coming.

Because Queen Penelope, in her oh so infinite wisdom, points you and Eddie to a pair of chairs facing each other below the skylight. While Eddie shows little to no reaction as he shuffles over, you cast a pleading look at her. Hoping to get across some of the betrayal you’re feeling in your eyes.

She just smiles. Meets you with silence before shuffling around the other pairs of residents throughout the room.

When you sit down on the metal folding chair across from him, you get your first good look since the day after you’d argued. The last few times you’d seen him, he looked no better than a zombie – half awake and half asleep as he went through his days. He’d kept quiet for the most part in group, only adding in a sentence or two at times, and left his 1 on 1 session in the lofts with red rimmed eyes and looking about ready to pass out. But he’d also gotten into the habit of playing cards most days with his roommate, Howard. And while you couldn’t imagine the gruff old man of few words was very good company to keep, sometimes you could have sworn you’d look over and see them smiling.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

The both of you wordlessly adjust on the seats, warmed by the sunshine filtering through the circular window overhead. Penelope had placed the chairs close enough together that, with his long legs, you both accidentally kept knocking knees. The third time, you muttered, “Sorry,” which brought a small smile to his face.

He ends up with his knees splayed wide, hands resting on his thighs, while you bring your knees in tight together, propping your feet up on the bar beneath your chair as you settle into soft tapping of your fingertips near your knees. Beyond your apology, neither of you say a word or make any eye contact as you watch Penelope and wait for instruction.

“So, the aim of the exercise is simple,” she explains, projecting her voice slightly as her heels click along the wood, “it’s a question and answer. Going back and forth to learn more about each other, being as honest as you’re comfortable being. This is not supposed to be something that causes you intense distress. But don’t be afraid to lean into some discomfort if you feel it. You might end up discovering something valuable about yourself.”

When you glance back at Eddie, his big brown eyes are already looking at you.

A warm feeling creeps up your spine, your fingers twitching in your lap as you adjust to the unexpected attention. His expression is pensive, gentle… Soft. He doesn’t look mad, or hurt, or upset. He’s looking at you like he’s happy you’re here – sitting across from him in the subtle heat of the sun. And while you’re glad he doesn’t seem upset to be forced to speak with you, you’re more confused than anything.

In a move that surprises even yourself, you break the silence first. “Hey.”

His chest rises in a deep inhale, shoulders and arms relaxing on the long exhale before he responds. “Hey.” You offer a small, slightly awkward smile, and he mirrors it as you adjust to tuck your hands under your thighs, bringing your shoulders slightly forward. “I wanted to apologize.”

Blinking at him a few times, you manage an unsure, “Oh?”

“You were right,” he sighs, hands coming together over his abdomen to fiddle with his own fingers. “I… I needed a wakeup call. Some sense knocked into me.” The corners of his eyes pinch up in pain before he returns your eye contact again. “I’m just really, really sorry it came from hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you rush to try to assure him, pushing away the ache of the bruises that have faded from your tailbone, “I was more just shocked than anything.”

He winces, forefinger and thumb pinching some skin between his nails. “I appreciate you saying so, but you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.” His eyes cast down to your knees before he continues, “I know what a push like that can do.”

Unsure exactly how to take that statement, mind absolutely swirling with possible solutions, you swallow dryly and offer an, “Okay.”

Tense silence falls back over you both, the murmured conversations of other residents echoing throughout the open space into a white noise of unintelligible words. You sit and you wait as Eddie rubs the pads of his thumbs together, lower lip drawing up between his teeth as he continues to stare at your knees. He looks deep in thought – eyebrows twitching together a few times before he seems to remember himself again. Adjusting to sit up straighter in his chair, one of his knees knocks against the outside of yours before he clears his throat. “What are we, uh, supposed to be doing again?”

“Asking each other questions.”

A small scoff leaves his lips in a puff of air, the corner tilting up in amusement. “Like asking what’s your favorite color and shit?”

A soft smile and a smaller shake of your head, you flex your feet to point your toes toward the floor before relaxing again. “I think it’s supposed to be more drug and rehab and therapy related shit but… She really didn’t specify.”

“Ah… A tempting loophole,” he agrees, nodding his head as if he’s really thinking about it. “But I guess we should try to do what the good therapist thinks will help us, huh?”

A wistful sigh leaves you as you roll your shoulders back to sit up straighter. “I guess so. You can start.”

“Oh, shit.” You laugh softly at the awkward face he pulls when you put him on the spot, and the sound seems to put him at ease. “Okay… Oh! I asked you a couple weeks ago what you were in for. Like what you are, were, addicted to?”

A simple enough question, you answer quickly. “Oxycodone. And Alcohol. Normally together, I guess.”

If he’s surprised by your answer, he doesn’t show it, just lets out a low whistle through the side of his mouth. “Downers and downers, huh?”

“Yup,” you confirm, pressing your lips together and offering an awkward shrug. “What about you? You’ve mentioned coke and meth before…?”

“Mostly coke, meth, and alcohol,” his head rocks slowly back and forth in a nod. “But I’ve probably done a bit of everything – ecstasy, xanax, opioids, ketamine, the works.”

“Truly a man of culture,” you attempt as a joke, and his half smile tells you that you were successful.

“You could say that. So how’d you start? Using, I mean.”

“Like, where did I get it?” He shrugs and waves for you to continue with that thought. “A friend of mine, she was already involved in… All of it. And offered to connect me.”

“A stellar friend,” is his attempt at another joke.

The statement twists in your chest painfully, the cold feeling seeping out like a wrung washcloth. A sad smile and a deep breath to try to move past it. “And you? How’d you start?”

“Are you just gonna repeat all of my questions? Feels kinda unfair.”

“I’ll come up with a new one after this. Scout’s honor.”

He snorts, cracking a smile as he shakes his head again. “I don’t think you’re allowed to use that if you’re not a boy scout, but okay.” You’re about ready to retort back that he doesn’t know that you weren’t really a boy scout, but he answers your question before you can. “I was a dealer, back in high school. After my buddy Rick got arrested, I took over the mantle. Mostly just weed to suburban kids. I had other shit but didn’t sell it often. Back then, I needed the money more than I needed to sample the merchandise so… I would only smoke weed once in a blue moon when I had the extra stock.”

“As for when I really started…” He looks back down at his hands in his lap. “Our first tour. It was hectic – fucking nuts. More than we ever thought it would be. But we were living out our dream, y’know? It was like being in a fuckin’ movie sometimes.” A small, wistful smile tilts his mouth as he recalls the memories. “We were going 24/7 between the travel and the concerts and the afterparties. At one of ‘em, someone, understandably, brought the white shit.” The knuckles in his hands momentarily turn white as he grips them together, a subtle show of tension before they relax again. “You can, uh… You probably know where it goes from there.”

“I can assume, yeah,” it comes out softer than you thought it would, affected by his vulnerability. The Eddie you met on his first day would’ve never done anything like this. Would’ve never even spoken like this. How had so much changed so quickly? How had he surpassed you?

“Okay, how about…” Like he’s trying to bring some life back into himself and you, he begins a drumming tap on his thighs, shoulders rolling forward as he applies himself to the motion. You don’t bother to try to withhold your laugh, feeling your nose crinkle with the force of it. His chin tips up towards the sun, a cheeky grin splitting to show the whites of his teeth as he starts to hum a single note out into the open space, an over dramatic representation of his thinking.

“Eddie!”

The sharp call has both of you freezing, faces dropping as you slowly turn toward where Penelope stands with her hands on her hips and a deep scowl. “A little quieter, please?”

Your lips press together tight to withhold your laugh as he offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

When he turns back to you, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly scolded, you can stop the laugh from escaping you in a snort through your nose. “It’s not funny,” he mutters, lower lip jutting out in a pout as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You got in trouble with mom,” you whisper yell, leaning toward him with a teasing smile. “It’s kinda funny.”

His expression breaks – smile stretching against his will as you make fun of him. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you’ve never even gotten in trouble before. Ever. At all.”

Taking it as a challenge, a single eyebrow raises as you lean back into your chair. “Is that your question?”

Intrigue showing clearly, he nods, hair shifting from behind him over his shoulders as he does so. “Sure, that feels close enough to the topic. Have you ever gotten in trouble before?”

Tapping the tip of your finger against your chin, you make a small show of trying to think about it even though you already know what you’re going to say. “Three times come to mind.”

“Three?!” He gasps, hand flying to his chest in mock drama. “Say it ain’t so.”

“First, I convinced my grandfather to buy this huge box of ice creams for dogs. He thought it was for us so, when he walked into the kitchen, and I was holding it down for my dog to lick, he immediately started to yell at me. When I told him that’s what it was meant for, I swear to god – I thought he was going to pop a fucking blood vessel he was so mad.”

Eddie snorts as he shakes his head back and forth slowly. “That would be the kind of thing you’d consider getting in trouble.”

“Hey!” You point an accusing finger at him, falling into this comfortable dynamic between the two of you. “I’m not done yet!” Putting his hands up in surrender, he mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth as he settles down to look at you again. “The second… Well, I got called to the principal's office in high school. Because,” you take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable reaction you’ll get, “because some kids were spreading a rumor that I was sleeping with a teacher.”

This finally seems to entertain him, jaw dropping slightly as his eyes widen. “Well, did you?!”

“No!” You’re quick to deny, voice rising slightly in pitch as you do. His chin dips down, looking up through his eyelashes at you, extremely unconvinced. “I mean, I probably could have, but I didn’t want to!”

His head rocks back as another low whistle presses out of the corner of his mouth. “Wow, sunshine… Now that’s some juicy gossip. Have you mentioned that one to Melissa?”

Your foot kicks out, knocking into his shin hard enough for him to sit up straighter in surprise. “Shut it, Munson.”

“Okay, okay! Sorr-ee, geeze.” And yet he’s nothing but smiles as he returns to making eye contact with you. “And third?”

“Third was definitely drug related.” You’re quick to amend, tucking your hands back under your thighs. “I was picking up some oxy after completely running out. Desperate enough that I went to his apartment while the sun was up – which I always tried not to do.” His head dips in acknowledgment, showing he’s actively listening as you continue. “It must have been my lucky day because the bag was barely in my hand before the door slams open, police screaming his name and boots stomping inside.” Adrenaline kicking up slightly at the memory, you can vividly picture the way your skinhead dealer went deathly pale in mere seconds at the noise. “It was a good thing that I wasn’t on anything that day because before I knew it, I was out the window, down the fire escape, across the alley, and over a fence. I didn’t stop running until I ducked into a Walmart – hiding in the crowd.”

“Damn.” He sighs, looking impressed but attempting to sound disappointed. “There’s a bit of a rebel in you after all.”

And while you’re not exactly sure if it’s something to be proud of, you’re at least happy to earn his approval as you raise your chin slightly. “See? More to me than meets the eye.”

The moment between you stretches out a bit too long as he seems to appraise you, a soft smile made warmer by sparkling eyes. It takes some conscious effort not to react to his study – heart thumping hard in your chest a few times before he agrees. “Pretty metal, I’ll give you that.”

Exhaling some of the tension in your shoulders, relaxing more into your chair, you’re quick to try to move on from talking about you. “You said you were dealing because you needed the money. Were you saving up to move out or something?”

His expression shifts, smile turning awkward as he brings a hand up to hook behind his neck, bent arm laying beside his chest. “Not exactly.” Giving him your full attention and what you hope is an encouraging smile, he takes a deep breath before he begins. “I moved in with my uncle when I was a kid. My dad’s brother Wayne. My parents weren’t…” His mouth presses into a thin line as he tries to think of how to phrase it. “My dad ended up in jail and my mom didn’t have it in her to be a single mom. Hadn’t worked in a long time, didn’t have the money, all that. So she dropped me off with my uncle with a promise to try to get her life together and come back.”

The implication there is heavy enough, sorrow settling into your gut like a brick, but he still adds, “That, uh… That never happened. So it was just me and Wayne and his one bedroom trailer in a small town in Indiana.” His arm drops from his neck, hands coming together in his lap so he can fidget with his own fingers again. “He did the best he could for a guy who never expected to have a kid – more than I could ever ask for. Gave me his room, worked night shifts at the power plant to bring in cash, made sure the pantry was never empty. But it was more than that, y’know? He is… He taught me how to change the oil of my car, how to fix the little AC unit in my window, how to tie a tie.”

His lips part in a smile, his eyes far off as he tells you, “we used to play cards a lot. I swear, no one has a better poker face than Wayne. You wouldn’t guess it from the looks of him, but he used to make a killing in Texas Hold ‘em back before I came into the picture.” His face drops slightly at that, eyebrows tipping up in an emotion that he’s quick to shake off. “But he has a tell – I learned when I was 13. When he’s bluffing, he’ll do a little sniff as he’s leaning back from raising. It’s really hard to tell but it’s there.” His excitement grows again, fidgeting in his hands ceasing. “He had this crazy collection of hats and mugs, and the one time I accidentally knocked one off the shelf and it broke – man,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna cry. Never that he was gonna scream or yell or try to hit me or send me away. He would just get so sad, like he was about to start tearing up, and I’d always fold – scrambling to apologize and asking what I could do to make it better.”

Brown eyes flick back up to yours, quickly followed by a dusting of pink across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. As if realizing he was getting off track, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway. It was always a struggle for him to get by, having to feed a boy with the appetite of a fucking rhino and everything else on top of that. So, when I got old enough, I started looking for anything I could do to bring some cash in. To try to… I mean, I could never repay him but like, to at least try to help, y’know?” You nod, not sure if he was actually looking for confirmation but he seems to appreciate the gesture regardless. “So I was doing odd jobs and started getting involved with stuff and eventually became an errand boy to Reefer Rick. Who I took over for when he got put away.”

Sensing a pause in his story, or at least what you perceive as one, you can’t withhold your curiosity as you press for more answers. “Is Wayne still alive? Like are you two still close?”

His face falls, that heavy feeling in your gut following closely after. “He’s alive, at least, as far as I know.” His attention is off in nowhere again as he visibly shrinks back as far as he can into the metal chair. “I went back to see him a year or so ago. I wasn’t doing so hot – couldn’t seem to even get out of bed without a line. He caught on pretty quick what was going on. Got more mad than I’d ever seen him.” He swallows harshly, attempting to get rid of the lump he feels growing there. “We both said some nasty shit – how he wasn’t really my dad and didn’t know what he was talking about. And he said I was turning into my dad, that I’d never looked more like him than I did that day. I stormed out. And we haven’t talked since.”

