#Chapter 36: The Broken Ones.

[shadowsshowdown]

Deus Ex: Human Revolution Shadow’s Showdown 36

The Broken Ones.

Detroit. Laura's apartment.

Connor didn't want to stay the night and although it was hard for him to leave Laura alone he had to go. Unfortunately, he had a tremendous amount of responsibilities at the company that needed to be done before the new year. He was tired and should get at least a few hours of sleep. He also didn't want to tell the hacker about how difficult it was for both him and Adam to defend her from Pritchard's wrath. The situation had long since gotten out of hand anyway. As soon as the man left, the hacker started looking for airline connections to Sweden. She hoped that no one would find her there, if anyone would look for her at all. For a brief moment she allowed herself to be charmed by a thought that maybe she meant something, that she was part of some whole, but she quickly realized that she got dumped. The world was still spinning and she was stuck. She felt like an animal thrown into a tar pit. Day after day she sank further and further, and no one really cared, except maybe Connor.

She was happy to find that in just a few hours she would be sitting aboard a plane. Fortunately, she'd gotten a paycheck, which she spent on the trip and at least a week's stay in Uppsala. What would happen after that? Somehow she cared little about that. Laura immediately started packing her things. She planned to take Stalker with her. It shouldn't be a problem, after all he had all his vaccinations and tests up to date. The woman could not fall asleep, she kept seeing Adam's face. It was everywhere. On the ceiling, reflected in the window, she could see it on her pillow. She was tormented by his scent, felt the look of his gray-blue eyes on her and his fingertips gently teasing her skin with every touch. The smile twitching at the corner of his mouth like a drop of water on a spider's web, the hot breath on the nape of her neck and that wonderful taste of his lips as he unhurriedly kissed her. She must forget every one of those little things. To abandon everything she's managed to build. Adam Jensen, ex-SWAT, Security Chief at Sarif Industries, Grumpy Cerberus is a thing of the past.

A little after eight in the morning she was already sitting in the cab that took her to the airport. Images scrolled past outside the glass window like frames of a movie. She met Adam there and he helped her carry the groceries. This is where she walked with Connor. To The Jack Daw she walked to eat lunch with Faridah. There in the distance is the Camarilla club. Rupert sitting in the Crann Tara. Screaming Francis, even he evoked sadness. By nine o'clock she was already aboard the plane. Stalker meowed loudly to express his displeasure at being separated from his sitter, but there was no other choice. The seat next to her was taken by a businessman with a complexion orange from self-tanner and carelessly combed hair of the color of scrambled eggs. He was terribly unpleasant to the staff, but the stewardess had to smile at him. She had about twelve hours of flight ahead of her with a connecting flight in Paris. At a time like this, she missed VTOL terribly.

Sarif Industries. Connor's office.

The man sat behind a desk with piles of papers towering on its top. He was busy correcting mistakes that others had made. Now he understood Laura, who went through this every day. Since she had disappeared he had taken over her duties and had to deal with Francis' whining, which was now worse than usual. He could feel and see the preparations for the great ball at every turn. His friends were constantly talking about what outfits they would wear and who they would go with. Connor at first wanted to invite a girl he met in Washington, but she preferred to go with Simon, who goes to the gym every spare moment. Yes, he could envy his muscles but not his brain. He would have loved to go with Laura and was going to tell her so. When he had dealt with fixing half of major mistakes, it was almost lunchtime, so he saved everything he had done so far and turned off the computer.

As he walked down the hallway he heard more and more excited voices talking about Washington and invariably about ball. Connor sighed loudly as he saw Adam coming from across the hall. They both stopped exactly at Laura's office door noticing that it was apparently locked.

"You spent the night with her you should know where she is," the Security Chief muttered ominously, intertwining his arms across his chest.

Connor noticed the extreme hostility not only in his voice but also in his posture. He was almost certain that if they were in some side alley right now he would be facing an outburst of aggression from the ex-SWAT.

"You're wrong, Jensen. I don't jump into women's beds. If you want to know I left her at night even though she insisted I should stay. As usual, you see what you want to see instead of the truth."

Adam rubbed the bridge of his nose in thought. His comment was inappropriate, unprofessional. The fact that he was no longer in control of himself frightened him.

"Forgive me, I shouldn't comment on matters that don't concern me," he replied, trying to correct the error. "I came because Laura usually solved my problems without Pritchard's involvement, but I see she's still not at work." "Unfortunately," the man shook his head with resignation. "I thought she'd show up today, though." Connor didn't tell him that the hacker was in a pretty good mood when they were left alone. "I called her but I keep hearing that the number is temporarily unavailable. She must have left somewhere just don't know where," he lied because as soon as he found that Laura had left, he immediately became certain where. "So unfortunately I’m the only person that can help you. Shall we go to my office?" he asked, emphasizing the invitation with a hand gesture.

Jensen found with horror that he was beginning to like Connor despite the fact that they were competing for the same woman. He could not deny his self-control and great skill, yet he knew as much about him as he had about Laura when they first met. His personal file was very sparse and contained only basic information.

The Chief of Security did not refuse a cup of coffee when Connor made a polite suggestion. They sat in front of the monitor discussing a few more issues related to Megan's speech and security matters at the ball. Connor sensed the sadness in Adam's voice despite his efforts to hide it. After talking for over half an hour, they said their goodbyes in a slightly less chilly manner than usual.

For the next quarter of an hour Connor rhythmically pushed his back against the back of the armchair while sitting. Under his nose lay a horizontally placed red company pen held by a raised upper lip. His thoughts circled around Laura like a flock of vultures. In fact, he had lied to Jensen when they were sitting in the hacker's apartment. He could have found her without much effort but he didn't want to. Not because the ex-SWAT was his competitor, in fact he hadn't expected such immature behavior and impulsiveness from Adam. Laura needed silence and calmness so that was the reason for his lie. Their confrontation always ended badly as he had observed. It was possible that they shouldn't be together. Now she had run away again and he was going to find out the reason without letting anyone in on it.

The Jack Daw.

Adam decided he had to act, somehow convince Laura to come back. He knew that if she disappeared then Uppsala was the obvious place to go, and Faridah was his only hope of getting there. So he sat at his table drumming his fingers nervously on the table top. A bowl of already cold soup stood in front of him. He had the impression that he was suffocating. The smell of the herbs seemed to be extremely intense, and that made the memories even more vivid. Today, even this silly game of shooting at him with cereal stuck in a straw was amusing. He could bear it very patiently and with a smile if only Laura were here. He pulled the sleeve of his brown sweater off his wrist with the index finger of his right hand, glancing at his watch. Malik was never late. The wait was driving him crazy.

"Hey Adam. Sorry I'm late, but everyone's been crazy with the flying lately," she tried to explain. "Faridah this Malik that. Fly here bring that..." She broke off wrinkling her brows. The grim expression on the Security Chief's face worried her. He looked like he had gained at least a dozen years. "What’s going on? I see it's something serious," she encouraged sitting down across from him. "Laura is gone," he said quietly at which the woman visibly twitched. "Because she's stupid," growled Malik. Jensen shook his head. "She's monstrously lost, just like I am now. It was like old times in Washington for a while, but then she backed off again. She wants to protect me, I know that, and that's why I have to do something." "I don't share your commitment however it is your decision. I just don't know what I can do." "She definitely flew to Uppsala. It's the only place where she feels safe, yet she's aware that I can find her there. I feel that this may be a sign. Maybe... I don't know..." "You're getting your hopes up too high," she sighed. "Unfortunately, despite my great and sincere wishes, I cannot take you to Uppsala. When I look at the flight schedule it makes me sick. I'm flying to DC in less than an hour then back and another flight. I'm sorry, I really am." "I understand," he replied shortly, though it wasn't what he expected to hear. "The end of the year was always hard, and now it's even worse. Even I have a monstrous amount of things on my mind."