Your heart bleeds for the defeat you can see in his expression, the pain in the way he explains. How heavy it must be for him to carry that. While your first instinct is to offer apologies and words of comfort that really won’t matter much in the end, you settle for looking to the future. “Are you gonna reach out to him again? When you get clean?”

“I…” He looks confused then, hand coming up to rub at his forehead roughly before he settles. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Taking a deep breath of your own, you muster up some courage. “It’s not my place, at all, so feel free to tell me to fuck right off but… I feel like you should. I think he’d be happy for you.”

The sentiment rocks him – face twisting in a mix of emotions before he brings up both hands like he’s going to rub them off of his face. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

Silence falls, heavier like it was before. The momentary comradery falling away to reality again – two strangers trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. The tension in the air is palpable, at least to you, as he continues to stare off for another minute or two because coming back into himself.

“So…” He clears his throat, anxiously adjusting in his seat and knocking against your knee again. “What made you decide to get help?”

The million dollar question.

Another thing you feel like you should’ve seen coming, should’ve prepared for in advance. But here you are: sitting across from a stranger you feel inexplicably tied to and faced with a question you still don’t know the answer to. The question that has hung over your head for the past week and half.

Why are you trying to get better?

“Well, ending up here – like, in rehab – was easier than the alternative. So that part wasn’t hard.” The skin between his eyebrows folds as he looks at you, a bit confused but not interrupting to ask for clarification as you continue. “As for why I’m getting help…”

The rest hangs there, suspended by hesitation. Uncertainty blooms in your chest like a burst of frozen air – like blue tipped fingers gripping your heart in their fist. A threat and a warning.

Eddie hits the toe of his shoe against yours, bringing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to answer. Not if… You don’t have to.”

And the sun is shining down on him from the skylight above, casting him in a glow. A soft auburn hue shines in his wiry hair, the red undertones coming forward in the sun. He’s still pale but you can see them now – freckles across his face and the skin just beyond the collar of his shirt like a dusting of cinnamon. Brown eyes that have a bit more life in them than they did before.

There’s still a sense of frost beneath his skin, half alive and freezing like it used to be, but it’s thawing. Warming. Before your eyes and beneath the light of day, Eddie Munson was coming out of his cold shadows, one small step at a time.

“But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing forward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things." "Like what?"

“I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.” Out comes the honest truth. Truth he wasn’t expecting based on the way his eyebrows raise, skin wrinkling beneath his bangs. “It feels like there should be this big reason – some grand goal or something that would be a good answer in a biography. And I don’t really have one of those. Not right now.”

There’s a long pause then, like he wants to make sure you’re not going to say anything else before he replies. “I don’t think it has to be something fantastical or anything like that. Maybe it would be a better story if it was but… I dunno, I think any reason is as good as any other.”

A self-deprecating smile and joking change of tone, you ask him, “Even if my reason is just because I want to make more bad jokes that people can’t decide if they want to laugh or groan at?”

His answering smile is filled with genuine determination when he tells you, “I think that’s a fucking stellar reason, sunshine.”

Your 60th day of rehab comes with a party.

Not for you, of course. It would be a lot of resources for the center to celebrate arbitrary anniversaries like that for every resident. No, this is a graduation party. A going away party. A ‘see you never’ kind of party.

When you walk back into the main hall after group, there’s a hastily made banner hung between the nurse’s station and the kitchen that says ‘Happy Graduation Tony!’ in shades of blue and yellow, with some splashes of green mixed in. There’s a weird animal drawn on the right side that you can’t identify – but you guess it’s supposed to be a wolverine based on the ‘Go Michigan Wolverines!’ underneath in blocky text.

There are various basketball-themed party decorations scattered throughout the tables, all looking like they came from a big wholesale package of party favors. It looks alarmingly like an 8 year old’s birthday party, but Tony’s smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it as he laughs at the attempt Kathy, Melissa, and Thomas made at decorating for him.

The University of Michigan Wolverines is his favorite college basketball team, he explains to the rest of you as you look on confused. He gives Thomas a joyful ribbing at having remembered a comment like that in passing, and Thomas’ bashful smile makes even Howard soften with fondness as you all filter in among the tables. There’s music playing – a Best of 80’s CD spinning in a shitty old speaker system in the corner of the main hall that is barely used. Down Under by Men at Work plays softly as you settle down at one of the tables covered in plastic-y yellow, feeling lighter than you have in weeks watching Tony cross the room to where there’s a small selection of snacks and a sheet cake with his name written on it.

Eddie sits down beside you at the same time Howard sits down across from him, the older man immediately brandishing his deck of cards and arcing them into a professional shuffle. Lola, the newest resident, an older woman who kept taking morphine long after her hip surgery healed, sits down uneasily next to Howard, content to quietly watch him deal out the cards between himself and Eddie.

Switching back and forth between watching Eddie and Howard playing a game you can’t seem to identify and watching Melissa and Kathy grill Tony about what he’s going to do first when he gets out, you feel a sort of contentment. An emotion you’re so unused to, you’re not really sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting in front of you.

Two games in, Eddie drops his cards with a groan before pointing an accusing finger at Howard, who smirks in pride. “This isn’t over, Finbar.” And while your eyebrows draw together in confusion, lips parting in preparation to ask, Eddie keeps going before you can. “I’m going to go grab a water and some cookies, anyone want me to get anything while I’m up?”

Howard waves him off without a word, huffing as he has to lift up slightly off his chair to pull in the cards Eddie left on the other side of the table so he can shuffle the deck together again. Lola, in her syrupy, southern drawl, asks for a cup of water, if he doesn’t mind. A short nod and then he looks down from where he stands beside your seat, a gentle smile on his face as his eyebrows raise in expectancy. The words get caught in your throat for a moment before you are able to force them out. “A cup of water and some chocolate chip cookies would be great. Thank you.”

Another cheeky smile and a dip of his head and he’s walking off, lanky legs knocking against a chair or two like he’s a newborn calf who hasn’t learned how to walk steady yet. The sight makes you laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you turn back to the table.

Lola is watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, when you turn back, making you jolt backwards in surprise. “Y’all make a cute couple,” she says sweetly, with a smile just a kind as always.

“Couple?” You question in a slightly higher pitch, feeling the blood rushing north to warm your face and make your brain spin. “We’re – we’re not a couple. Just friends. We just met here, only a few weeks ago.”

“No?” Her head tilts in curiosity, but her expression reads like she knows something you don’t. Can see something you can’t. “That’s a shame. Looks like a match made in Heaven to me.”

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing uselessly, as you try to think of something you could possibly say to that when Eddie walks back up, shakily balancing three plastic cups of water between his hands and a packet of napkin wrapped something tucked under his chin. The waters are safely set on the table, one passed to Lola, who replies “thank you, sugar,” before he lifts his head, the packet falling directly into his now-free hands. Dropping into his chair, he sets the packet on the table before unfolding the white napkins to reveal several slightly smushed cookies.

“Oh,” he blinks a few times at them before offering you a sheepish smile. “Guess they didn’t quite survive the journey. Hope you don’t mind picking at crumbs?”

You shake your head, mischief infusing your smile as you tell him, “I don’t mind, I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to be a pigeon.”

He snorts in amusement at the same time Howard rolls his eyes and Lola uses her hand to cover her smile. The mix of reactions is perfect – exactly what you were hoping for – as you pinch a big chunk of cookie between your fingers and pop it into your mouth while Howard deals out another hand of cards.

Your contentment continues through the next hour or two, watching as Eddie and Howard go back and forth between winning hands while songs play on – Come On, Eileen, followed by Pretty in Pink, and Africa.

When Melissa shrilly announces it’s time to cut the cake, everyone turns toward the front of the room while Billie Jean by Michael Jackson weaves its way into the open air. Tony laughs at himself and how his hands shake in nervousness, making jokes about how he feels like he’s at a wedding, as he cuts into the sheet cake directly through his name. Using the plastic serving utensil, he deposits a huge square on his paper plate, the ‘o’ from his name completely removed as everyone cheers and claps.

Looking incredibly embarrassed, he turns and gives a little bow to the crowd, missing Kathy as she reaches over the table to grab the huge slice. A sing-song call of his name, and you all watch as he turns and is met with the slice of cake to the face, white frosting smearing across his skin before the entire plate hits the floor with a dull slap. No one moves for a few moments, quiet enough you could hear a pin drop, until he starts to laugh. Almost the entire room joins in, cackling as he scoops frosting away from his eyes and shakes it out onto the floor.

Everyone who wants a slice of cake moves through to grab one before settling back down at the tables. And when you look over at Tony, glowing as he has an animated conversation with Melissa, you can see a small smearing of frosting across his cheek that no one seems willing to tell him is still there.

You all say goodbye to him that evening before the sun sets, watching as he departs out of the double doors with a bag slung over his shoulder and is immediately met by a young boy – a Michigan Wolverines jersey on his back as he tackles Tony around the waist in a tight hug. The doors click closed just as Tony’s hand meets the boy’s head in a rub, both sporting the exact same bright smile.

Despite being back on good terms, Eddie continues to sit across the room from you during group therapy sessions. You kind of like it better than way, not that you’d ever admit it to him. Sometimes you find yourself looking over for reactions to things people say and it makes it easier to give him your full attention when he adds to the conversation. Being able to sneak glances without it being too obvious makes you feel a bit more comfortable than before.

And although you feel like you’ve been making progress, you still rarely join in the conversation in these group circle sessions, and you never talk about yourself in them. Penelope has never tried to push you – she is satisfied as long as you continue to make progress in 1 on 1 sessions. Talking in a group setting isn’t for everyone, she explained, but it can sometimes be more beneficial than you think it might be.

It just never struck you as something you wanted to do. It never spoke to you, as some people said. Besides, other people always had plenty they wanted to say after Penelope did a bit of prodding.

“I talked to my husband on the phone the other day,” Kathy admits following a small silence. She’s playing with the drawstrings on her sweatpants as she speaks. “We haven’t talked in a couple weeks – the kids have been staying with my mom while I’m here.”

Penelope shifts in her chair to face her more directly. “How did that go?”

“Bad,” she answers with a sigh, eyes falling closed for a second before she forces them back open. “I guess I was just hoping he misses me… Misses the kids, misses our life. But he actually seems like he’s happier now.”

“That must’ve hurt to think about.”

“It did. It does.” She takes a deep breath, eyebrows turning up in what looks like an attempt not to cry. “It’s hard to think that picturing going back home to be with him and Sarah and Ben is what really gets me through all this but he… It doesn’t seem like that’s what he pictures anymore.”

“No offense, Kathy, but he sounds like a dickhead.”

Her and Penelope both turn on Eddie, looking surprised and annoyed in that order. “Eddie, that’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s not,” he concedes, hands coming into play as he tucks his elbows into either side of his waist, “but neither is the way he treats you. I mean, the whole reason you ended up here is because he refused to help you – with anything! Ever! And left you to take care of him and the kids and the house and everything.”

Kathy’s face twists, looking conflicted. “Well, yes, but–”

“But he works to put food in the fridge. That’s what you’re gonna say, right?” Her mouth presses into a tight line before giving him a sharp nod. “And yeah, that’s important. Having money to survive is essential and all that. But so is taking care of yourself. And your kids. Taking care of your house. Those are all things people should try to do the best they can. Sure, a lot of people fall short sometimes. It can really suck trying to get everything done by yourself. But that’s what your partner is supposed to be for. To help you.”

Everyone watches on silently as Eddie continues, looking entirely impassioned in his defense of her. “Yeah, he works a job. But you work three jobs just trying to take care of yourself, him, and both your kids. It’s not fair. And it’s fucked up that he not only doesn’t do shit to help but also doesn’t appreciate how much fucking work it is for you and the fact that it was killing you.”

“I mean, that’s just how marriage works,” she tries to argue. “Men go to work and women take care of the house and the kids. I’m sure that’s how your parents did it.”

“No,” he answers with a humorless chuckle, “not even close.”

“Then what did they do?”

“My dad beat my mom.”

The room falls into a tense hush, all eyes on him. While a part of him still looks worked up from his debate with Kathy, and another looks angry at even admitting the fact, the rest of him looks like an exposed nerve. His shoulders shake slightly as he takes in a breath and lets it out just as slow. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t a good guy, my dad. Kind of a piece of shit actually. In and out of prison on assault, drug charges, petty theft, the works. And whenever he was out, he was coked out of his mind and making my mom’s life a living hell.”

Brown eyes descend to the floor as his voice wavers, clearing his throat to try to fix it. “I remember one time, I was 6? Maybe 7? My mom was trying to convince me to do my homework at the kitchen table. And in storms dear old dad, fresh snow on his nose, and already screaming.” His eyes close, hands clenching with white knuckles. “Mom always made sure to get in between us. She didn’t want him to hurt me. But I guess he was mad at me for something, and her getting in the way was even worse, because before I knew it she was on the floor.”

Teary eyes open, glancing up and meeting your gaze. Eyes entirely focused on you as a few tears escape with his blinks. “I can see it so clearly, y’know? My mom was on the floor, bruises around her eyes, begging him to stop. And my dad was standing over her with his fists clenched like he was ready to go another round.”

I know what a push like that can do.

Your mouth opens wordlessly when you realize – chest twisting in agony as he offers you a sad and knowing smile.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t wanna end up like my dad.”

A feeling in the base of your stomach catches hot and burns. Ashes smolder and leak smoke up your esophagus until it brings tears to your eyes. Beneath the dull roar of your blood in your ears and the murmured ‘Thank you for sharing’ from Penelope, you can hear the tremble of the earth beneath your feet. A vibration that rumbles up through your bones in a cold shiver that breaks out across your back. Stones fall into the chasm before you as the world shakes and bends with the force of the quake.

You stare into the cold darkness of the space between the tectonic plates and the cold darkness stares back.

“I have something I want to talk about.”

All eyes turn to you, a pair of wide brown iris the most important of all. Penelope is nothing but encouraging as she says, “By all means, what would you like to say?”

A deep breath in, an attempt to clear the smoke in your lungs, you force the words out into the open. “I… I want to talk about how I got here.” You pause, eyes leaving Eddie to glance over at Penelope to register her shock. “Why I’m here. Because I’ve never told anyone.”

“Okay,” is her simple reply, an attempt to be encouraging. But you’re already faltering, the cold creeping in and dampening the ashes until you return to making eye contact with Eddie. And while his expression shows very little, attention wholly focused on you, he does dip his head in a slight nod.

Go ahead, the movement says. You can do this.

“Two days before I got here, I was with my friend Luna.” The name feels like ice water down your throat, swallowing hard to try to push past it and keep going. “Luna was the one who got me into taking oxy in the first place. I’d told her I was too wound up all the time and couldn’t relax, too caught up in my head. She told me it would help. We’d been friends for a long time by that point. She… She’s my best friend. She saw me at my worst and didn’t blink an eye. And maybe it was a fucked up way of helping, but she was really just trying to help. Suggesting what she thought would help.”

“That day, she called me all excited. Saying she got some pills from a new guy and she couldn’t wait to try them. So I went over to her place like we always did. She was all excited about the new stuff, but in my head, it was just the same shit, so I told her I was going to take from the old stash of pills. I guess I didn’t want to waste them or something. She just kinda said whatever, your loss, didn’t fight me on it.”

The visuals start to press in now, like a slideshow playing behind your eyes. “I remember waking up in her bed. It was dark. I don’t know how long I was out for. I got up,” your feet hit pink shag carpet, “I called her name,” you look around the girly bedroom, barely lit by the lamp on the bedside table. “I was still pretty out of it. I walked out from around the bed and…”

Your eyes squeeze shut, head shaking to try to clear the images like an etch-a-sketch. It doesn’t work.

“She was on the floor. I thought maybe she was just in it but her – her lips a–and her fingers were blue and she wasn’t breathing. I called 911 but… She was already cold when they told me to check for a pulse.”

“Those new pills she was so excited to take were laced. Fentanyl. She overdosed. And… And maybe if I had been awake, y’know?” When you blink back into the room, there are tears pouring from your eyes, your breath coming in hiccuping gasps. Cutting yourself off from any more what if’s, you rub your forearm under your nose as you sniffle. “Anyway, I got picked up when the ambulance came. I don’t really know why they gave me the option but it was basically rehab or jail so it felt kind of like a no brainer.”

You huff a wet laugh, crossing your arms over your stomach as you try to fight back the sobs, breathing through the freezing cold feeling in your chest. “It’s easier to be here. Then to think about leaving,” you admit softly, eyes trained on Eddie’s shoes. “In here, I don’t have to see her stuff around my place. I don’t have to think about who I’m going to spend my Saturday’s with. I don’t… In here, I don’t have to face the fact that she’s gone.”

When your eyes meet his, they’re watery again. Red rimmed, swollen. His hands open and close on his thighs like he’s holding himself back. Pale, pink-toned fingers, cast in warm, gentle light from the sun above, that look like they want nothing more than to reach out to you.

Blue tipped fingers reach out from the cold below, a threat and a warning of what lies before you if you fail. But on the other side – the sun shines. There’s grass and cherry blossom trees and birds singing and music playing and life.

“She’s dead. And I can’t get her back. But I’m still here, and I still have a future. I… I want there to be a future.”

You jump the gap.

Bright green grass folds beneath your sneakers as you cross the field, hand raised along your brow to search for a familiar face. It’s the first Saturday of July and there are people everywhere – blankets and lawn chairs and folding tables set up across the wide open greenery ringed with trees.

A familiar whistle echoes toward you, giving you a vague direction to continue your trek. Sweat collects at the base of your neck and trickles down your spine as you go, the heat of the summer sun bearing down despite your careful choice in clothing. You’re just about desperate for a drink when a familiar flop of brown hair catches your eye.

“Steve?” You call, hoping to confirm before you walk all the way over. His head swivels in a full circle before his eyes catch you, a grin stretching across his face as he waves you over.

Steve is a relatively new friend, you’ve only hung out with him a handful of times since you were introduced. He’s shirtless, cotton discarded after sweating through it, and a pair of shorts that show off an alarming large amount of his tan skin. He’s tucked under a large umbrella with Robin, another new friend. She’s draped over a beach chair with her head rolled back, an unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulders over a bikini top and a pair of oversized shorts. The closer you get to their blanket in the grass, the more clearly her complaining becomes.

“It’s so fucking hot,” she moans, arms flopped down beyond the sides of the chair. “Why did I agree to this?”

“The music is going to start soon, so shut it, Buckley.” He turns toward you, head tilting back as he braces his arms on his knees. “Hey, good to see you.”

“You too,” you set your things on one edge of the picnic blanket, dropping to your knees at the boundary of where the umbrella covers. “And good to see you too Rob, even though it looks like you’re actually melting.” She groans loudly, sliding further down in her chair as you laugh. “Speaking of melting, cooler?”

Steve heaves it over his lap toward you and opens the lid, twisting back toward another bag as you dig through the melting ice and drinks. Drink in hand and an ice cube in the other, you use your elbow to close the lid again before pressing the ice cube to the nape of your neck in an attempt to get some relief from the heat.

Just as your mouth opens to ask, you hear an, “Incoming!” ring out right before a heavy object makes impact with your side, knocking you into the cooler with a yelp. The furry projectile pants wildly as it rights itself from its sprawl across the blanket, paws immediately climbing up onto your thighs in a happy greeting.

“Hey Oz,” you laugh, chin receding into your neck as you try to dodge his eager licks toward your mouth. “Are you having a good day, buddy?”

“He better be after the fucking pain in my ass he’s been all morning.”

Both hands scratching at the dog’s ears, both to calm him and keep him away from your face, you tilt your head back to catch sight of warm brown eyes. Eddie’s hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the back of his head, the wisps by his ears and parts of his bangs slicked down with sweat. He’s in a tank top that looks like a modified graphic tee, arm holes cut absurdly low to show off almost the entirety of his tattooed ribs. As he settles onto the blanket beside you, the light wash ripped cut off shorts he’s wearing stretch further to show more of his thighs.

His arm loops around your back, hand pressing into your ear as he directs your head lower so he can press a happy kiss to your temple. “Hey sunshine. Have any trouble finding us?”

The heat suddenly feels more like it’s diffusing from the inside out as your smile grows. You shake your head as you sit up straight again, Eddie’s arm still propped behind your back. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I could hear your stupid dog whistle from space.”

“Hey!” He cries in mock offense, leaning away from you as he yanks on the purple plastic whistle around his neck. “The training is going really well with it, actually! So shove it.” And he ducks down toward the pup sitting in front of you, coming to eye level as he says, “Isn’t that right, Ozzy?” The dog lunges forward in an attempt to lick his face but Eddie’s expecting it, blocking the attack and using a gentle force to push the dog down onto his side. “Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy!” He chants as he rapidly rubs the pup’s stomach, both of them shaking with excitement.

“Munson, you’re gonna work him up again and the fuckin’ music is about to start!”

Eddie sighs in disappointment, slowing his scratches and rubs considerably, running his hands along fur in an attempt to calm the dog. “I know, buddy. Your mom is so lame and doesn’t know how to have fun.”

Steve levels another glare at him, leaning back on one arm as he complains, “I’m not his mom. We’re both dads, dude.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ozzy. That man is your mom and you know it.”

The dog doesn’t care either way but does settle, laying out long with his belly in the sun just as some speaker feedback echoes out into the space around you.

“Finally!” Robin sighs in relief, pulling her sunglasses down her nose as she lifts her head. “I was starting to think we were roasting out here for nothing. Might as well be in Hell for how hot it is outside.”

Steve snorts, cracking open a gatorade as he explains, “Pretty sure Hell would be way hotter than this.”

“How do you know, dingus? Have you been?”

And the two start to bicker, something you’ve come to learn is a pretty common occurrence. Tuning out of their platonic marital dispute, you look back toward your boyfriend only to find him already looking at you.

“If Hell is this hot, I never wanna go,” you joke, vaguely aware of the sweat that continues to collect on your skin and how much you dislike the feeling.

“I dunno babe,” Eddie sighs long and loud, head tilting your direction as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, smile tilting in mischief. “It is said that the Devil has all the best tunes.”

The cherry blossoms in your chest unfurl in the heat of the sun, petals stretching out at the same rate as the smile parting to show the whites of your teeth. A soft laugh of disbelief, a grin that matches your own, and you’re quoting Good Omens back at him by saying, “It’s true. But Heaven has the best choreographers.”

And he laughs. Head thrown back, the sun’s rays grace the planes of his face as he barks out laughter into the blue sky above. Robin and Steve look at each other confused before shrugging slightly and then you’re laughing too. Falling backwards onto the blanket beneath you, you roll with it, shoulder knocking against Eddie’s when he falls backwards too.

Warm with the heat of the day, the music pouring out across the field, and the hope of a day just as bright tomorrow – you and Eddie laugh like it’s the best joke you’ve ever heard. Like there would never be a better joke than this.

If you want to imagine the future: imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

thank you so much for reading. the response to this story was more than i thought it would be and i hope you're satisfied with the ending. i'm grateful you chose to come on this journey with me. i hope you find your way to greener grass and gentle sun whenever you're ready to find it <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myos ideas #myo4munson

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deeptrashwitch · 3 months ago

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A Haunting Past (part 12)

We're back! AYY! Good to be back to this story :D

Well ^^ Aly belongs to @alypink and the Toa siblings, Kanoa and Tiala, belong to @islandtarochips !

As usual, thanks to my lovely @islandtarochips that helps me as beta reader! Love you, dear 💕💖

Taglist: @alypink @stuffireadandenjoy @snootlestheangel @islandtarochips @raresvtm

@piouswolf @midnight193 @mutantthedark @justasmolbard @welldonekhushi

@tapioca-milktea1978 @imagoddamnonionmason

Tw: I think there's no trigger in this part, so we're good to go. Anyway, please tell me if I missed any.

Some hours later they arrived back to Black Tomb with a feeling of relief and heaviness. As they descended from the plane, all of them smiled when they noticed how the WTF and Aly were already waiting. Noah went to bump fists with Agnes while Elijah nodded as a greeting towards Nigel, smiling in silence. At the same time, Jackson went to find Aelan, noticing they were both exhausted.

“Let me guess, did your Captain end up hurt again?” Jackson asked with a chuckle.

Aelan scoffed and smiled. “Isn’t that your case? Captain Marchant looks like a truck hit her.”

“It’s just her usual imprudent self, but I can see the bandages of Captain Toa. Was it a car?”

“Are you serious? It’s obvious it was a bullet train!”

“So that means a long night of paperwork for both of us, huh?”

“Yeah, but at least your Captain is buying us food.” Aelan said with a side smile.

“Finally, she owed us dinner from before.”

Meanwhile Alicia and Luke just chuckled when they heard Jackson’s comment then went to find Kanoa, Tiala and Aly. When they found them, Alicia just laughed when she noticed how Kanoa was also filled with bandages.

“At least I won’t be the only one that got yelled at.” She said with a sigh.

“Don’t remind me of that, Licia.” Kanoa said with a smile. “But hey, the work is done and that’s all I care about.”

“True, I guess it was worth it then.”

“You two shouldn’t be as proud as you are of it…” Tiala and Luke said in unison.

Aly, on the other hand, just scoffed at the attitude of the two. But she intervened, hugging the two Captains by the shoulders with a smile.

“Those are just details. But we have a promise, don’t we, Licia?” Aly hummed with a sharp smile.

“...I’ll end up poor. I have a feeling for THAT.” Alicia murmured with a sigh.

“HEY!” The three of them exclaimed offended as Luke laughed.

“Why do you think I was speaking about you? I have Edward, Luke and Marcus in the same team! Those three are like vacuums!”

“HEY! ALICIA!” Luke shouted, a bit ashamed.

“Also I have my fair share of appetite…”

Wraith walked towards them, amused by the moment. “I hate to interrupt the good time, but I need to talk with Alicia.”

“What is it?” Alicia asked with a confused frown.

“Inside Maroon Salamander’s ship they found something. Something related to the traitor.”

That left Alicia tense and nervous, while Luke frowned with rage. At the same time, Kanoa, Tiala and Aly had a bad feeling, not only because of the traitor…but for something else that they couldn't give a name to.

“Michaelis, make sure everyone gets some rest before we go to eat.” Alicia murmured with a sigh. “I’ll see you in the car hangar when I finish with Wraith.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, concerned.

Alicia nodded with her jaw clenched. “You already are leading with what I told you, I’ll do it.”

Luke doubted for a second, but nodded as well. He saluted and walked away to go with the two teams. Meanwhile Wraith sighed as she pointed to a conference room while looking at Alicia. Tiala, Kanoa and Aly shared a concerned look before going also to change themselves for the dinner.

Wraith and Alicia went to the conference room, while the Captain was absolutely quiet as her hand went to her pocket to grab the old dog tags. Inside the screen was already on. Wraith went behind the table to show what they found, worried now by Alicia’s darkened eyes.

“There were many things inside that ship apart from the bombs” Wraith explained as she opened many documents on the screen “Especially reports…”

“About what?” Alicia asked with a sigh

"...The moments after Firewall."

"Project them, I wanna see them."

And so, Wraith projected some specific reports. There was one about 'Burning Heaven' that Alicia read with sadness. It described the testimony of Taylor Smith, the Ranger Captain, about the incident in Lebanon. She had to look away when she noticed there was a video of his interview as well.

"Do you want me to…?" Wraith asked softly.

"No, don't play it." Alicia said as she stared at the bandages over Smith's face that the frozen frame showed. "I…I don't think I can bear it."

"By any chance, do you blame yourself for Burning Heaven?"

"Sometimes I think that if we didn't let ourselves get captured…maybe that wouldn't have happened."

"You don't know that and the other option wasn't better."

"I know, it would've meant my death…but I just can't stop thinking if maybe that would have prevented the death of those Rangers."

"I've thought about it too." Wraith admitted with a sigh, looking at the frozen frame on the screen. "I was the one in charge of the 8th, and sometimes I ask myself. If I figured it out earlier…would they still be alive? I also blame myself for that time."

"You do?"

"...I'm not made of stone, Alicia." Dominique said with a sad smile. "I heard their last moments, they were joking, y'know? They…were joking about what to do back home, I got distracted with that, and…you know the result."

Alicia stayed silent for a second while Wraith closed that report and then sighed with a bitter smile.

"There's something my psychiatrist has told me a hundred times and I know it's true. But my mind doesn't accept it." Alicia murmured quietly. "It wasn't directly our fault, was it? Carabalí did that, he took those lives…and we blame ourselves because we were in charge of them. That blame will never disappear."

"I guess so, and it seems that the psychiatrist is helping you a bit." Dominique said with a smile.

"Kind of.”

Dominique scoffed softly. Then storaged the archive before opening the next one. This one was about the results of the SEAL 3 and the way it was redacted confused the two of them. As they read, Dominique frowned and made zoom on part of the report.