The Chief Pilot wanted to reply, but was interrupted by the phone ringing. "Malik, I'm listening. Yes. Of course boss, I'm on my way," she said ending the call. "You see for yourself, I have to go. Stay safe!" the woman stopped in half step. "I can ask any of my subordinates if they have a gap in their schedule."

"I'd rather keep strangers out of this."

Faridah nodded and went. Adam tried to force himself to eat the cold soup, but gave up. Even more depressed than before, he paid for his lunch and returned to the company.

Sarif Industries Headquarters.

The rest of the day was no better. Jensen again did not manage to separate his bad mood from his work, and several of his subordinates were reprimanded as a result. Yes, they had made some big mistakes, but they had always managed to explain everything without resorting to final solutions. Adam's rage grew whenever he reminded himself that there was no way he could be in Sweden today. The usual flight would take too long, and besides, he would not get any time off now. It was after five o'clock when he closed the office and left the company. Returning home did not satisfy him at all, so he decided to visit Crann Tara. He silently hoped that he would meet Rupert and apologize to him for ruining Christmas. His hope was soon extinguished as soon as he descended the stairs with a glass of whisky and his coat thrown over his arm. The Scot didn't come, and the reason was all too obvious to Jensen. He was about to sit down in his usual place by the stairs when he noticed Connor sitting a few tables away. The man did not notice him and Adam preferred it to stay that way. In half an hour he had read several dozen pages of a book about Wallander, but he did not really remember what happened in it. He put the reading down on the table and rubbed his temples. The glass of whisky remained untouched. Connor noticed Adam right away, but hoping for luck he pretended otherwise. He needed time to make a decision that could prove fatal if he played his cards wrong.

Sweden, Gamla Uppsala.

It was late evening in Sweden, but Laura could see perfectly like a cat even in the dark. The reception was already closed, but the notice on the door said that in case of emergency you could call so after about a quarter of an hour the light on the first floor came on and the same woman who had rented the cottage on their previous visit let her in. She was also kind enough to rent her the same two-bedroom building for the price of a single. On the way Laura did some shopping and went to eat in Valhalla. Sipping hot tea she found that even Pritchard had stopped pestering her with phone calls. The loneliness was slowly starting to bother her, but most of all the lack of Faridah. She could always straighten out her twisted thinking and give good advice. Their first meeting was not very friendly, but with time everything changed. She finished her herring sandwich and went to pay, leaving soon after. She still could not understand why she had chosen Uppsala and not, for example, Berlin.

The woman stopped in front of the entrance to the cottage. Everything seemed to be as it was then. She is about to open the door and hear Faridah's indignant voice. She would cross the hall and look into the far corner of the living room where Adam would be reading Wallander while pretending he hadn't eaten a kanellbule at all. Although the interior had been cleaned up after the last guests, she still felt like she could smell the scents in the air that accompanied their last stay. She occupied Adam's room and it wasn't a matter of chance or being drunk, just deliberate action. Immediately after unpacking her things, she took the phone for not-so-legal activities and turned it on. The screen briefly flashed a blue light before going black again. She had made the decision she felt was best and right. She preferred to sacrifice herself instead of Adam, Joe, Connor or Faridah. Kratos would find her here, of that she could be sure. She even decided to make it easy for him. Laura tapped on the surface, and when the touchscreen keyboard appeared, she typed two words:

"Knock, knock." "Who is there?" the phone answered. "Crunchy_Sh4d0w." "Welcome home."

Columns of random characters in various shades of blue ran down the screen. There were letters of the alphabet written in different languages and numbers.

"HAL 9000, send a message to @Peter_Englert. Content: Fresh Pizza is waiting to be picked up. When you are done shutdown," she said.

The phone screen flickered on and off. Laura hoped Kratos was still using the account. If not, she would have to wait a little longer. When she opened the drawer of the nightstand placed next to the bed she noticed a slightly crumpled Golden Icarus cigarette box, and the last cigarette in it. Her hands suddenly began to tremble. She remembered her answer to Adam’s question.

"I know it's silly, but I imagine we exchange a kiss then, and there is nothing more wonderful in this world than the touch of your lips."

Longing enveloped her in the cold chill of the bedding, she felt like it was dripping from the ceiling onto her face and running down her cheeks in salty drops.

Detroit, Crann Tara.

Connor thought things over a few times concluding that even if they had no sympathy for each other, he should help Adam and share what he knew. So he decided to make the first move on the chessboard. The man stood up, grabbed his half-full mug of beer and the black down jacket thrown over the back of his chair, and moved toward Adam, who was stubbornly trying to read.

"Mind if I sit down?" he asked, though he knew the answer anyway, but at least Jensen would get a snap on his nose. "There are plenty of free tables," the Security Chief muttered, turning a page in the book. "I need this particular one," he insisted. "You care about Laura as much as I do."

Only now did Adam's gaze travel up along Connor's grey and black jacket stopping at his serious face. After a moment's consideration he nodded permissively to him. The hacker set down his pint, placed his jacket on a nearby chair and sat down across from him. "I managed to trace Laura's phone, she's now…"

"In Gamla Uppsala," Jensen finished in a dispassionate tone. "I knew that all along." "And you're sitting here instead aboard a plane?" he couldn't help but stick a pin in him. "Listen to me carefully," the ex-SWAT's tone turned unpleasantly husky. "If you came here just to mock me then you better get out of here." "Sorry, that was stupid," the hacker admitted. "Faridah won't be able to fly and Sarif won't give me time off now so a nearly twelve hour flight is out of the question," he explained. "My pilot is free, he can fly whenever you want, but hear me out first," he asked completely calmly. "Sure, I can do that much for you," Adam muttered, sipping his whisky. "I don't know what has put you two so far apart, and in fact I don't want to know, but if Laura is avoiding you then think what will happen when she sees you. Assess your real chances of success on this trip. That's all."

Jensen rubbed his temple then his chin, trying to analyze his words rationally. So far, only anger and the desire to compete had spoken through him. Maybe he should get over it? Maybe what he sees is just a figment of his imagination?

"We haven't really had much time to explain anything. Uppsala is a special place and most of all it's peaceful," it was only when he finished speaking that he realized he had just revealed too much. "So you've been there before," Connor remarked but got no response. "Well in that case I'll call my pilot right away and find out everything," he continued, reaching for his phone in his inside jacket pocket. "Wait," he stopped him with a word and a gesture of an open hand extended toward him. "First, tell me what you want to do." "Let me start by saying I really want to help you. I'm not interested in any personal gain. If you are able to trust me then I will fly to Sweden and bring Laura back to Detroit, or at least try to. What you do next and how you do it is of no interest to me." "What are you better than me at?" asked the ex-SWAT lighting a cigarette. "I can use the right arguments too." "In one simple thing. Laura doesn't want to see you and will run away again."

Those were painful words, but very true. Currently, he was the last person she would want to see, much less talk to. He could look for arguments, try to deny it, but Connor was right. If anyone could convince Laura to come back, it was him. Connor could feel the fierce battle going on in Adam's mind right now and he felt sorry for him. He'd never been in a relationship with a woman. He hadn't had the time or circumstances to do so, but he couldn't believe it was so hard for two people to communicate. Especially since things had been very different before.