"A…code?" She murmured confused.

"What do you think it is?" Alicia asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not sure yet but I'll stay today to figure it out." Wraith said, then took out one of Artemis' journals and gave it to Alicia. "Ah, here, can you look through it? To be honest, I haven't looked through it with all of this mission."

The Captain raised an eyebrow but nodded as she started to look for something weird. She frowned as she noticed how the writing slowly turned more erratic as the end of the journal got near. Soon she noticed the page near the end had an anagram.

"Hey, I found an anagram…" She murmured as she showed it to Wraith. "Please tell me if I'm organizing it correctly."

Dominique muttered to herself and soon organized the anagram, with her eyes widening in surprise. The older woman took the journal, frowning.

"Do you remember when we visited McAllister's widow?"

"Diana? Yeah, I remember." Alicia said with a deep frown.

"You said you thought Captain McAllister didn't die naturally…you were right."

"So I organized it correctly. That says 'haloperidol', the damn medicine…"

Wraith nodded gloomily.

"So William was killed." Alicia murmured with anger. "That bastard injected my mentor and left him to die with the same medicine he needed? Goddamnit."

"Easy Alicia, it isn't the time.”

Alicia sighed and nodded in silence, staring at the scribbled anagram with a void in her stomach. Soon Wraith looked at her worriedly but after a few minutes, she shook her head and closed the journal. When Alicia left the journal down on the table, her eyes filled with tears for a second before she blinked furiously and cleaned it away.

“Alicia, are you-?” Wraith asked with a light frown.

“Yes.” She said with a nod. “I’ll…be fine.”

“What will you do now?”

“Go to eat with my people, then…I’ll figure it out.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“There’s no need to screw up a good time with this, less with our friends that helped and visited us.” Alicia said calmly. “Later we can discuss this.”

“...Alright, at least can you bring me a mojito? This will be a long night for me.”

Alicia scoffed and smiled. “Deal.”

Soon, Wraith gave her a pat over the shoulder and let her go. Alicia went to take a quick shower and change her clothes. And as she walked towards the car hangar, the possibilities started to roll. There was no one she could think that could kill William, but at the same time…someone did. In silence, her mind was filled with all kinds of plans and possibilities to fight the traitor. At that point, she had a mix of worry, anger and sadness. Whenever she thought about it, the bad feeling she had was becoming even bigger than she was afraid of.

Soon she found the others and simply faked a smile while she took her car keys. Staying in silence while all of them divided themselves to go to the restaurant they reserved. And in less than twenty minutes, they were all ready to go. Inside the Impala, Alicia was driving with Kanoa as passenger and Tiala, Aly and Lily in the backseat. In silence Alicia put on some music for Lily to distract herself while she played with Aly and Tiala.

Meanwhile Kanoa noticed the frown in Alicia's face and also how her eyes were now completely dull. For a minute he didn't say anything, but when they stopped at a red light he looked at his friend.

"Hey, you okay Licia?" He whispered worriedly.

"I…yeah, I'm fine." Alicia said with a forced smile. “Don’t worry, Noa.”

"Doesn't seem like it."

"I'm just tired, seriously, don't worry."

Kanoa frowned slightly, but didn't say anything once again. Instead he just patted Alicia's shoulder with a soft sigh, wondering if he should ask her more.

"...Is it about your team?"

"Not exactly." Alicia murmured softly. "It's something else, something that I prefer to keep down, just for today at least…"

"Does it worry you?"

"It scares me." Alicia admitted with a sigh. "It scares me to a point I never thought possible."

That worried Kanoa even more. "Does Alejandro know about it? Where is he?"

"He knows part of it, but he went radio silence after…something."

"Do…you want me to call him?" He offered with a light frown.

"No, he needed time to think, and I'll give it to him."

Kanoa nodded, not convinced in the slightest, and they continued the little trip until they arrived at the restaurant. They went to confirm the reservation and soon were guided to a part of the restaurant as they chatted with each other. And the night started well, many of them speaking or bantering between them as they ordered their food. Even Alicia started to relax a bit thanks to the animated environment. With all the laughing and chatting with close friends. This is the atmosphere that she was hoping for.

Soon, her mind played a prank. For a second the environment changed, to another dinner with a team. But it was the 267 when she was a Sergeant and the memory left her frozen for a second. Her hands trembled as she thought she saw William being his usual grumpy self and when she somehow spotted Oliver laughing loudly as he used to do. And like that she closed her eyes for a second to try and forget. Trying to keep those moments down.

To her surprise, Lily tugged on her shirt and offered her a little lollipop with a shiny smile. It made her smile and laugh, while Aly apologized between laughter.

“It’s alright, Aly, I don’t mind.” Alicia said with a little touched smile, lifting up Lily to sit her on her lap. “This is adorable.”

Kanoa pouted and poked Lily’s cheek. “Wasn’t I supposed to be the favorite?”

“You?” Tiala asked with a raised eyebrow. “We all know that Aly is her favorite, then Price, then…”

“Stop it.” Kanoa said with a sigh. “I get it, I get it.”

“But at least we know that Lily has sworn Luke as her nanny during our visit.” Aly jokes, hearing Alicia choke with her drink and chuckle. “I bet he’ll be chased by my girl when we go back here.”

Alicia smirked. “I’d pay to see that. And Luke doesn’t complain, y’know?”

As they kept talking, Alicia slowly put down that image of the past. Instead she dared Kanoa to see who could eat more, which…was quite impressive to see. Even if Tiala was ashamed of her brother and Aly shook her head with a smile. But it was a good night.

“Can I have the lollipop?” Kanoa asked.

“No, that’s mine.” Alicia answered with a huff.

“Cheapskate.”

“HEY!”

#call of duty #cod oc #ocs #oc #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #team charlie #cod mwii

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grucylover · 7 months ago

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A scene from my fanfic I’m writing. hope I’m getting it ‘right’ lol it’s from DM2 Gru and Lucy getting engaged, there’s a whole more that goes on but yeah lol spoiler!!!!! I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m not a writer or anything so it’s not great but yeah… lol 🤷🏻‍♀️……

Margo, Edith and Agnes were helping Gru get ready in their bedroom. The black suit and tie he was wearing fitted him rather well over his teddy bear framed torso. Tonight wasn't just any old night, or even one of Gru and Lucy's many typical dates, it was there 147th date to be exact, there special number, Gru remembered.

'No one really knew why it was there special number, but it just was, maybe one day we will find out'.

"There..now it looks perfect," Margo said finishing up straightening Grus blue bow tie. ''And oh, do you have the ring?'' She asked him beaming.

Though Gru could feel the weight of the box in his right pocket of his suit, he still checked for the thousandth time, it was of course, still there. He was just simply, nervous AF and he's brain was going at one thousands miles a second.

Gru - "Check".

Edith - ''The flowers?''

Gru - "Check, check''.

Agnus - ''The candy?".

Gru - "Check, check, check!".

Gru then picked up the the pink heart shaped box of chocolates from the girls desk he had brought for Lucy, somehow the box felt lighter. He had a peak inside and frowned.

'"Oh I accidentally ate one or two..or maybe it was three or four, five....", Agnes said so innocently now counting her fingers.

"Blurgh, seriously Agnes", Gru said rolling his eyes but smirking to himself and placed them back down on there desk. Luckily, he seen the funny side of it and he couldn't be mad with his sweet little Agnes, especially with her puppy dog eyes. He hoped that Lucy would understand why some of her heart-shaped chocolates were missing as there was nothing he could do about it now. Kids will be kids and all.

Gru glanced at himself in the girls dressing table mirror and took a deep breath, 'this was it big guy, no turning back now'.

This was the night when it would all begin, well hopefully. Gru was going to ask his partner in crime, his girlfriend, the love of his life, the rookie agent herself that is Lucy Wilde, to marry him, at the place they did their very first mission, Paradise Mall. He had something quite 'spectacular' planned aswell. Well, he hoped Lucy would think it was something quite 'spectacular' anyway.

Gru and the girls had been organising this special moment for the past few months now. Ever since the day he told them he thought about marrying Lucy and got there blessings, the girls couldn't wait to get stuck in and come up with all sorts of ideas. They really loved her, she was like a real mum to them and that's all they ever really wanted. A mother figure to complete their family and missing puzzle piece, especially Agnes.

Gru was scared, like really petrified. They had been 'dating' for just over shy of two years now and had passed many milestones in their relationship such as, the first date, insecurity's, intimacy, asking Lucy to be his girlfriend and to move in with him, but nothing came quite as close and committed as this, asking her to be his wife, to spend the rest of there lives together in his 'mad house' as he called it.

'What if she said no. Ugh!'. The thought was nearly unbearable to him right now.

"You guys think I really shud be doin' dis?...what if I make a nut job of myself and she says no?".

"We have been over this so many times Gru, it will all be fine and she will say yes, we just know it". Margo said rolling her eyes but reassuring the middle aged man.

Agnes - " You lover her, you love her, you really, really love her and I want to be a flower girl".

Edith - "Eeeewww gross".

Gru also rolled his eyes at his daughter's wild fantasies, I mean, she still could say 'no'. Why would she want to marry this 'bold', 'ugly' guy with the weird nose, he insecurely thought.

"The suit and tie?, do I look guud or.....too formal?". He turned to the girls but then turned back to the mirror, now straightening up his suit jacket once more as an argument took place in his head over it.

"Yesssss, It will show Lucy that you're really serious about all of this, like we have been over. You look great Dad". Margo persisted.

'Dad', it was always serious when they called him that.

.........................................

"Now gorls, it's time for bed, remember what we said, don't be waiting up for me to geet home and be good for da minions, I will see yu in da morning and tell yu all about it ok..". Gru said to the trio.

Margo, Edith and Agnes climbed into their bomb beds and chatted amongst themselves on what the possible outcome could be for Gru and Lucy tonight. Will she say yes or would she say no. That was the million dollar question on everybody's lips.

He tucked the girls up individually and kissed them all goodnight.

Edith - "Go get her Gru...".

"We'll be here Gru, waiting for you *yawn* - in the morning....". Agnes sleepily said whilst yawning and clutching her fluffy unicorn. Kyle (the dog?) was at the end of her bed rolling his eyes at the whole situation.

Margo was always the last one to be tucked in, so when it came to her turn she instantly threw her arms around her Father and placed a big kiss on his cheek.

"Good luck tonight Gru, we know you can do it...". He always loved the girls affection.

"We love you....Dad", the girls chorused. There was that magical word again, oh how his heart rendered. It must be his lucky night tonight if he got called "Dad", twice already.

"Goodnight my gorls, I love yu..". Gru said picking up the chocolates from there desk and took a few seconds to look on lovingly at his daughters, 'man, he loved them so much'. They had brought so much purpose and worth to his life, he would forever be thankful and he just couldn't imagine his life without them now, they were his.

He then switched out there bedroom light, shut there door behind him and made his way downstairs to let the Minions know the house rules so he could head out.

''Kevin Jerry, time for yu to watch de gorls, they are in bed, yu know de drill...".

"aaalllooommoooo", the two minions replied back to there boss. Atleast Gru knew what it meant, it sounded agreeing anyway….

#minions #feloniousgru #grucy #lucywilde #despicable me #gru and lucy #fanfic #spoliers

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idgivemyeyesfor-mattmurdock · 2 years ago

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Hey, I have a Matt x Fem.reader request.

After a visit to St. Agnes you gush about the kids you spent the day with and how nice it would be to have a child. Matt wants to start a family with her.

I love Matt as a dad how he takes care of his partner and is sweet with kids

A/N: OMG! I absolutely love this one<3 it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Fun fact— so I spent about a day and half brainstorming this requests bc I had too many ideas for just one, one-shot and THEN i read it again today and realized I completely read the request wrong! (Correct me if I’m wrong, but “St.Agnes” is the church is NY? thats how i’ve written it but if its an actual place just lmk lol)

requests pt1: TAKING REQUESTS!

matt murdock X fem!reader

warnings: literally if you are allergic to fluff i do not recommend this fan fiction. it triggers the butterflies in your stomach<3

A/N: my first request! give me some feedback and maybe what you guys want to see hehe i’m open to anything

｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

Sunday mornings for Matt and you were always one of your favorites. Sure, after Matt coming back from dare-deviling was always interesting and… passionate in some sort of way, or you and Matt going out after work, or seeing his face brighten when you would visit him at the office. Those were all times that you’d probably add in the ‘top ten moments’ with my boyfriend. But, putting all of those moments aside; Sunday mornings were angelic.

You two could wake up, have coffee and sit down in the couch of his living room— well, by the time you two sat on the couch Matt would’ve already been bolted with energy by just inhaling the caffeine particles from the air. But you’d make him have the coffee anyways because in an hour he’d complain about his headache and you’d have to come to the rescue with some sort of form of caffeine.

After, you’d get ready, dab some makeup on your face, and tie your hair into a messy bun and slip on a necklace of a golden around your neck, which Matt had given you as an anniversary present once.

You would help Matt slip his tie on, and fix his hair, just in case he messed something up. Then after, you two would head off to church.

Naturally, the two of you would leave about thirty minutes before the service started, but today was different because you were asked to help out with Sunday school, so the two of you headed to the church earlier.

Matt enjoyed you getting involved with church, because he wasn’t one to do it. Sure, if Father Lanthom asked him to read a bible verse during the service he would, but only if Father Lanthom asked. You just said yes to everything, even if you only that the animals went to the ark two by two.

You were nervous giving the Sunday school lesson, Though Matt enjoyed hearing you passionately talk about the bible stories. He knew you didnt know much, hell you asked him if he could explain why the animals had to go in two by two! You nearly fumbled every word— but it was cute to hear you dramatize the stories with the kids. You made thundering sounds, and cow noises to the kids, to which all of them laughed but they also learned.

he enjoyed hearing you be a charchter to the kids but also guide them through the story. You caringly walked them through how they could learn from the story. You broke down a’ dehumanizing story like, ‘Noahs Ark’ so that itty bitty kids could understand it, and they did.

While all the mothers clapped as you finished, Matt passed you from the end of the room an easy smile.

His heart melted when he heard all the kids run up to you after the lesson, little kids asked you things like, “Miss y/l/n! do the cow noise again!”, “Miss y/l/n what happens next?!” you tried to answer their questions without embarrassing yourself, but well, you did.

After church finished, you and Matt were arm and arm when coming out of St.Agnes, though as you two stepping down the last step, a mother came after you asking if you could babysit her daughter during the week, to which you accepted with open arms. you didn’t know what to do, how to do it but she would be in apartment 6A on Wednesday night.

Your hand gripped tighter around Matts arm as his arms went down your waist, a cheeky grin caressed your face as you thought about the kids and how happy they all looked.

“What is it?” asked Matt with a smile, “You haven’t been this happy in a while”

“Actually…” you said as you turned you face to his, eyeing his red frames “I can recall a couple of times I was this happy— last night actually”

“Oh really?” asked Matt with a toothy grin, “But not this type of happy,” said Matt as you two went up the stairs to his apartment.

“No, not this type of happy” you replied.

“Its just—“ you said as the two of you came to a halt at the front of his apartment door, “I dont know, I guess I haven’t really hung around kids? I mean, my cousins of course but its been a while since I’ve seen them, and today was just like a reminder how a bunch of little kids who know only of dinosaurs and pumpkins— I’m not saying I forgot that kids existed, I guess—” you two walked into the apartment, “I just forgot what it meant to be one?”

Matt placed his cane down by the door as you continued to walk and talk, “I don’t know, just— just remind me to switch professions and to become a preschool teacher.”

You flopped on the couch, kicking your heels off as your cold feet touched the warm leather, you saw Matt come into your peripherals, already he was slipping his tie off, he said, “angel, I dont think you have to become a preschool teacher to be with kids.”

He gave that weird toothy grin that also insinuated something else. He had a weird way of speaking metaphorically. “Matt?”

He came closer to you, sitting by you, you then placed your head down on his lap, as he said, “All I’m saying,” said matt as his hands swooped your hair away from your face, “hearing you today with the kids, talking about the kids, you with the kids, it just made me realize that you’d be a great mom.”

Your jaw loosened, heart beat raced. Kids with Matt? You a mom? you’re not a mom, or a mom type.

You’d thought about it, you’d seen him with babies in the office when mothers were overwhelmed with work, he was the first to offer to hold their baby for them, or distract their kids while the mother signed papers or made phone calls. Seeing that always made your heart race and the fictional scenarios is your head have more wiggle room.

He cocked his head downwards, your hands going up his firm jaw, you asked with a solemn whisper, “Matty, do you want kids?”

his cheeks turned crimson as his hands went down your cheeks, “…maybe”

“Maybe?” you asked with a continuous grin. His hands smoothed your hair down as he replied, “Whatever you want. if you want kids we’ll have kids, if you don’t want kids we won’t.”

“you want kids with me?” Okay that was dumb. So maybe you were delilusional. Its just, kids, a family? he wanted that with you? sure the two of you were serious, and it would be any day that Matt would be proposing to you, but hearing it come out of his pouted lips— your heart nearly glistened.

“With who else?” asked Matt with a sarcastic grin, “I don’t know,” you responded, “With me? are you sure you want a kid with me— i’m crazy!”

“y/n…” said Matt with a purr.

for a second the thought registered in your mind, as you adjusted you head, “Okay okay, that was a bit much but, with me? you want to share a mini matt murdock or y/n murdock with me?”

“yes” he said as your hands went down his neck, “if i have to say it a thousand times, i will. Sweetheart, if i’m going to have kids its going to be with you.”

your demeanor swapped as you saw how deep he took this. he just didn’t want kids, he wants them with you. he’d thought about it, just hadn’t mentioned it to not ruffle your feathers. heard your heartbeat warm up, you said in a low tone as your fingers scratched his beck, “it would be nice.” you smiled, “us, parents.”

“baby murdock…” mummered Matt.

“has a nice ring to it, doesnt it?” you responded as matt slowly took his glasses off.

Silenty you chuckled as you thought about Matts admirable qualities getting put into a single being.

“what are you laughing at?” asked Matt.

“teenage murdock….”

“oh…” said Matt with a sigh.

“boyfriends, girlfriends, shit you’re gonna freak beat the person up at night.”

“hell yea I am.” said Matt, “they better not break their heart.”

You smiled as the scenario popped into your head. Your child gets broken up, with so, you talking to your child and then matt flying out of the window to beat that person.

“see, your gonna be a great dad hun”

“we’ll see.” said Matt, “we have to make a kid first though”

“very true” you responded with a smile, “but, I’m pretty sure we got that part down.”

#mattmurdockfanfic #matt murdock x reader #ao3 marvel #matt murdock fic #please dont come at me #better than the movies #taking requests #mattmurdocksoft #fluff #mattfluff #daredevil

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sufandomgirl · 1 year ago

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Prompt 17 Part 3 (Final)

Matilda had no fucking idea why she agreed to this. Likely survival instinct. She kept getting odd looks from the alien life forms around her. Xeox led her into the grand-looking building the scout ship had landed in the courtyard of.

Inside lay a grand hall and beyond the double doors was a long, curved metal table. Seated at the eleven individual placements looked to be exotic alien species. They silenced and turned towards the pair who had stopped halfway towards the start of the curve. As they were permitted forth, Xeox nodded in acknowledgment and beckoned Matilda forward as well. Once again, they stopped a few feet away from the middle alien, whom Matilda's eyes landed on. Twisted, antelope-like horns rose from a stocky blob of red, soft, scaly hide, and eye stalks emerged from the top of the hollow horns. It was unclear from where, but a scratchy voice spoke in alien tongues.

"[alien gibberish]"

[in Joxian] "Council, I present to you Matilda." Xeox gestured to his companion. "She calls herself a 'human'. They are an unaffiliated species that I happened upon in a ravenous state. She was stranded in the Loxi System. After her ship malfunctioned, she agreed to accompany me."

"[alien gibberish]" The main council alien uttered.

Another Council member spoke, this one in Joxian. "Xeox, we are elated that you are safe. When the radio silence was declared, we could only hope that you survived after your shipmate was found in an escape pod. This 'human', Matilda, was her name?"

[in Joxian] "That is correct, Coalitionist Jh'iok. She claims that her species has had no other contact with any species that is not native to her home world. Apparently, it is customary for her kind to consider and approve solo missions as she was alone when I boarded her ship." Xeox recounted.

A sort of shocked gasp and jump erupted, as well as murmurs through the Coalition Council. This caused Matilda to grab Xeox arm out of reflex. She apologized, and he said that there was no need. Once the council quieted again, a greyish Joxian Coalitionist spoke. "Solo missions were outlawed within the Coalition eons ago for good reason, Xeox!"

Xeox faced him locked gazes. "Apparently, someone forgot to check up on and affiliate the humans. In general, and to inform them of said law."

Matilda looked between the feuding Joxians and glanced at each of the council members. This had to be some fever dream that the Axis 4 stasis pod was conjuring up. She remembered that Emmett had said that the new sedative compounds used had started to affect the nervous system and senses such as touch and hearing, but Matilda couldn't imagine that anything on this scale wouldn't be reserved for the enjoyment of the elite on Axis 1 and maybe even the conservationists and scientists on Earth. She herself had been part of the lowly placement trainees for the much newer Axis 4 settlement that seemed like ages ago, but her family was primarily from Axis 3. Ah, her family, just thinking about her little sister, Agnes, made her miss her so much. Matilda had trained so hard to provide a better life for her. What was she doing now? Would she ever get to see her again?

#alien #prompt

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smallchaoscryptid · 2 years ago

Note

♫ wilbur

♫ crimeboys

♫ techno

♫ wilbur Icarus by Bastille i relate wilbur to icarus a lot especially lmanburg and pogtopia era wilbur. like the fact he always reaches for so much and ends up failing. and like his constant making his own problems with other people, or literally making the place that would be his final resting place. big lyrics from it that i relate to wilbur are: "looking who's digging their own grave" - "icarus is flying towards an early grave" - "you leave because you're certain of who you want to be" _ "icarus flying towards an early grave"

♫ crimeboys Agnes - Glass Animals this is very much a pogtopia to nlm crimeboys, like the idea of missing someone who is still there but isnt the same and still trying to find them lyrics from it that i relate to crimeboys are: "why dont you light that cigarette and calm down now stop and breathe a second" - "that nervous breath you hide behind" - "where went that cheeky friend of mine?" - "you're gone but you're on my mind"

♫ techno Blood//Water - grandson to me this very much has like doomsday techno vibes and like taking down a nation techno vibes, also the sound of the song just fits to me. lyrics from it that i relate to techno are: "lamb to the slaughter, what you gonna do when there's blood in the water" - "you thought you could go free, but the system is done for"

#william whispers

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plainjaniedee · 2 years ago

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Dearest John:

I went to the door today and the postman delivered a partridge in a pear tree. What a delightful gift. I couldn't have been more surprised.

With dearest love and affection, Agnes

December 15th

Dearest John:

Today the postman brought your very sweet gift. Just imagine, two turtle doves.... I'm just delighted at your very thoughtful gift. They are just adorable.

All my love, Agnes

Dear John:

Oh, aren't you the extravagant one! Now I must protest. I don't deserve such generosity. Three french hens. They are just darling but I must insist.... you're just too kind.

Love Agnes

December 17th

Today the postman delivered four calling birds. Now really! They are beautiful, but don't you think enough is enough? You're being too romantic.

Affectionately, Agnes

December 18th

Dearest John:

What a surprise! Today the postman delivered five golden rings. One for each finger. You're just impossible, but I love it. Frankly, John, all those squawking birds were beginning to get on my nerves.

All my love, Agnes

December 19th

Dear John:

When I opened the door there were actually six geese-a-laying on my front steps. So you're back to the birds again, huh? Those geese are huge. Where will I ever keep them? The neighbors are complaining and I can't sleep through the racket. PLEASE STOP!

Cordially, Agnes

December 20th

John:

What's with you and those birds???? Seven swans-a-swimming. What kind of joke is this? There's bird doo-doo all over the house and they never stop the racket. I'm a nervous wreck and I can't sleep all night. IT'S NOT FUNNY.......So stop with those birds.

Sincerely, Agnes

December 21st

OK Buster:

I think I prefer the birds. What am I going to do with eight maids-a-milking? It's not enough with all those birds and eight maids-a-milking, but they had to bring their own cows. There is poop all over the lawn and I can't move in my own house. Just lay off me. .

December 22nd

Hey:

What are you? Some kind of sadist? Now there's nine pipers playing. And do they play! They never stopped chasing those maids since they got here yesterday morning. The cows are upset and are stepping all over those screeching birds. No wonder they screech. What am I going to do? The neighbors have started a petition to evict me. You'll get yours.

From Ag

December 23rd

You Creep!

Now there's ten ladies dancing - I don't know why I call them ladies. Now the cows can't sleep and they've got diarrhea. My living room is a river of poop. The commissioner of buildings has subpoenaed me to give cause why the building shouldn't be condemned. I'm siccing the police on you.

One who means it, Ag

December 24th

Listen Idiot:

What's with the eleven lords a-leaping? All 234 of the birds are dead. I hope you're satisfied, you rotten swine.

Your sworn enemy, Miss Agnes McCallister

December 25th (From the law offices Taeker, Spedar, and Baegar)

Dear Sir:

This is to acknowledge your latest gift of twelve fiddlers fiddling, which you have seen fit to inflict on our client, Miss Agnes McCallister. The destruction, of course, was total. All correspondence should come to our attention. If you should attempt to reach Miss McCallister at Happy Dale Sanitarium, the attendants have instructions to shoot you on sight. With this letter, please find attached a warrant for your arrest.

-Merry Christmas

#the reality of 12 Days of Christmas

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e-dubbc11 · 2 years ago

Text

Don’t Let Go

Photos are not mine, they are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F! Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff and a tiny tiny bit of angst so many fluffy bunnies and unicorns

Word Count: 3718-ish

Summary: Matt and reader were best friends throughout high school, stayed in contact in college but lost touch while Matt was in law school. They reconnect and wonder if friendship is the only relationship they want to have.

A/N: This is a request from my lovely Mindi @mindidjarin who I will write any and all of the fluff for if she asked me to. She had a song suggestion for my Lap Dances for Matt playlist, Don’t Let Go (Love) by En Vogue and this fic idea to go along with it. I did alter the idea just a little bit. I hope you like it! 💕

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments are welcome and encouraged. 💕💕💕

This would be the third time this week you stopped in front of Nelson and Murdock law firm, arguing with yourself whether or not to stop in to see if it was really him. How could it not be though? Every single particle in your body told you that he was there—he was upstairs and all you had to do was walk in and say hello but you were terrified. What if he didn’t want to talk to you? Nope, you weren’t brave enough yet. Maybe tomorrow would be the day you would finally go in but today is just another day where you walked on by.

First Day of Ninth Grade—Introduction to Law

The entire ninth grade class, including yourself, was just a cluster of anxiety. It was your first day of high school, everything was so much bigger than the middle school and it was a bit overwhelming. Mr. Allen had just finished calming the class when there was a knock on his door, he stepped outside for a moment and returned with a new student wearing dark glasses and carrying a cane.

“Class, this is Matthew Murdock. He’s spent the last few years at St. Agnes and now he’s joining us here, please make him feel welcome. There’s an empty seat next to Miss y/l/n—Y/n? Would you show Mr. Murdock to his seat, please? Thank you.”

You got up from your desk, walked to the front of the class and Matt took your arm.

“Hi, I’m y/n.”

He smiled and you noticed he had the sweetest smile and the most adorable dimple you had ever seen.

“Hi y/n, I’m Matt. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too…Matt.”

After that first day, the two of you were basically inseparable and did everything together. Everyone at school thought you were a couple because you spent so much time together but he was just your best friend, Matt.

Graduation Day

The two of you sat on the football bleachers after it was all over, after all the confetti had been thrown, after you turned in your cap and gown and all you were left with was a piece of paper, a tassel, and each other. Your head was resting on his shoulder and a single tear fell from your eyes and landed on his pant leg.

“It’s going to be so different next year though, Matty. I’m not going to see you every day anymore.”

Matt always tried to make you feel better “We’ll still see each other, y/n. And we’ll talk all the time, I promise.”

You laced your fingers with his “You’re my best friend, Matt.”

He squeezed your hand “You’re my best friend too.”

Present Day

After a week of wafting back and forth, you finally worked up the courage to go inside of Nelson and Murdock. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you walked up the stairs, why were you so nervous? Even the clacking sound of your boots wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of your heart beating.

Finally reaching the top of the stairs, you managed to calm down a little before turning the door handle and stepping inside. A man with shoulder length blonde hair and a sweet smile greeted you.

“Whoa—hot, I mean, hi! Can I help you?”