"I know you care about her. I can see that," he said quietly. "Don't try to be my friend," growled the Security Chief. "Fine, then forget about this conversation," replied the hacker reaching for his jacket. "Wait," stopped him in mid-motion. "All I want right now is for Laura to come back. She'll be safe here." "Safe? What do you mean by that? Is she in danger of something?" he inquired. "I just want to keep an eye on her." "Adam, please, we're adults so don't play cat and mouse with me," he insisted. "Suppose your guess is right then I won't divulge her personal affairs anyway. If she wants to, she'll tell you herself what it's all about. "You're right, it’s not my concern. And if you say too much Laura would lose confidence in you.”

All that could be heard in the falling silence were the sounds of conversation coming from upstairs and the ringing of glass. Adam wondered what to do. On the one hand, Connor was his only solution, on the other he had concerns that he might be lying to him.

"Deal," the Security Chief finally said. "He's your pilot anyway, so my opinion doesn't really matter." "Yes, it does. If you hadn't allowed reason to prevail right now you'd be sitting aboard a VTOL and probably still be back today," he stated firmly. "I should go now. Before the travel, I have to inform Pritchard that I will be working remotely which won't be so easy. Anyway, you know yourself. I'll call the pilot right away," he explained getting up from his seat and dressing his jacket. "Will you at least let me know when you're there?" asked Jensen with a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Of course. If I can't call, I'll send a message. You'll know everything." "Thank you," he said sincerely, though that was also what decency demanded. No matter what his intentions were, he was willing and able to do anything. "You'll thank me when Laura is in Detroit," he replied, nodded goodbye to Adam, and left.

Connor's apartment.

A quarter of an hour later, he entered the cozy but small apartment that was in perfect order. Connor took off his shoes and put them against the wall in a perfectly learned move half an inch apart. He then carefully hung his jacket on a hanger, which he tucked into the closet. He did the same with the jacket earlier pulling out his phone. Finally, he slipped fluffy slippers depicting the heads of St. Bernard dogs onto his feet and walked to the living room across the graphite-colored carpet. Before taking a seat on the simple blue sofa, he put the phone down on the glass top of the coffee table and turned right into the bathroom. While washing his hands, he made each motion exactly twenty-eight times. Only when he was absolutely sure they were clean did he go to the kitchenette, where he poured himself a glass of orange juice and finally took a seat on the sofa. Before reaching for his phone he looked at the clock set on the opposite cabinet right next to the flat fifty-five-inch television. He figured it wasn't too late, so he dialed Markus Manfred's number.

"Hey, it's me, Connor," he began in a cheerful tone, not at all in keeping with his pedantic nature. "Listen, I have an urgent matter to attend to and I need a pilot." "Where are we going? I need to see if I can make it. You know how things are at the company now," he said with a heavy sigh. "I know it all too well, but maybe a flight to Gamla Uppsala will cheer you up a bit?" "Gamla Uppsala," he repeated. "Sweden, if I'm not mistaken. Short days and probably snow. I like it," he admitted and fell silent for a moment. "I'm not free until after fifteen tomorrow. I have a few other flights before then. I've switched with Malik to give her at least some relief." "Sure, I understand. It's even a good thing because I have a conversation with Pritchard ahead of me," Connor sighed. "Then I' don’t envy you. Laura got under his skin with that sudden disappearance, but good for him. It's just too bad it's the others who get hurt. Okay, I gotta go because North's about to kill me with her gaze." "Greet her from me. See you tomorrow."

After the conversation had been over, Connor took a shower and dressed in grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt with RK800 written on it and # 687 899 150 underneath and marched straight to his bedroom.

All  chapters can be found: [AO3], [dA], [Wattpad] and [Tumblr]

[cosmichorrorlesbians]

These were the Silt Verses.

(closeups/design notes/rambling under the cut, because it took me over a month to make this so I'm going to be a little self-indulgent.)

spoilers for the whole podcast ahead!

Our protagonists! Notes:

Some of these came out more accurate to how I see them than others. Hayward in particular looks much less grimy and haggard than I imagine him. Carpenter, on the other hand, is perfect in my eyes. Shrue is (subconsciously) very much inspired by the wonderful @unbloodiedmartyr's rendition of them (thanks Sacha, your art goes insanely hard!)

Hayward and Paige face away, a nod to their final parting. Carpenter and Faulkner face one another, in deference to their final reunion.

Val and Shrue are both shown at the moment of their deaths.

Paige, the only character confirmed to survive the immediate finale, is the only one with closed eyes.

I'm a blond Faulkner truther. Sorry.

Someone left some really really insane tags on a Valpost I made like a month ago about how Val can alter her appearance as she pleases, but the Last Word can never convince her not to see the actual aftermath of her torture when she looks in the mirror, and it sent me a little crazy, so I was trying to capture that failing self-deceit here. She's meant to look absurdly young, but where the flames overlay her face, you can see the prayer marks and lacerations on her skin.

I had this out on my desk for days and every time a family member dropped by I had to frantically hide the fact I was drawing 'politician gets shot in the head' fanart. RIP.

These are the marks of the Many Below! They look Not Great enlarged, but hey ho. I wanted them to look hidden and incidental, separated in each corner as they are:

'Begin with a balbis on its side. Within the two spaces, a circle marked by a single dot.' Drawn in the silt of the White Gull River.

'Beneath this, a pair of concentric circles. Within the annulus, an ovoid with a slit - a staring eye.' Scrawled across the pug postcard Cross uses to write his idea to scapegoat Shrue.

'Under that, a lemniscate over a heptagram[...]' Made up of the ribbon that binds Mercer and Gage's rifles.

'[...]and three parallel lines beneath.' Faulkner's staff, broken into three pieces.

Interstitial illustrations. There are four sets of these, which (roughly) correspond to more stand-alone episodes & fan favourites. This is my favourite, for my beloved Chapter 36: All Lovers Part As Dust. I had a blast distilling recurring motifs of the episode into one little illustration, and I'm really proud of the result; I think it captures the match of sweet and bitter that the episode in question inspires. The clock points to the eleventh hour.

These are pretty self-explanatory: I couldn't pass up a chance to draw the inciting miracle of the series, and it made sense to pair it with the image of Paige and Hayward sailing downriver at the end of Season 2, an image which has always haunted me.

The hare and the owl are from Chapter 26, a symbol of the Wound Tree's emergence. The lobster and fish are intended as a nod to Faulkner and Rane, a character who I love but couldn't include more overtly. Lobsters are seen as a symbol of devotion and fidelity because, apocryphally, they mate for life, and yet the lobster here is without its pair. The fish was intended to be a remora, which swims beside sharks. (Yes, I'm aware remora are tropical sea-dwelling fish, and humbly beg any marine biologists reading this not to kill me on the spot).

The Killing And Violence Siblings!

These object illustrations were deliberately positioned as parallels and specifically reference Season 2, marking the point of the poem that is made up of that series' titles (an attention to the series chronology that roughly coheres throughout the piece. Very roughly.)

Mercer and Gage's rifles are twisted round with a red ribbon, which bleeds into the White Gull, binding them together and reflecting how they're rarely seen apart. The ribbon's also a deliberate parallel to the banner wrapping Carpenter and Faulkner's hands elsewhere in the art.

Carpenter's axe and Faulkner's sororicidal mirror shard are depicted alongside fish hooks, as though they're separated for much of the season, the Parish draws them back together in the end. Also an echo of Paige's line, 'Love is just a meat hook for you to catch me on.'

There's only blood on one of the rifles, in a nod to Mercer and Gage's uneven dynamic.

Bookend landscapes. The pages were intended to reference the Silt Verses as an in-story document, and represent the themes of truth, myth and record throughout.

The illumination!

It was always going to be a radio-- not a nod specifically to Sid Wright, but really to the use of broadcast, music and sound throughout the show. TSV's sound design is truly one of the things I admire most about it.

The radio is meant to be on Carpenter and Faulkner's dashboard, as they drive along the river in the very first episode, hence its positioning at the start of the poem.

I conceived this as the centre of the piece, and drew the rest around it.

aaaand that was a lot. I didn't cover everything, and I recommend clicking on the final piece to get full quality and see how the details interact with one another-- but if you've read through all these meanderings, thank you, sibling. I started this two weeks after the finale, and managed a full relisten while drawing. It's been a labour of love, and I now hate watercolours more than I have words for.

[princessleechan]

choi seungcheol must die masterlist

📌synopsis: Mingyu wasn't the one with his heart broken. It was his little sister. And Seokmin's older sister. And Chan's best friend. Choi Seungcheol is a menace to society and needs to be put down. Immediately. The sure fire way to do it is to give him a taste of his own medicine: break his heart. 📌pairing: fem!reader x ??? (seungcheol, mingyu, seokmin, chan) 📌genre: slight angst, romance, humor, eventual smut 📌series tags: 18+ only, SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, tags will vary from chapter 📌status: COMPLETED WITH BONUSES TO COME 📌started: oct 6th, 2023 - feb 18, 2024 📌Tag list: please reply to this post, send an ask, or dm to get updated

Profiles #1, #2, #3

Act I :

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Act II :

11 | 12 | 13+bonus written scene | 14+bonus written scene | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

Act III

26 | 27 | 28 | 29 written scene | 30+bonus written scene(18+) | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37

Epilogue

Bonus:

[aethon-recs]

This Week in Tomarrymort (28 September – 3 October 2024)

So many updates this week!! I feel like this has been one of the busiest weeks for one shots and new fics, particularly with @tomarrybigbang fics and art posting this week.

As always, please feel free to add some extra context to your fic update in the reblog, like a little bit about the chapter(s) updated, as I rely on the authors to share a bit more about their updates, if you’re so inclined! 🤍

A recap of the author notes from last week:

Sits the wind in that quarter by @mosiva (M, 47k, WIP) “Getting close to the end of Sits the wind now! A little bit of omegaverse, a lot of Regency-era romance. Harry is onto approx his fifth change of circumstance so far and Lord Riddle is inching closer to a confession!” Dream a little dream (of me) by @cenedrariva (E, 17k, WIP) “In Chapter 3, Voldemort continues to sneak into Harry's dreams and dismiss his nightmares, until on the last day of the summer holidays, Harry does something unexpected..." War Prize by @duplicitywrites @moontearpensfic (E, 10k, WIP) “Harry is a war bride in a Voldemort Wins AU, but he is also Voldemort's bodyguard. Smack (smut as crack) treated seriously, with dark themes!” I need you to live well by @onehitpleb (T, 2k, complete) “My oneshot is an alternative ending to my gen fic, where Tom grows up and falls in love with Harry. Please read the prequel before reading the oneshot sequel." Touch of Death by @moontearpensfic (E, 3k, WIP) “Touch of Death is pretty much Tom gets knocked up with eggs from an Eldritch (MoD) Harry.”

*

Tomarrymort One Shots and Completed Fic

Chapter 7 (completed) of midnight train by @girl-with-goats

Chapter 5 (completed) of Stand my ground by @ciacconne

Chapters 1 and 2 (completed) of Tangled Up by @known-concepts

One Shot | here, despite your destination by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts

One Shot | Soil by @ratzeebatz

One Shot | forgive me father by @cindle-writes

One Shot | hot and bothered, seething by yourself by @2sidesofthesamesoul

One Shot | Sharp or Dull? by @xodahafez

One Shot | on line sex & rabbit stew by @izharmilgram

One Shot | A real voyage of discovery by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts

One Shot | the treacle tart chef by @00queasy00

One Shot | Man of the Year by @known-concepts

One Shot | The last enemy to be defeated is death by @thespacebetweenworlds

*

Tomarrymort Ongoing Fics

Chapter 1 of One for sorrow, two for mirth by @easterndreamer

Chapter 1 of A Murder by Crows by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapter 36 of Part One - The Solitude of Suffering by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapters 1 through 4 of The Brief Fiery Plummets by @thefangirlibrarian

Chapter 8 of Do It Over by @thefangirlibrarian

Chapter 14 of Just Business by @holaolla1

Chapter 1 of Among Us by Blossom26

Chapter 1 of Lunacy by @crowcrowcrowthing

Chapter 3 of Lovely Bitter Water by @pagesinmylife

Chapters 1 and 2 of Mending Broken Things by @tommarvoloriddlesdiary

Chapter 4 of Forbidden Darkness by @neurowriter14

Chapter 1 of demons and angels hang with us by @duender-writes

Chapter 1 of Auror Potter by @albondiguilla007

Chapter 19 of Date Ideas for the Linguistically Inclined by Antique_Mango

Chapter 1 of such unholy heaving by @cealesti

Chapter 5 of Fetters of the Damned by @sc0rpiflow3r

Chapter 11 of Saint Harry by @alenablack @chaos-bear

Chapter 126 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapter 2 of Goodbye Evergreen by @v33r00 

Chapter 7 of God is a Wizard by @onehitpleb

Chapter 22 of Time Stumbler by Wintumn

Chapter 17 of When time and reasons fail by citrumade

Chapters 39 through 41 of Terrible, But Great by @isalisewrites

Chapter 11 of Of Soulmates and Sweet Suffering by hannah_bean

Chapter 8 of Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic

Chapter 6 of The Unintentional Consequences of Prison Reform by @badluck

Chapter 4 of i am anonymous, you are a concrete wall by Pensievable

Chapter 17 of Outrunning the Villain in You by @zenyteehee

Chapter 7 of These Fragments We've Shored by @rowena-rain

Chapter 7 of all you do is kill, love snakes, and lie by @soopsiedaisies

Chapter 2 of Older by @v33r00 

Chapter 4 of Dreams Beyond Blood by @hikarimeroperiddle

Chapter 3 of Memories of a Killer by @chemfreak89

*

[ddejavvu]

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 1) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 11.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my development of this series! it's three parts long, and each part will be posted one week after the one before it. that means you get chapter 2 next week, and chapter 3 two weeks from now. and after chapter 3 is released, i will post the full fic in one single post, so that it's easier to read. this series means a lot to me, it's the longest fic I've ever finished for this account, and I would really love to hear what you think of it. Thank you to the love of my life miss jade (@luveline), for being the first person to read this (!!), and for all of your wonderful feedback that cheered me on as I crossed the finish line for this series. I don't think I would have finished it if it wouldn't have been for your support, so thank you sweetpea <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

It’s 11:14 AM when you get the call. Your phone buzzes ballistically beneath your pillow, where you’d stuffed it haphazardly last night somewhere close to 4 AM. For the record, you’d only slept because your eyes hurt from being open for so long. You’re certain that, after what you’d done, you deserved to ache for eternity, but you’d succumbed to sleep when it pulled hard enough at you.

Raising the phone to your ear is a chore, especially because the number on the screen is unrecognizable, but you stretch your tired, bed-ridden limbs and hold the cool glass screen to your face. It’s jarring, and you long for the stuffy warmth of the pillow again.