You flashed a quick smile at his Freudian slip and asked “Yeah hi, does Matt Murdock work here?”

His shoulders dropped and he took a sip of his coffee “You’re a beautiful woman so of course you’re looking for Matt. He just stepped out to pick up breakfast, he’ll be back soon. I’m the other half of the sign downstairs, Foggy Nelson. It’s nice to meet youuuuuuuu?”

You recognized the name Foggy, Matt talked about him all the time too but never mentioned his last name, he was just “Foggy.”

“Oh it’s nice to finally put a face to that name, you were Matt’s roommate at Columbia! I’m y/n, Matt and I went to high school together. It’s nice to meet you too.”

Foggy looked like he had just figured out a math problem that had been plaguing him for years.

“OMGoodness, YOU’RE the BFF!! He talked about you all the time! You were supposed to come visit him, plans just kept getting cancelled and then you guys kinda lost touch, huh?”

He knew everything! Well, not everything. There were some things Matt didn’t even know.

Matt’s First Year at Columbia

Four years of college went by quickly, you had your first real job now as a parole officer and Matt was on his way to becoming a lawyer at Columbia law school. Over the course of his first semester of school, you talked with Matt almost every single day about anything and everything.

“How’s your new job?” He asked.

You answered him as best you could as it was still new and you were still learning.

“It’s good! I’m still learning my way around and how things work but all things considered, it’s going really well. How’s law school so far? You getting around campus ok?”

He told you all about how school was going so far, he mentioned Foggy and how he’s becoming a good friend and roommate. The more he talked, the more you missed him, part of you felt empty without him.

He told you everything, you told him everything but lately there was something you felt like you couldn’t tell him. Being away from him again started to give you feelings for him that had never entered your mind before now. Yes, you loved him because he was your best friend but now you were starting to feel like you were in love with Matt.

It was so hard to keep those feelings inside, every time he’d call you’d have butterflies in your stomach the entire time and just an overall sense that you wanted to be with him but you couldn’t tell him. You were afraid it would ruin your friendship. A couple of times you thought Matt could sense something was different.

“You ok, y/n? You sound a little…off.”

You played it off like you were just tired or nervous about your job but maintaining your friendship with Matt got progressively harder as he put more and more time into law school. He said he would call, he didn’t. It was hard to be mad at him though, you knew he was busy and this was very important to him. Visits were planned and then kept getting cancelled and before you knew it all attempts at contact had stopped.

Present Day

You had an overwhelming sense that maybe this was a bad idea and you still had time to go before Matt came back from getting breakfast. You tried to find an excuse to leave.

“Actually, you two are probably busy, maybe I should just go.”

Foggy insisted that you stay. “No, no please stay! I’m sure he’d love to catch up. He really did talk about you all the time. And here he is now.”

Matt walked through the door wearing dark red glasses, carrying his cane and a brown paper bag. He leaned his cane up against the wall, set the paper bag down on the table and took off his jacket.

“They were all out of everything bagels, buddy. Sorry.”

Foggy seemed to forget all about the bagels. “Yeah, yeah never mind about the bagels. An old friend is here to see you.”

You didn’t know how it was possible but Matt was even more handsome than you remembered him being. “Hi Matt.” You said, shyly.

Matt heard your voice and instantly his ears turned pink. “Oh my god, y/n. Hi.”

“It’s been a long time.” You bit your bottom lip and looked down towards the ground.

“Yeah…yeah I guess it has. Wow.” He began to adjust his tie, you knew Matt always started to fidget when he was nervous.

Foggy cut the tension briefly. “Well I’ll be in my office, I’ll let you two catch up. It’s nice to finally meet you y/n.”

After making small talk for a few minutes and exchanging hugs, Matt asked you to go to lunch with him the next day and it was like no time had passed between the two of you. He was still the same Matt that you befriended so many years ago when you were teenagers.

You still made him laugh which was not easy to do and all those feelings that you had pushed down deep inside you were starting to make their way to the surface again.

“Y/n, I am so sorry we lost touch while I was at school. Everything was so fast paced, I had deadlines, and it was just crazy. I really missed you.” You could tell he had been dying to get that out for a while.

“Matty, I understand how important school was for you and the amount of time you put into it. I’m not mad. I really missed you too.”

Of course you weren’t mad at him, you were in love with him after all this time and it meant the world to you that the two of you were spending time together again.

You carried on like best friends did—going to lunch together, you took him grocery shopping, helped him with anything he needed help with and were just there for each other.

It was nice to have your friend back, you really wanted more but were really scared to tell him. And it was getting harder and harder to keep your true feelings for Matt a secret.

You couldn’t be one hundred percent sure but you thought that maybe you weren’t keeping your feelings a secret as well as you thought you were, that Matt was starting to pick up on how you felt about him but you weren’t sure how because you felt you were doing a good job of suppressing those feelings.

One beautiful sunny afternoon, he asked if you’d meet him at the park for lunch. You used to do this all the time back in high school, you’d find a tree to sit under or a bench to sit on and just talk or he loved when you read out loud to him.

Matt preferred to sit under a tree so after putting down the blanket, he claimed his spot which was his head resting in your lap. It took you by surprise, he’s never done anything like this before.

“You ok, sweetheart? Your skin feels a little warm.”

Sweetheart? What was he trying to do to you?

“Uh, yeah Matty—I’m—well, I’ve never read to you with your head in my lap before, that’s all.”

Matt sat up quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry—I can—just…”

But you didn’t want that. “No, no it’s ok Matt, it just caught me off guard—please?”

He gently placed his head back into your lap and he listened attentively as you read aloud from your book, sometimes you’d rake your fingers through his soft brown hair and he’d quietly hum while you did it.

The following day, he walked you back to your apartment after your standing lunch date and he kissed you on the cheek. You’ve always hugged each other whether you were greeting each other or saying goodbye, it was always with a hug but then he throws a curveball and kisses your cheek.

Your skin was peppered with goosebumps, you felt all the blood rush to your cheeks when Matt went in to kiss the other cheek and suddenly his lips were on yours. They were as soft as you hoped they would be, his hand was on the back of your neck, and he pulled you in closer to deepen the kiss. His tongue practically begged to touch yours so you parted your lips a little more to give him permission. But then you panicked because this could change everything.

You pulled away from him but you didn’t want to. “Matty, I—I gotta go.”

“Y/N, wait—please don’t go.” He pleaded.

Before he could get anything else out, you turned to yell back at him “I’ll call you tomorrow!”

And you did call like you said you would but it was to tell him you couldn’t make lunch that day, plus you thought it might thunderstorm so you didn’t want to get caught in that. Matt sounded so disappointed.

You couldn’t bring yourself to go to work the next day with all the emotions running through your head and you didn’t sleep last night anyway because all the thoughts running through your head were about Matt.

The way you felt when he lightly brushed his lips against your cheek, then the other one and how he cupped your cheek with his hand when he went in to kiss your lips, it was like your whole body came alive.

He felt so warm, the muscles in his arms tensed when you touched him and the look on his face when you pulled away was like you took away the most precious thing in the world to him. You wished you could take it all back, but you couldn’t.

Trying to keep busy and your mind off Matt, you did various chores around your apartment. You put on one of your playlists because it was the only way you would stay motivated to keep cleaning. Of course, as if right on cue, a song came on that reminded you of Matt.

What's it gonna be 'cause I can't pretend?

Don't you wanna be more than friends?

Hold me tight and don't let go (don't let go)

You have the right to lose control (don't let go)

Did he want to be more than friends? The kiss you shared yesterday told you that he did but would it ruin your friendship? That relationship was the most important to you but you were willing to find out if you could be friends and lovers.

I often tell myself that we could be more than just friends

I know you think that if we move to soon it would all end

I live in misery when you're not around

And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows

The sound of the rain hitting the windows almost drowned out the knock on your door which surprised you. You weren’t expecting anyone and thought maybe it was your neighbor so you were shocked to see Matt standing there when you opened the door, soaked from the rain.

“Oh! Matt—what are uh—what are you doing here?”

There'll be some love making, heartbreaking, soul shaking

Oh, lovemaking, heartbreaking, soul shaking

What's it gonna be 'cause I can't pretend?

Don't you wanna be more than friends? (don't you wanna be)

Hold me tight and don't let go (don't let go)

You have the right to lose control (don't let go)

His dark red glasses were sprinkled with rain drops, he licked his lips and said with a stern, gravelly voice said “I need to talk to you.”

After you closed the door behind him, Matt took off his jacket and his glasses and rested his hands on his hips.

“Jeez, Matty. Your shirt is soaked, let me throw that in the dryer. I must have something you can wear while it’s drying. What was so important that you trekked all the way over here in the rain to talk to me about?”

He was facing you, his eyes looked darker today like the colors of late autumn, brown and honey gold.

“Why did you walk away when I kissed you yesterday? I can tell you have feelings for me, y/n.”

How did he know? You had walked to your bedroom to get that sweatshirt for him, you grabbed the first one in the pile, it was the Columbia sweatshirt Matt had sent you during his first semester.

I often fantasize the stars above are watching you

They know my heart and speak to yours like only lovers do

If I could wear your clothes

I'd pretend I was you

And lose control

You handed him the sweatshirt. “Put this on so you don’t catch a chill…how? How do you know I have feelings for you, Matty?”

He held it in his hands and started to trace the letter patches with his fingers and you watched him closely as he did so—C-O-L-U-M-B-I-A. His expression softened.

“You still have this—I remember when I sent it to you, Foggy helped me pick it out. He said you’d probably like it oversized because it would be extra comfortable for you.” He smiled with his dimple on display and his eyes looked slightly wet with tears.

“Of course I still have it—I love this sweatshirt because—because you gave it to me, Matt. But I’ve been so careful about the way I act when I’m around you so how do you know I have feelings for you?”

Matt was frustrated, he loosened his tie and started to unbutton his dress shirt when he stopped to speak again.

“I know because every time we were together, I could hear your heart racing, I heard the goosebumps start to rise and move across your skin when I kissed your cheek, the scent of your arousal while you were reading to me in the park. I felt it all sweetheart and I thought finally, FINALLY she feels the same way I do!”

There'll be some love making, heartbreaking, soul shaking

Oh, love making, heartbreaking, soul shaking (oh yeah)

What's it gonna be 'cause I can't pretend?

Don't you wanna be more than friends?

Hold me tight and don't let go (don't let go)

You have the right to lose control (don't let go)

His confession took all of the air out of your lungs.

“Wait, what do you mean you can hear my heart racing? And my ‘arousal?’ Seriously, Matt?!! You told me you had heightened senses but this is—this is absolutely mortifying!!”

He mentioned every time the two of you spoke on the phone, he could never be exactly sure how you felt but the day you showed up at Nelson and Murdock, he knew then. But he had another confession to make.

Running in and out my life has got me so confused

You gotta make the sacrifice, somebody's got to choose

We can make it if we try, for the sake of you and I

Together we can make it right

“Sweetheart, I’ve been in love with you for a long time, all throughout college but I knew you didn’t feel the same, I knew it every time we interacted, we were just best friends and I was fine with that until law school and I just needed to say something.”

You had to take a seat on the couch before your knees gave out, he sat down next to you and grabbed your hand, and his calloused fingers drew circles on the top of your hand.

“I wanted to tell you when you came to visit me at school but plans kept getting cancelled and I thought maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Then I met Elektra and that’s when we really lost touch—it’s all my fault. You kept trying to call and I’d say I’d call back and I never did—I’m so so sorry.”

What's it gonna be 'cause I can't pretend?

Don't you wanna be more than friends? (Oh)

Hold me tight and don't let go (don't let go) (yeah)

You have the right to lose control

You got the right, you got the right (don't let go)

Suddenly, the walls felt like they were closing in around you and you had a hard time focusing. Matt’s been in love with you since the two of you were teenagers and you never knew, your whole four years of college and you had no idea. It was your time to confess.

“Matty, when you went back to school to study law, I was so happy for you but I was sad because I missed my best friend. I couldn’t stand in your way or distract you just because I missed you, what kind of friend would I be? I realized during your first semester at Columbia that my feelings for you were different, I fell in love with you. But I felt like I couldn’t tell you, I didn’t want to ruin our friendship if you didn’t feel the same way.”

He sat in front of you at a loss for words with a slight head tilt but he looked happy and you were happy too. The heavy weight on your heart was finally lifted—you were in love with your best friend and he finally knew it.

I said you got the right to lose control, yeah, ooh

Don't let go, ooh, hey, oh, oh

Don't let go cause I can't pretend

What's it gonna be cause I can't pretend?

Don't you wanna be more than friends?

And hold me tight and don't let go (don't let go)

Have the right to lose control, don't let go

You finally broke the silence by touching his cheek and asking him “Well, what do we do now?”

Matt inched closer to you, lingered just long enough that he could inhale the scent of your perfume, feel the warmth of your skin, took your chin in between his thumb and forefinger and delicately pressed his lips to yours. You didn’t pull away this time. You returned his kiss only for him to pull away to whisper in your ear “I love you sweetheart—and I’m never letting you go again.”

You’ve been waiting to hear those three words for such a long time, your eyes immediately welled up with tears and you let out a nervous chuckle because you didn’t know what else to do.

“I love you too—and you’re still my best friend, Matt.”

He gave you that devilish smirk, pulled you into his lap and asked you “And you’re still MY best friend—do you think I could be your boyfriend too?”

You leaned in to kiss him again. “I’m all in if you are, Murdock.”