“Hello?”

“Miss Y/N Mitchell?” It’s a man’s voice, deep and strong through the receiver. It’s no-nonsense, and you almost worry that you’ve misfiled your taxes, that someone from the IRS is tracking you down.

“That’s me,” You rub sleep out of your left eye, harder than necessary so that your vision is blurry when you open your eye again. You’re not very gentle with yourself these days.

“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. He’s currently a patient at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. He was brought in at 9:37 AM this morning when his jet malfunctioned mid-exercise, and he crashed into a canyon below.”

Your heart stops. 

Your cheeks get hot, your hands start to tingle, and your stomach feels like it’s going to start turning cartwheels, sloshing your insides around until you vomit what little you’ve eaten.

Bradley’s dead, you think, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead.

“We were able to airlift him out, and he’s stabilized now-” Bradley’s not dead,  “-but he’s still unconscious. His parents are here, as well as your father, if you’d like to join them.”

It takes a long time for you to speak. It’s almost a full minute, and the man on the other end has to call your name to get you to respond.

“Miss Mitchell?”

“I’ll be there,” You blurt, heaving a shaky breath as you seal a hand over your mouth. You part your fingers only to make sure he hears you clearly as you confirm, “He’s alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive and stable.” The man informs you, “He’ll recover, Miss Mitchell.”

Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead.

“I’ll be there,” You repeat, and for the first time in almost 36 hours, you kick the crappy motel blankets off of your legs and stand, “Thank you, sir.”

--

Wearing a bra again after two weeks of lazing around in bed is awful. But you’ll do it for Bradley, if only to make up for the last thing you’d said to him.

“I can’t love you anymore!” Rings in your ears, and a vision of Bradley’s hands reaching desperately for you flashes through your mind, covering up the green light ahead of you.

Someone honks behind you, a BMW. You jolt to attention, stepping on the gas and jerking into the intersection.

Easy, you chide yourself, You’re going to the hospital to visit a patient, not to be one.

You’re able to pull into the hospital’s parking lot without nearly causing any more car crashes, and you briefly wonder if you should take the coward’s way out again as you trek over the asphalt towards the hospital. You’d run two weeks ago, why not now? Why not now, when what you’d been worried about that night has actually happened?

Urged by the regret flooding your veins since fleeing, you walk on, stepping through the automatic doors of the hospital and sidling up to the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Bradley Bradshaw,” You inform the nurse there, “Uh- Lieutenant. If that… helps.”

She sends you a kind smile, filled with sympathy that you’re thankful for as you stammer and stumble your way through speaking. You’re sure you’re not the most distraught person here, and you’re guiltily thankful for that. 

“Room 624,” The nurse tells you, and oh, what a sick coincidence, “Down the hall and to the left, take the elevator up and follow the arrows on the floor.”

6/24 is not only Bradley’s birthday, but your anniversary; the day you’d kissed him on the swings in his backyard with hot fudge sticking to your lips. He’d been glum about his dad missing his birthday on deployment, and, of course, your dad couldn’t be there either. Carole had done her best to brighten up her boy, but some things couldn’t be mended with gift wrap, and you all knew that.

You’d snuck out to join him that night with a sundae, offering him the serving spoon thickly coated in the chocolate. He’d accepted it with a huffy eye roll, upset that you’d managed to cheer him up even a little bit with just one spoon of ice cream.

--

“It sucks,” Bradley mutters around the chocolate in his mouth, the syrup sticking his words together, “I know he can’t do anything about it. But I still want him here.”

“I know,” You hum, taking a bite of ice cream for yourself, “I’m sorry, Brad. If it makes you feel any better, he’ll probably get you something, like, really good when he gets back. He’ll feel all guilty, that’s what my dad did and I got a puppy out of it.”

“We’ve already got a puppy,” Bradley gestures to the Bradshaw’s family dog, well on in years by the gray around his muzzle and his tendency to nap instead of move.

“Maybe you’ll get one that you can actually play with,” You offer Bradley another bite of the ice cream, and you only feel a little bad for making fun of Lewis. But the dog doesn’t understand your teasing, softly snoring on the porch.

“Maybe he’ll get me a car,” Bradley gushes, “A bitchin’ one, like a Bronco or something. Then we can put our surfboards in the back and go to the beach.”

“You don’t even have a license!” You elbow Bradley, laughing at his lofty dreams, “But a Bronco would be cool. You should send your dad a magazine clipping of one with your next letter and talk about how cool it is.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Bradley muses, a smear of chocolate over his lower lip that he doesn’t lick away.

You scoff, stomping on his foot where it’s planted in the grass beside your own. He jolts away with a yelp, and in doing so, jerks the swing he’s sitting on, He catches his balance and you notice the syrup on his lip, reaching out to clean it with your thumb.

“You’ve got hot fudge on your face, doofus,” You sneer, happy to return his teasing, “You eat like a toddler.”

“I’m not the one who put three cups of it on the sundae!” Bradley insists, and his lower lip catches your thumb as he speaks. Teenagers in love, you’re hyperaware of touches like that, and your breath hitches in your throat at the contact. He notices it too, staring down wide-eyed at where your thumb hovers over his lips.

“Sorry,” He blurts, and in doing so, his warm breath fans over your hand. You jerk it away, eyes on the ground as you mumble away his concerns.

“It’s fine,” You mutter in a terrible attempt to remain nonchalant, “We’re not four, it’s not like I think you’ve got cooties or something.’

Bradley takes to the teasing, glad it’s not tense anymore, “That’s not what you say when I leave my underwear on the floor.”

“‘Cause that’s gross!” You launch into a rant, “That’s, like, personal! And they’re used too,” You shudder, handing him the sundae intent on scrubbing a hand over your face, “Nasty, bro.”

Despite your casual nickname for the boy beside you, you feel like anything but bros when his hand brushes yours. He takes the ice cream from you, and his hand half-closes around your own, sending a spark shooting up your spine.

Your breath catches in your throat again and this time Bradley hears it, looking at you through his lashes with those wide brown eyes.

Neither of you move away this time, frozen just like the treat in your joint grip.

You feel extra affection for the boy next to you today, the shared grief of losing your fathers every few months bringing you closer together. It’s what compels you to lean in, tilting your swing sideways to brush your lips over his own in a painfully awkward teenage-style kiss. Before you have the time to panic about whether you did the right thing, Bradley reciprocates, pursing his lips slightly to fit them around your top one. You follow his lead and it goes much better, a chaste kiss that’s sweeter than the chocolate staining your lips.

--

You’re glad you’d kissed him that day, you’re glad you had the balls to take the leap that resulted in a nearly twenty year long relationship. It would have been twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-five, fifty if you hadn’t chickened out two weeks ago, but you try not to think about that in the elevator lest you make yourself sick.

You find room 624 easily, the painted arrows on the floor leading you down the hallway that the room stands in. You wonder if you should knock first, you’re not too knowledgeable on hospital etiquette, but you decide that manners can be damned, your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend is in there.

You turn the handle and step inside, and Carole looks up from Bradley’s bedside immediately. You think she’s expecting a doctor, and her desperation for finding one breaks your heart. Her teary face splits into a sad smile, and she rushes to your side to envelop you in a hug. You let her have it because she’s grieving over her son, but you’re surprised she’s not immediately angry with you for breaking up with Bradley.

“Honey,” She gushes into your shoulder, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here! Brad’s gonna be okay, they said he’s just gonna need some help breathing until he gets stable. Then they can get him healthy and ready to go again!”

“That’s great,” You hold her close, relishing the last Bradshaw hug you’ll probably ever get, “Where’s Nick and dad?”

“Oh, they went to get food,” Carole releases you, swatting her hand in the air in an affectionately teasing manner, “You know those boys, always hungry for something.”

You laugh awkwardly, watching as she settles down by Bradley’s bedside again. She looks back up at you where you’re swaying on your feet, gesturing to the chair beside her, “Well come on, girl! Get in here!” She seems much more lively now that she has company, and you hate to think of her grieving her injured son alone.

“Oh- I, uh,” You stammer, darting for the seat beside her, “I wasn’t sure if-”

“Don’t worry,” She seems to misplace your concern, “He’s okay, sweetie-pie, you won’t hurt him just by breathin’ on him.”

“Right,” You smile, though its disingenuous with tension, “Um, so it was a mid-exercise crash?”

“Mhm,” Her face dims slightly, “Apparently there was some freak accident with one of the engines, 'set off the whole thing. And that’s two crashes in one week! First it was that Javy boy, I tell you, I think they should vet those engineers better. I mean, aren’t they supposed to catch that stuff beforehand?”

“Yeah,” You feel partially numb, but you’re not sure whether it’s emotional or physical. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at Bradley so far, using his bubbly, bouncing mom as a distraction, but now that the blonde has settled beside you your eyes drift. 

He could be perceived as sleeping, if the color wasn’t drained from his face. His skin is still tan but it’s duller now, golden brown fading to a sickly, colder shade of it, like there’s no life beneath it. His eyes are shut and there’s a breathing tube up his nose; you wonder how pissed he’ll be when he wakes up to find out they’ve had to trim his mustache around the thing.

“Must be a Bradshaw family tradition,” Carole breaks your concentration, laughing weakly, her voice lined with a hint of tears, “Crashing, scarin’ their girls half to death.”

You remember the day of Goose’s crash like it was yesterday. You’d only been three at the time, freshly so. But grief like that, the panic you’d observed, doesn’t go away. It can’t be forgotten, it can’t drift out of your brain like so many memories do with age. You and Bradley had sat together in the hospital with Carole and your dad, and Nick still had the crummy plane drawings you’d done for him while waiting for him to wake up.

Carole’s usage of the phrase ‘their girls’ unnerves you. She’s been exceptionally nice to you so far, especially considering that she’s fiercely protective of Bradley, and should have kicked you halfway to Mars for ditching him like you’d done. But she’s leaning towards you in her chair, and you come to the dreadful realization that she doesn’t know you’ve broken up with Bradley.

“Now, I know you wanted to keep things hush-hush,” She gushes, happy to look at your animated face instead of Bradley’s still one for a moment. She reaches over to brace her hands on your knees, leaning eagerly into your space, “But I have to know, babycakes, how did it go?”

“Hm?” You look dazedly at her, still partially staring at Bradley.

“The proposal!” She squeezes your hands, sniffling weakly with the remnants of tears past, “I know that boy was finally manning up enough to ask you, 'should'a put a ring on you years ago."

Any other time, you'd groan at Carole's opinion on your relationship. She's been urging the two of you to tie the knot for decades, but you'd felt no burning desire to go to the courthouse. You were comfortable in your life, why spend an obscene amount of money to get a piece of paper that tells you you're in love? You knew that for free, in the way that Bradley looked at you, in the way that he memorized all of your fast food orders, in the way that his hand so often found yours beneath the sheets in his sleep. Now her teasing is a sore spot, one that gapes the wound already bleeding in your chest.

"-But when I asked him how it went he said he’d ‘share the details later’. I’m sure you wanted to make some big announcement or something, but I need this right now, honey, tell me what happened.”

She’s staring at you like she always has, like you’re the sweet little girl she helped raise when your mama had chickened out. Cowardice must run in the family.

There’s such pretty hope shining in her eyes that you can’t bear to crush it, ready to spew lies about how glorious Bradley’s proposal had gone, how you’d fallen to your knees to kiss him, how you’d shouted ‘yes!’ from the rooftops. Fortunately, you don’t have to lie to her, because the door opens and your dad and Nick step through.

“Hey,” Your dad cheers, tossing you a plastic-wrapped sandwich, “There you are, honey. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up, ‘thought you’d be mad at him or something.”

“You know she was mad at me when we went down?” Goose gestures to Carole incredulously, and you can’t see behind his sunglasses but you know he’s addressing you, “I wasn’t even flying the damn thing and I got lectured!”

He lets up, goes easy on Carole, you’re sure because he’d had to comfort her earlier. You see a slightly dark, damp patch on the left side of his Hawaiian shirt as he leans in to hug you, probably her tears.

“Good to see ‘ya, kid,” Nick rubs your back, “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” You nod, voice slightly shaky as you smooth your previously-folded hands down your thighs. The movement catches Carole’s attention, and you look away before you can see her reaction to your bare ring finger.

“He’ll be fine,” Goose leans over to slap Bradley’s calf, and Carole looks like she wants to scold him for it, as if he'll die right then and there, “He’s tough just like’is daddy.”

“His daddy should go get me some tea,” Carole huffs, placing her hand over Bradley’s as if it would make up for Nick’s slap, “And take Maverick with you, I don’t want you getting lost.”

“Oh, again-?” Goose grumbles, setting his lunch on one of the plastic chairs around Bradley’s bed, “You could’a told me that before we left, honey.”

“Didn’t want it until now,” Carole insists, “Now shoo, get some for Y/N, too.”

The second the door shuts behind the two men, a stiff silence falls over the room.

Carole’s sweet voice breaks it, but it’s the last thing you want to hear, “Where’s the ring?”

You stare at the sandwich in your lap, like it’ll open face and read like a book, giving you instructions on how to lie your way through this.

“I know he asked you,” She presses on, voice pitched up with tension, “I- I gave him the ring Nick used to propose to me. That was almost a month ago. We swapped it out for a wedding band, and- and I thought Bradley could use the engagement ring for you, too. I know he asked you.”

“Carole,” You can’t bear to look her in the eyes, not the woman who’d fed you macaroni and cheese when your dad was halfway around the world in a fighter jet and tucked you in extra tight during a rainstorm so that the lightning couldn't sneak through the gaps in the blankets to get you.

“No, tell me, where is the ring?” She raises her voice, the way she used to when Bradley would leave his scooter out in the rain to rust, “Just tell me-” Her voice peters out into a weak whimper, “-tell me you didn’t say no.”

“I’m a coward,” You finally mutter as her answer, hateful and wicked, “I got scared. I wish I’d said yes, really, I- I wish I could take it back, but-”

“What did you do?” Her face crumples at your admission and she nearly shrieks, squeezing her hand tighter over Bradley’s, “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I said no!” You sob, chest heaving as you wipe away a tear from your eye heavy-handed, “I was scared, Carole. After Coyote went down,” You blearily recall the last plane crash you’d heard about, a member of Bradley’s own squadron caught in a bird strike. He’d been fine, but waiting for the news took you right back to your youth, and you’d been hit with the striking realization that it could happen to Bradley, too. It could be you in that chair, it could be your love on the line. You’d been so sick with dread that you’d backed away altogether, running away to preserve your emotions.