Tag List: @freshabogados @skvatnavle @phoebe-danvers @moonlarking @shedaresthedevil @mindidjarin @matt-erialgirl @nelson-et-murdock @elgrandeavocados @carters-things @myguiltypleasures21 @saintmurd0ck @munsonownsmyass

Others that might enjoy: @1800-fight-me @sobachka-korol @mattmurdockspainkink @wint3r-h3art

Please please tell me if you’d like to be added or removed from either list and thank you again for reading! 💕

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader

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wordsinhaled · 2 years ago

Text

drowning in rivers of peace a Dreamling domestic vacation 'verse playlist

so... yes, it's maybe a little extra to make a playlist for a fic i've written probably less than 1k words for so far, but the universe of this fic has basically consumed my brain, so this exists now!

this playlist is dedicated to @anameunmusical as a lil birthday gift! i saw your comment and i know this isn't quite a dream & hob kiss (yet!) but i hope it makes your day at least a little bit brighter! <3

tracks

the cure // miss van gogh glass animals // i don't wanna talk (i just wanna dance) nick leng // lemons glass animals // agnes olivia willhite // runaway man glass animals // helium half alive // hot tea finneas // shelter bombay bicycle club // how can you swallow so much sleep seabear // arms disclosure // where angels fear to tread winnetka bowling league // slow dances half alive // still feel. the japanese house // maybe you're the reason beatenberg // the prince of the hanging gardens zella day // man on the moon hellogoodbye // hang loose joywave // let's talk about feelings the cure // the same deep water as you lowfie // sweater weather (lofi)

selected lyrics under the cut

the cure // miss van gogh

instrumental

glass animals // i don't wanna talk (i just wanna dance)

we kissed in the morning on a summer day you taste like cigarettes and hurricanes there's a warning written in the corners of your face just a minute now there's something different now all your morning sounds, how's it all so loud? put the flowers down 'cause they look like clouds leave me to it then and let your hair grow out now i know it's safe to say nothing's perfect anyway i don't wanna talk, baby, i just wanna dance i don't wanna talk, no more living in the past

nick leng // lemons

how's your city, how's the winter, how's the rain? do you think when you are still, do you read in mornings? there's a window in the sky to pull you back why'd we leave it that way? won't you tell me, please? i can't help but miss you but you're too far to feel that do wishing wells run dry? but did ours have to? does the moon look different here from where you are? you're getting colder from me and i can't hold you that way

glass animals // agnes

your head is so numb that nervous breath you try to hide between the motions that trembling tender little sigh and so it goes a choking rose back to be reborn i want to hold you like you're mine you see the sad in everything, a genius of love and loneliness guess life is long when soaked in sadness on borrowed time from mr. madness where went that cheeky friend of mine? where went that billion dollar smile? i want to hold you like you're mine you're gone but you're on my mind i'm lost but i don't know why

olivia willhite // runaway man

falling asleep at night was never easy to me when i know there are shining stars above my head so i get a running start i'm way up there, way up in the clouds so i'm gonna glide right through the sky 'cause you didn't look back when i said "i love you" so baby, goodbye, and leave me with a sigh you'll eventually hit the ground and even then i'll be waiting for you i'll be waiting for you i'll be waiting for you my runaway man

glass animals // helium

ooh, and i'm falling now but it's so wrong you talk like a man and taste like the sun ooh, you lift your eyes up from the dust i knew just then, i knew it was done i guess i want you more than i thought i did

half alive // hot tea

wanna be here at your door 12 am and sleeping on your porch until you get in looking into your eyes (endlessly) falling into your lap (desperately) sitting at your feet, soaking in all your energy sip you through my front teeth (held too close) hold you in my hands like hot tea knowing i'm safe 'cause you want me sitting in a garden at your feet you, me only i wanna be ruined by love drowning in rivers of peace take it all in life-sized bites i'ma be outside up all night in the stars, pale moonrise longing for everything ooh, right now i wanna be (held too close)

finneas // shelter

there's no one else could ever hold me like you do there's nowhere else that i'd rather be than with you they call us lucky but i think we might be cursed 'cause the way you love me, i could drink the river dry and still die of thirst gimme, gimme shelter from the storm gimme, gimme shelter, keep me warm come kiss me by the delta where the river's torn but i'll be whole as long as i'm yours as long as i'm yours i don't wanna think about a life without you

bombay bicycle club // how can you swallow so much sleep

can i wake you up? can i wake you up? is it late enough, is it late enough? there's a story in which my eyes shut

seabear // arms

you left your black gloves on my table thinking of a way to get you to stay and i'll promise to fight the wind and waves for you i'm an owl with tired eyes i am a scarecrow in disguise and all i wanna do is stay inside and look out the window with you i fell asleep in your cobweb and i'm turning from the lights tonight saw you in a crowded bar, pale with hungry eyes

disclosure // where angels fear to tread

fools rush in where angels fear to tread and so i come to you, my love my heart above my head rush in where wise men never go but wise men never fall in love so how are they to know?

winnetka bowling league // slow dances

i dream about you the way i said i wouldn't if i hung a dreamcatcher over my bed i'd get (my bed, i'd get) a billion alternate endings where you left me and i do, and i do, and i do, and i do still think about you standing in your allbirds singing all the wrong words to "hallelujah" sweatshirt on a warm day tryna keep a straight face that's how i knew you talking with your fast hands saving all your slow dances i wish i was there with you in a moment of curiosity or weakness (my bed, i'd get) you may let me affect you, intersect you and i do, and i do, and i do, and i do still think about you i still think about you

half alive // still feel.

when i'm furthest from myself (far away) feeling closer to the stars (outer space) i've been invaded (can't escape) trying to recognize myself when i feel i've been replaced drifting as i dream, i'll wake up soon to realize the hand of life is reaching out to rid me of my pride i call allegiance to myself but i can feel a kick down in my soul and it's pulling me back down to earth to let me know so pick me from the dark and pull me from the grave 'cause i still feel alive when it is hopeless, i start to notice and this heart that beats inside of me will show floating in outer space, have i misplaced a part of my soul?

the japanese house // maybe you're the reason

should i be searching for some kind of meaning? apathy's a funny feeling i turned my gaze to the ceiling thanked a god i don't believe in for the scene outside i tried my best at sleeping but my dreams were unappealing so i searched for people in the landscape, passers-by i keep looking for something even though i know that it's not there maybe you're the reason every time i try to figure it out you're the only thing i can think about maybe you're the reason

beatenberg // the prince of the hanging gardens

hold me, scold me, extol me, console me through the 90s, and the 80s and the tigris, the euphrates and after all that i've said i want you to know me, i want you to throw me in the river so the clouds that follow my head could finally rain down on all your hydrangeas i never had a doubt that you would come through i always adored you i always ignored you just to make you try harder to do what you do i had to be awful just to keep you from danger come stand at my window with a view of suburbia as it marks out the edges of my opulent grounds i'm rich but i'm troubled there's a worm in my bougainvillea why do you plague me when my ethics are sound? hold me, fold me, cajole me, and release me on the lethe and the ichor through my body babylon, babble on

zella day // man on the moon

i had a dream that the sun in the sky was feeling so lonely he started to cry the rain on our window kept us inside all of the morning and into the night alone in my dream room i want to love you alone in my dream room, my body above you nobody saw us for seven days under the covers, your body a maze i couldn't believe that deep down inside two bodies glowing could light up the sky i'm in your dreams now i'm in your dreams, in your dreams, in your dreams feet off the ground, i'm floating in you

hellogoodbye // hang loose

darling, you don't know a thing until it's hurt you i have never known a thing, not a thing there's not a thing that's purely virtue walking to confession to talk of my transgressions i got chills from a beautiful thought darling, you don't get to bring the only bottle mine is always good and grim, thick and thin to the brim with love and not love i was in the bathroom, putting on a costume it was almost everything i wished that i could be then i was in the bedroom, taking off my costume it was almost everything i worried you would see every time i fell in love i poured every drop i had out on the floor you've got to keep on making love just to fill your cup so you can pour it

joywave // let's talk about feelings

i, i am drowning in love with you i, i hope, hope that is good for you i, i am learning to live again i, i'm done with the fast-paced flower crowned women i, i am falling in love with you i, i hope that is good for you i, i've been in every state but content is foreign soil it's sand i'd love to cultivate i'm just afraid that you'll change me won't run away but i'll have to take it slow don't want to fall silent for long won't run away, i spook out easy though

the cure // the same deep water as you

kiss me goodbye, pushing out before i sleep can't you see i try? swimming the same deep water as you is hard the shallow drowned lose less than we kiss me goodbye, bow your head and join with me and face pushed deep reflections meet and disappear, the ripples clear and laughing break against your feet so we shall be together it's lower now, and slower now the strangest twist upon your lips but i don't see, and i don't feel but tightly hold up silently my hands before my fading eyes and in my eyes your smile the very last thing before i go i will kiss you, i will kiss you i will kiss you forever on nights like this and we shall be together

lowfie // sweater weather (lofi)

instrumental

#the sandman #dreamling #dreamling domestic vacation

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somewhatgreatexpectations · 4 years ago

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They Can’t Take That Away From Me (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello again! It is with great excitement that I present you all with the first part of the “Love Goes” sequel! I’m still trying to come up with a name (suggestions welcome lol).

A good amount of dialogue from Wandavision is used here since it felt necessary to set the story up. Songs used are “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” by Frank Sinatra (1954) and “Lego House” by Ed Sheeran (2011). Let me know what you think!

Summary: What is life like for Y/n and Wanda in the 1950s? And what shenanigans will they be getting into?

There was an odd sensation of confusion as Wanda looked around the home. Now that you had gone to work she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. Even though you had only been gone a moment, she couldn’t help the excitement that built within her at the thought of you walking through the door again.

Much to Wanda’s relief, she wasn’t left alone with her thoughts long as an unexpected knock on the front door caught her attention. With furrowed brows she made her way over to the front door and opened it. A hesitant smile appeared on her face as a woman holding a plant smiled brightly back at her.

“Hello, dear. I’m Agnes. Your neighbor to the right. My right, not yours.” The woman informed her cheerfully as she made her way into the home before Wanda could even get a word out. “Forgive me for not stopping by sooner to welcome you. My mother-in-law was in town… So, I wasn’t.”

The sound of laughter floated into Wanda’s ears as she smiled back at Agnes who offered her the plant which she graciously accepted. Agnes began speaking again before Wanda got the chance. “So, what’s your name? Where are you from? And most importantly, how’s your bridge game, hon?”

The woman wandered further into the home as Wanda closed the door and rushed over to her, the smile of a perfect hostess never falling from her lips. “I’m Wanda.” She replied politely as she offered her a hand.

Agnes took her offered hand and shook it lightly. “Wanda. Charmed.” She looked around. “Golly! You settled in fast. Did you use a moving company?”

With wide eyes, Wanda turned and placed the plant on the table. “I sure did. Those boxes don’t move themselves.” She replied lightly, the polite smile returning to her face as laughter once again floated around her.

“So, what’s a single gal like you doing rattling around this big house?”

Wanda waved her hand dismissively. That was something she certainly wasn’t. “Oh no, I’m not single.”

Agnes titled her head slightly in surprise. “Oh, I don’t see a ring.”

Glancing down at her finger for a moment, Wanda furrowed her brow before snapping her head back up to meet Agnes’ eyes. The smile never wavering. “I assure you. I’m married. To a woman. A wonderful woman. A writer at that!”

“A woman?” Agnes asked excitedly. “How nifty! Where exactly is your special lady?” She questioned as she took a seat on the couch.

Wanda’s smile changed slightly and become something softer as she thought of you fondly. A change she didn’t even notice herself as she settled into the space next to Agnes. “She’s off at work. Meeting with her editor today.” She said, a proud tinge to her voice.

“Well, that’s exciting!” Agnes exclaimed, “It must be a dream to be married to a writer! Maybe she can teach my Ralph a thing or two on how to romance a woman.”

A bashful smile spread across Wanda’s lips. “I can’t speak for other writers, but mine certainly is a dream.”

Agnes gestured to the round table in front of them. “So, what’s the occasion today?”

For a moment Wanda merely stared at Agnes with confusion. Until her eyes fell to the calendar on the table which had a heart drawn in the box for the day’s date. The calendar which she oddly hadn’t noticed until that moment. “Well, it’s a special occasion, of course! Y/n must have left it there for me to find.”

Excitedly, Agnes leaned forward. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

“Not a birthday.” Wanda replied with a shake of her head, she knew that couldn’t be it.

In response, Agnes’ own eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Well, today isn’t a holiday, is it?”

“No, not a holiday…”

“An anniversary then?”

“Y-… Yes!” Wanda agreed quickly as she pointed at Agnes in recognition. “Yes, it’s our anniversary!”

Agnes reached out to take Wanda’s hands with an enthusiastic smile. “Oh, how marvelous! How many years?”

For a moment Wanda hesitated, something told her that answer wasn’t a simple one. “Well… it feels like we’ve always been together.”

“How romantic! So… what do you have planned?” Agnes questioned.

“How do you mean?”

Agnes chuckled as if Wanda’s reply amused her. “For your special night! A young thing like you doesn’t have to do much, but it’s still fun to set the scene!”

A nervous look came across Wanda’s features as she considered Agnes’ words. Before she could reply, Agnes interrupted again. “Oh! I have the perfect article to help us plan!” She said eagerly as she rushed to the door. “This is gonna be a gas!”

Wanda turned away from the door with a dreamy smile as thoughts of spending a romantic evening with you filled her mind. _______________________ “Y/ln!”

The shout startled you, and the clacking sounds that floated from your typewriter ground to a halt as you jumped up and turned towards the sound of the voice. “Yes, sir?”

“My office. Now.” The curly haired man huffed as he turned on his heel to go back in the direction that he came.

Your desk mate, who’s name you couldn’t seem to remember, why couldn’t you remember, turned to you with a sympathetic smile as he pat your shoulder. “Tough luck, pal. Looks like boss man isn’t in good mood today.”

A tight, nervous smile was all you could muster as you quickly shuffled all your papers into your arms, grabbing your notebook as you left. With hesitant feet you stepped into the office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

The curly haired man gestured to the empty seat in front of his desk as he lit a cigar. You sat with a nervous smile. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re ready for your dinner with Hart tonight. One of the biggest publishers in town. Sign with Hart, then you’re set for life, kid.”

“Of course, I am.” You replied quickly, even though you had no idea what meeting he was talking about.

“You better be, kid, or else you’re done. I took a chance on you. Don’t make me regret it.” Through a puff of smoke, he gestured you out of his office which you didn’t hesitate to take.

Hurriedly you ran over to the phone on your desk, dialing in the only number you knew. A sigh of relief escaped your lips when an answer floated through the receiver on the second ring. “Wanda, darling, I was just calling to see if you were prepared for tonight.”

“Why, of course, dear. I have everything under control.” Came her easy reply.

You breathed a sigh of relief as your shoulders dropped. “So, you know?”

The sound of her light laughter filled your ears, making you smile. “Well, when I saw the calendar I just figured.”

“That’s a relief… I must admit, I am rather nervous.”

After a brief pause, Wanda replied. “Nervous? Whatever for?”

With a quick glance back in the direction of the office, you answered. “Well you know situations like this always make me jittery, darling. It’s a tad nerve wracking.”

“Oh, Y/n. After all this time?”

Nervously you began playing with the cord of the phone, barely even processing her words. “I think there’s a lot depending on this, Wanda. If tonight doesn’t go well, I think this could be the end.”