“I just- I didn’t want it to happen to Bradley,” You confess, “I didn’t want it to happen to me. So when he asked, I was-” You sniffle, hard, “I was so scared. I didn’t want to marry him and then lose him. For some reason this-” You suppress a sob, throat aching and chest heaving, “-dating a pilot is different than marrying one. Dating is- it’s temporary, even if you plan on it lasting forever. It’s less serious, it’s not set in stone. But marriage-” You hiccup, “-marriage is the real deal. It's like- It's like I was dating Bradley, y'know, the teenage boy who took me to homecoming because I was sad no one asked me. But- but then all of a sudden I was marrying an aviator. And that’s- that was scary! That was real. I- we’d been together for twenty years!” You gush, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “I should have known marriage wouldn’t be any different. It’s not like we ever thought we’d break up,” You sniffle weakly, “Marriage was always sort of silly to me, 'cause we just thought we'd be together forever regardless. But I never realized how real it would feel. So I- I freaked out. When he asked me, I made up some stupid excuse, and I chickened out! But-” Your chest heaves with a sob as you finally lift your eyes to Bradley, “He crashed anyway. He went down even though I said no, and it still hurts.” You cry, face scrunched in despair, “It hurts so bad, Carole, I didn’t think it would still hurt.”

“You fool,” She huffs exasperatedly, but she reaches out to clutch your hand like a lifeline. She’s holding Bradley’s with her other, and you wish for a moment that you could cut out the middleman and hold his hand on your own. You don't feel worthy to touch him anymore. “You don’t stop loving someone by leaving them, you stop loving them by moving on. Of course it still hurts, you didn't move on; you still love him. And- and leaving him didn’t stop him from getting hurt, it just meant he probably went down wishing he got to tell you he loved you this morning, so you'd know.”

The thought breaks you, Bradley ejecting with you on his mind. Evidently he hadn’t fully accepted your breakup, not if he hadn’t even told his mom about it. You wonder if he was planning on trying to get you back, if after work today he would have come over with flowers and a thousand pleas on his lips that you didn’t deserve.

“He loves you,” She continues, tears wetting her own cheeks, “And even if you did say somethin’ stupid, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell that boy that’d make him stop loving you. Apologize when he wakes up, baby, he’ll understand. He'll be hurt, no doubt. But he’s been scared before, too, believe me.”

“I will,” You gush, nodding as she squeezes your hand and Bradley’s in sync, “I will, I promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Just make it right,” She pleads, “Can’t have you two splittin’ up now, not after all this time.”

“I wish I hadn’t done it,” You weep, holding your hands to your eyes as if you can plug up the tears, “I- I just panicked! And I’ve been a wreck ever since, I- I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t-”

“Tea’s here!” The door opens, and Nick is suddenly a lot quieter as he sees you bent in half and crying, “Oh, honey.”

“C’mere,” Your dad edges around Goose, squatting by the side of your chair while Carole rubs your back. He’s always been fantastic at comforting you, which you marvel at because he was so active in his career. He wasn’t always around when you were little, but that didn’t stop him from knowing how you liked your back rubbed, your hair done, and your cookies warmed.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Your dad soothes you, wiping a tear away from your face, with the hand that isn’t rubbing your back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” Carole promises, and you know she’s talking about something else entirely, “It’s alright honey, it’ll all work out.”

Nick feels a bit useless now, standing there with two cups of tea in his hands while everyone else comforts you, but he’s quick to notice a frown work its way onto Bradley’s sleeping face.

“Brad- hey! Look,” He gestures with one cup of tea, only spilling a tiny drop, “I think he’s wakin’ up.”

All of a sudden you want to go home. You’re not sure you can do this, you don’t belong here with his grieving family. You belong in your bed, kicking yourself for your cowardice and wishing you’d done better by him.

But there’s no time to flee now, not again. This time you have to brave it, you have to watch as his big brown eyes slowly blink open, a haze of sleep and medication clouding them over.

“Agh,” He groans, hand twitching by his side, “What-?”

“Hey, Bradley.” Nick leans over the bed, tea now set aside on a tiny table, “How y’feelin’ bud? You had quite the plane crash.”

Bradley takes a moment to observe his surroundings, blinking blearily at your dad, then you, then his mom. His eyes drift back over to you and they feel like they’re lasers, boring searing holes through your chest where your heart used to be two weeks ago.

The slow and steady beeping that had been long since tuned out slowly started to increase while Bradley regained consciousness. Your dad looked warily at the machine, watching Bradley’s heart rate rise.

“I’ll get a doctor.” He ducks out, and Carole stands.

“We should go,” She grabs Nick’s hand, looking pointedly at you, “We’ll give you a minute alone with him, honey.”

Nick starts to protest about being led away, something about how ‘-he came outta my balls! I can’t see him when he wakes up in the hospital?’ but Carole’s already corralling him to the nurse’s station in search of your father. If you weren’t so fond of the woman you’d be cursing her for sticking you alone with Bradley, but you know you can’t let yourself succumb to fear again; this time you have to be a big girl.

“Baby,” Bradley rasps, turning your attention back on him. You watch him weakly, eyes apprehensive as he reaches for your hand, “C’mere.” 

You hesitate, and he lets out a weak chuckle, “Come on, now. You’re not gonna kill me by holding my hand.”

“Bradley,” You sniffle, reaching out for his limp fingers on the bed, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, “I’m okay. Comes in the job description, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” You repeat, grief-stricken as you clutch at his hand desperately, “I shouldn’t have left, I- I wish I had stayed.”

“Baby,” His brows furrow and he laughs sympathetically, “They wouldn’t have let you stay, you know that. I work on a naval base, not at a chipotle. You can’t sit with me all day. Plus, there was no way you would’ve known I was gonna go down. I’m glad you weren’t there, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”

All at once, your chest burns hot, blazing with panic. Is he not going to talk to you about it? Is he going to pretend nothing happened? Is he going to refuse to acknowledge what you’d said? You stammer, “What-?”

“Mr. Bradshaw!” The doctor comes in, cheery now that his patient is awake. You turn your head, still dazed and fear-stricken at Bradley’s demeanor. “Let’s see how you’re doing here. Any chest pain?”

“A little,” Bradley shifts in his bed, wincing infinitesimally.

“Probably just some discomfort due to the broken ribs. Headache?”

“Yeah,” Bradley admits with a groan, “That I’ve got.”

The doctor scribbles something down on his chart, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Bradley strains to think, “I… don’t know. I don’t even-" He grimaces, "I don't even remember the crash, ‘just know it happened ‘cause he told me.”

Bradley raises a shaky finger to point at Nick, who’s happy to see his son gain some mobility back, even if he is worried for the boy. The three adults had filed back into the room after the doctor, and you pointedly avoid Carole’s imploring stare.

“Think hard,” The doctor commands, and you squeeze his hand like it’s a play-dough machine, like memories will ooze themselves into his brain in star shapes and heart cut-outs.

“I remember…” Bradley rasps, turning his hand beneath yours to grasp it, “Jake’s birthday party. That was-” He glances over at you, “-last night?”

“That was three weeks ago,” This time your heart rate is the one to rise, echoing dully in your ears like the soundtrack of a horror film, “Is that-” You sniffle, “Is that the last thing you can remember, B?”

His eyebrows raise and he tries taking in the information, “Yeah- uh, shit. Three weeks ago. What does that mean, doctor?”

“It sounds like you’ve developed post-traumatic amnesia.” The doctor scribbles once more on his paperwork, “The good news is, we think you have only a mild concussion. And amnesia induced by mild concussions typically lasts only up to a week or two at most. But there’s a very real chance you could remember everything in just a few minutes.”

Amnesia.

He doesn’t remember.

“What I want you to do now is to rest, and we’ll have a nurse send up something to eat. Please,” The doctor eyes Nick knowingly, “Do not feed him the funyuns you’re holding behind your back.”