Another glance back at the office showed your boss yelling at your desk mate. “Well, it’s just one night. There’s no need to get dramatic.”

Again, your nerves made it difficult for you to process her words. “With you at the helm, I know everything will go well. Until tonight, my darling. I love you.”

The smile in her voice was obvious as she responded. “Until tonight. I love you.”

When you placed the phone back on the receiver, you couldn’t help but notice the song playing from the radio, something about a star-spangled man. A thought felt as though it was forming in your mind before the song was abruptly cut out, and a new song drifted out of the radio.

“We may never never meet again, on that bumpy road to love, still I'll always, always keep the memory of…”

___________________

When you entered your home, you couldn’t help the confusion that appeared at the sight of the clearly romantic atmosphere that was set up. The lights were dimmed, and candles were spread throughout the room.

“Wanda?” You called out hesitantly, placing your briefcase and the papers in your arms off to the side of the entryway.

The woman in question sauntered in the room with a coy smile on her face. “Hello, darling.” She made her way over to you and draped her arms over your shoulders. “I missed you.” She whispered as she leaned closer.

Any thoughts that had previously occupied your mind vanished as every aspect of the woman before you invaded all your senses with ease. “Wow. Wanda… You look… breath taking.” You breathed out.

With loving arms, you pulled her closer as your fingertips skimmed over the soft and flimsy silk of the dress she had on. Like magnets your lips met in a tender embrace, a soft sigh escaping your lips at the sensation. Wanda pulled you closer fervently as her hands tangled into your hair.

A sharp knock at the front door startled you apart a moment later as your eyes widened with the realization of what you were supposed to be prepping for flooded back. “Hart!” You whisper yelled as you rushed to the mirror to fix your hair.

“Hart?” Wanda questioned in confusion.

“My publisher! I thought you knew?” You quickly turned to her, your confusion matching hers as another impatient knock appeared at the door. “I have to let them in!”

Wanda’s eyes widened. “Y/n, no! My dre-“ Her words were cut short as you had already opened the door, you own eyes widening when you realized what she was saying.

Without thinking you moved behind the man and covered his eyes with your hands, Wanda following your lead as she covered the eyes of the woman standing next to him. “Y/ln, what’s the meaning of this?” The man exclaimed as you looked over to Wanda with wide eyes.

With a snap of her fingers, the beautiful dress she was wearing seconds before was replaced with a much more modest one. You both removed your hands from the guests and stepped in front of them with sheepish smiles. “Well, you see, sir…” you trailed off as you attempted to think of a reasonable response.

“It’s a tradition Sokovian greeting!” Wanda exclaimed, you nodded enthusiastically, thankful for her save.

You smiled nervously, “Yes! It is a traditional Sokovian greeting of hospitality, sir. My wife is from Sokovia.” Nerves began to bubble in your chest which Wanda noticed as she took your hand to steady you which immediately eliminated any feelings of discomfort. You loved her so much.

The woman chuckled lightly. “How exotic.”

“Mr. Hart, this is my wife, Wanda. Wanda, this is Mr. Hart.” You introduced quickly to steer the conversation back to where it should be. “And this must be Mrs. Hart.” you offered your free hand to the younger woman standing next to Mr. Hart as Wanda dropped the other.

The woman took your hand with an amused smirk as she eyed you. “Are you insane? This is my daughter.” Mr. Hart said gruffly, “My wife is out of town at the moment. My daughter has an eye for quality, so I brought her along.”

“Eleanor Hart. You can call me Ellie.” The woman offered, as you uncomfortably took your hand back from her. There was something familiar about her, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Wanda walked off to pull a cloth off of one of the lampshades before taking your hand again. “Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment, sweetheart?”

“Excuse us.” You said quickly as Wanda was already dragging you out of the room. You blew out a candle along the way.

When you both reached the safety of the kitchen Wanda spun around to face you, “Who are those people?”

Instead of answering you asked your own question. “What was happening earlier?”

“Well, it’s our anniversary!”

A look of confusion quickly overtook your features. “Our anniversary of what?”

Wanda threw down the cloth still in her hands and sulked away. “Well if you don’t know I’m not going to tell you!”

“That man in there is Mr. Hart, my publisher! My editor set up this dinner for us, so we could discuss publishing my book.” You explained as you gestured vaguely to the window in the kitchen.

A look of realization crossed Wanda’s features as the disembodied laughter floated in the air again. “That must have been what the heart on the calendar meant.”

You took Wanda’s hand in your own, an apologetic look in your eyes. “Darling, this was so romantic to do. The candles, the music, that stunning dress…” You trailed off as your eyes glazed over at the thought. Wanda snapped her fingers in front of your face to get you to refocus. “Right. I don’t want to be unappreciative, but right now…”

“Your publisher and his touchy daughter are expecting a home-cooked meal?” She supplied helpfully.

You nodded sheepishly. “Exactly.”

Wanda glanced over at the table in the kitchen. “Any chance they’d settle for a chocolate covered strawberry split three ways?” Once again, the laughter floated through the air as you winced. “I might have a better idea.” Wanda announced as she ushered you out of the kitchen.

When the door to the kitchen swung shut behind you, Wanda rushed out the back door as you made your way over to Mr. Hart and Ellie so you could attempt to entertain them for the time being. It wasn’t long before commotion in the kitchen caught the guest’s attention which you were able to distract them from.

The second time the commotion began it seemed as though there would be no distracting Ellie.

“Maybe I should see if Wanda needs help while you and my father discuss business. I sense trouble.” Ellie announced as she made her way over to the closed shutters that looked into the kitchen.

Nervously you stood up as the commotion in the kitchen continued. “Ellie, I insist you don’t-“ The woman kept moving forward though and eventually opened the shutters which you could see into as she was opening them. The sight wouldn’t be one that would be easy to explain as practically everything in the kitchen was floating around Wanda.

Thinking quickly, you sang the first and only song that came to your mind to distract them. “I’m out of touch, I’m out of love, I’ll pick you up when you’re getting down. And-”

As soon as the song began falling from your lips both of the Harts began turning in your direction, only they seemed to be frozen mid turn.

“-out of all these things I’ve done, I think I love you better now.” You murmured along to the lyrics that were drifting out of the speaker at your feet as you swayed lightly to the slow tempo of the song. Your eyes stayed locked on the woman in your arms.

The arms that were circled around your midsection tightened as Wanda lifted her head from your shoulder to meet your eyes. The look in her eyes was staggering. You had almost forgotten what oxygen was when Wanda was near. You didn’t care though, you’d happily stop breathing if it meant she was by your side. She was a different kind of air.

Wanda grazed her palm along your cheekbone. You easily leaned into her touch. “You never gave me a choice, you know?” Wanda whispered even though she didn’t need to.

“A choice for what?”

“Loving you. It’s as easy as breathing. You are a part of me. I’ll never be able to love someone else.” The words fell from her lips so easily and you couldn’t help the way your heart beat heavily against your ribcage as though it were trying to get to her.

Closing the short distance, you connected your lips to hers. “Loving you was never a choice. It was a necessity.” You mumbled against her lips.

Wanda pulled back and just stared at you adoringly. “If I could go back, I would love you longer.” Your brows furrowed, you didn’t know why but you knew the response was out of place. “There’s never been anyone but you. Never. Not before, not now, and not in the future.” Wanda whispered fiercely as the compound around you began to fade and you both drifted away as pieces of the living room began to form again…

Suddenly the Harts completed their turn and stared at you in shock. You glanced up at Wanda in confusion, seeing the kitchen appliances still floating around her. You didn’t know what just happened and you hoped she’d be able to offer clarity.

When you met Wanda’s eyes though they were filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite register… except you could. It was pain. Before you could react, she waved a hand and the shutters closed once again.

“Golly, what tune was that you were just singing there?” Ellie questioned excitedly, “It sure was nice.”

You smiled politely, unsure how to answer the question yourself. “Just something I heard a long time ago.”

“A writer and a singer? Your wife sure is a lucky gal.” Ellie replied with a wink

The flirtatious comment made you shift uncomfortably where you stood. “The lucky one is definitely me. Wanda is heaven sent. Perfecti-”

“When is dinner going to be ready?” Ellie questioned abruptly, interrupting the day dreamy look in your eyes as you spoke of Wanda. “My head is spinning.” She added as she leaned on you for support.

Mr. Hart marched over to you as you nervously used your hand to fan his daughter. “Do you hear that? My daughters head is spinning. Generally speaking, I don’t like her head to do that.” You winced. Ellie leaned further into you, forcing you to use your arms to support her.

The lecture Mr. Hart was giving you continued. “You know, I’m beginning to think you aren’t worth publishing. I had high hopes for you after speaking to your editor. From what I’ve seen here tonight, you can barely keep it together. Look around there’s all this chaos in your househo-“

“Dinner is served.” Wanda interrupted as she stood by the table with an uneasy smile, her eyes expressing her discontent at Ellie’s position even if she didn’t say it.

Mr. Hart turned to eye the table as you breathed a sigh of relief. “Breakfast for dinner, how very…”

“European?” Ellie finished with an entertained smile, still leaning on you.

Thankful for the lighter shift in atmosphere, you quickly moved away from Ellie and rushed over to the table. “Let’s have a toast!”

Everyone gathered around the table. “To my lovely and talented wife.” You stared at Wanda adoringly as you raised your glass.

“To our esteemed guests.” Wanda countered with a smirk as everyone around the table clinked glasses. “Well, please, eat before it gets cold.”

Everyone took a seat around the table. “So, where did you two move from? What brought you here? How long have you been married?” Ellie rapidly spouted off.

The polite smile on Wanda’s face faltered slightly as she seemed to ponder the questions. You chuckled nervously. “I think what my wife means to say is w-we moved from-”

“Yes, we moved from…” Wanda interrupted only to pause in thought.

“And we were married…” You stopped as well to think of the answer, why couldn’t you think of the answer. You picked up a fork to keep your hands occupied.

“Yes, yes, we were married…” Wanda looked at you, confusion in her eyes.

“Well, moved from where? Married when?” Mr. Hart asked impatiently.

Ellie pushed the food around her plate. She seemed amused at the situation. “Patience, Dad. They’re setting up their story. Let them tell it.”

“Our story…” Wanda began again, a nervous chuckle escaped her lips.

Mr. Hart looked between the two of you in annoyance. “Yes, what exactly is your story? I think it’s a perfectly simple question.”

Wanda stared blankly at the table as you felt a pressure begin to build in your temples. You held back a grimace.

The walls in the room began to feel suffocating and the dress you had on felt constricting. Your breathing became heavier as your continued to desperately search your mind for something, anything. A memory that existed before this morning. The floor around the table began to splinter slightly as the fork in your hand folded in on itself.

“Honestly, why did you come here? Why?” Mr. Hart slammed his hand on the table causing you both to jump. Your thoughts were racing as you wracked your brain for the answers to his questions but kept coming up blank.

A large crack in the floor appeared by Mr. Hart’s chair as he fell back, stuck on the edge, frozen in fear.

Ellie smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Dad, stop it.” The gap by the table widened as Mr. Hart teetered precariously on the edge, still frozen in shock. “Stop it.” She repeated.

Wanda’s eyes widened in concern as you vaguely saw wisps float over to the gap but do nothing. The pressure in your head became even stronger as the world around you became more difficult to register.

“Stop it. Stop it.” Ellie kept repeating as she turned her attention to Wanda. Mr. Hart hanging over the gap by his fingers.

“Y/n. Help him.” Wanda said assertively as the racing in your mind came to a halt. You stared at the scene before you in horror. With subtle wave of your fingers, the gap closed as Mr. Hart was once again on flat ground.

You rushed over to help him. “Let me help you up.”

When he was once again on his feet, Mr. Hart glanced at his watch. “Well, would you look at the time.”

“We better be going.” Ellie added as she stood up.

Wanda looked at them both cautiously, the polite smile making a reappearance, but much more tentative than before. “Are you both alright?”

“We had such a lovely time.” Ellie wandered over to you and shook your hand once again a moment too long, the flirtatious smile returning.

With an uncomfortable smile, you pulled your hand back and made your way over to Mr. Hart. “You made me proud tonight. First thing Monday morning, I’ll make a call to your editor and let him know we have a deal.”

The final remnants of confusion faded away at his words as you eagerly shook his hand with a broad smile. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” Wanda let them both out as you each leaned against the closest object near you and breathed a sigh of relief.

After taking a moment to collect, you both wandered over to the couch. You easily wrapped an arm around her. “You know, we are an unusual couple.” Wanda stated.

“Oh, I don’t think that was ever in question.” You replied as the disembodied laughter rang out again.

Wanda leaned into you, “We don’t have an anniversary… or even wedding rings.”

You rubbed her arm soothingly. “Well, today could be our anniversary.” You offered.

“Of what? Surviving our first dinner party?” She questioned with an amused smile.

You chuckled. “Precisely.”

“And the wedding rings?” She asked.

“Well, couldn’t you make some for us?” You questioned as you held out a hand, smiling when she mimicked your action.

With a wave of her finger, beautiful rings appeared on both of your ring fingers. “I do.” You said softly before turning your head to look at her. “Do you?”

“Of course. I do.” Wanda replied tenderly as she intertwined your fingers. The disembodied voices cooed.

“And they lived happily ever after.”

“And we have a happy ending.” Wanda whispered. A brief flash of something flickered in Wanda’s eyes, but before you could analyze she leaned in and lovingly connected her lips with yours in a sweet kiss. . . . . . . . . As the credits rolled there was a brief moment of silence as everyone stared at the screen. “I told you star-spangled man wouldn’t work. This is the 50s, not the 40s.” Darcy said pointedly.

The sound of a soft thud filled the room from Natasha hitting the back of Steve’s head. “I thought it would be close enough.” Steve grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head.

Fury stared at the screen intensely. “I know that woman, but how did she get there.” He mumbled more to himself than the people in the room. “I think I know someone who we can send in.” He eventually addressed the room.

They all turned to look at him. “Let’s do it. Rogers ideas obviously aren’t working.” Natasha answered as Steve crossed his arms in annoyance.

There it is! Part 1 of the “Love Goes” sequel. This one felt a little constricted by the episode because a lot of it still felt necessary as it introduced the newer characters which is why a lot of dialogue from the first episode was used here. The italicized portion was a memory in case that was a little confusing. Also “Star-Spangled Man” is from the first captain America movie lol. I’m actually kind of excited about this though! As always, let me know your thoughts, they’re always welcome!

P.s. I pictured Emma Watson as Ellie because Emma Watson. :)

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