“Foiled again,” Goose laughs, tossing the packet of chips onto a chair beside his own lunch, “You got it, doc.”

“Alright, glad you’re awake,” The doctor bids you goodbye, “And- a nurse will be in to run a few simple tests later. For now, just sleep and eat.”

“Will do,” Bradley tries tightening his hand around yours but you worm away from him, and it’s heartbreakingly easy to do with his limited mobility. You stand abruptly, legs shaky and heart pounding in your chest as you stumble away from his bed.

Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia.

He doesn't remember.

“Honey?” Bradley calls warily, face scrunching into a tired frown.

His eyes follow you as you back right into your chair, the plastic scraping against the floor with an ungodly screech. Now the attention is all on you, and you give into that dreaded fight or flight response you seem to always fall victim to.

“I need to use the bathroom,” You ramble, rushing for the door, “I’ll be back!”

“Y/N-” Bradley tries calling, but his voice is weak enough where you can pretend you haven’t heard it as you try to refrain from running down the hall. You don’t make it ten steps before Bradley’s door closes with a sharp click, and the voice of one Carole Bradshaw cuts through the silence of the hallway.

“Y/N Mitchell!”

She’s using the same tone she used to use when you’d get in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school, or throwing mud at a boy who was mean to Bradley. You react just like you had then, spine stiffening and limbs locking. 

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” She warns, stomping towards you in her half-raised heels, “Turn around, young lady.”

You follow her orders even if the nickname is outdated. She’s got her pretty eyes narrowed, and as much as it pains you to be on the receiving end of one of her seldom-used withering stares, it’s better than being in there and watching Bradley’s eyes shift when he suddenly remembers you’d been the biggest douche on planet Earth.

“Did you apologize?” She inquires, and you nod obediently.

“But- but Carole, he doesn’t remember-!” 

“He will,” She promises, “And when he does, you’d better apologize again. He needs you right now, y’know? He thinks it’s three weeks ago, before you ran off and left'im. As far as he knows, you’re still his adoring girlfriend who he’s probably yearning to see right about now. So go in there,” She reaches for your hand, “Kiss that boy on the mouth,” She demands, “And stop running away!”

“What? I can’t-” You gush, trying to pull away. But she’s stronger than Bradley is at the moment, and her hand tightens around yours, “I can’t lie to him! Not about this, I- how long am I supposed to pretend?”

“As long as you can,” She insists, already pulling you back towards his room, a woman on a mission, “You march right on in there, and tell him how worried you were, and let his memories come back to him on his own time. He’s traumatized right now, he just doesn’t know it yet, and he needs you there. If you break the news to him now, it’ll only stress him out more. Go play nice, and when he comes around in a few minutes, you can have a real talk.”

“I don’t want to lie to him,” You lament, and she stops pulling you down the hall to narrow her eyes at you.

“Babydoll?” She asks sweetly, and fooled by her kindness, you hum in question, “I don’t give a shit.”

She’s never foul-mouthed, so it catches your attention. She holds your incredulous gaze, “You want him back?”

“Yes.”

“You wish you’d never left?”

“Yes.”

“Well as far as he knows, you haven’t.” She huffs, the fabric of her skirt flowing near her calves, “So get in there and be there for your boyfriend of twenty years, and when he suddenly remembers you aren’t his girlfriend anymore, Grovel. Sound like a plan?” She raises an eyebrow, and you tamp down the nerves rising in your chest. You nod cautiously, resolutely, and she loosens her grip on your hand. She still holds it to lead you back to the room, but she stops outside the door to speak one last time.

“I know you love him,” Her voice is softer now, genuinely sweet and caring, “And I also know you like to run when things get scary. And that’s understandable, but it’s not okay, not right now. You can’t stop loving someone just ‘cause you don’t wanna lose ‘em. It’ll hurt worse if you walk away.”

“I know,” You breathe shakily, squeezing her hand, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, sweetpea,” She smiles, tears still gathered in her eyes, “Now get in there and kiss my son.”

“There they are,” Your dad stands as you reenter the room, “You ladies have a nice bathroom break?”

“‘Had the time of our lives,” Carole nods, letting you take the seat closest to Bradley’s head. Your feet feel burdened with lead weights as you step towards his bedside, and he watches you with worried eyes. You’re sure he knows you weren’t really going to the bathroom, not with the way you’d fled, but you’re glad he’s choosing to pretend for your sake. He seems worried, though, and you curse yourself for making this about you.

“Y/N,” He reaches out for you as soon as you’re in reach, his voice still hoarse. His hand squeezes yours instantly, and you feel for the panic he's probably experiencing. He deserves a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, and it should be someone better than you.

“Bradley,” You murmur back, trying to stop your lips from trembling, “I- can I kiss you?”

Carole’s voice rings in your ears, and you don’t have to turn around to know she’s smiling at the two of you. Bradley pauses, then his worried eyes soften and he nods weakly against the pillow.

“Oh,” Nick teases as you brace your hand on Bradley’s bed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his lips, “Lovebirds!”

The kiss is nothing but awkward. It’s hesitant on your end, because you can’t believe you get to do it again. You’d really believed the goodbye kiss you’d shared with Bradley before he picked up dinner for the two of you would be your last one, so fitting your lips over his in the hospital seems like something otherworldly. You’re careful, too, because you don’t want to hurt him, not that you think you could ever smooch him to death. He doesn’t reciprocate much, he can’t, but the familiar prickle of his mustache against your lip is a welcome feeling that makes your heart feel light again, if only for a few seconds.

When you pull away, it’s gone. Because you have to look him in the eyes, the same ones you’d forced tears out of two weeks ago, and pretend like none of it happened at all.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” You gush, voice cracking, and it feels right starting off with the truth. You can get to the lies later, the ugly little abominations you’re cooking up so that he preserves as much mental energy as possible while on bedrest. You know Carole’s right, you know he needs to heal as much as he can before you make it worse with the news, but lying feels so wrong. He’ll find out sooner or later, and what if he really was done with you? What if he hadn’t told his mom so that no family drama erupted, what if it wasn’t because he was going to try to get you back? What if he hated you, and what if he hates you even more when he knows you’re lying through your teeth to him?

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He promises, his fingers curling slowly and carefully around your own, "Are you? You ran off, I was worried."

"I'm fine," You insist, waving away his concern with a shake of your head.

He doesn't seem satisfied with your answer; he can read you like a book. But he accepts your answer, and you admire him for not wanting to pry in front of everyone. He changes the subject, glancing briefly around the hospital room, “Baby my- my phone, can I have my phone?”

“It’s here,” Your dad hands it to him, and Carole watches your eyes widen infinitesimally. What if Bradley sees his text conversations? What if he sees that you haven’t talked in half a month? What if he finds messages from someone on a dating app he’d used, a rebound-in-the-making?

What if he’s changed his background? What if he wants an answer as to why it’s probably some picturesque sunset, a jet plane cutting through the clouds above. Or maybe it’s of Lewis, he’d recently had photos restored of the dog.

What if he notices your contact name is changed to something like ‘Do not answer’? What if he realizes he’s blocked you? What if all of your pictures together are deleted off of his phone, and he wonders why?

There’s a thousand things that could go wrong.

“Coyote called,” Bradley rasps, upon first sight of his screen. Then, “Hangman. Twice. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, I- I should send out a message.”

“I will!” You lunge for your own phone, digging in your back pocket with suspicious urgency, “Uh, I’ll let everyone know, you just- just rest.”

“Okay,” Bradley hesitates for only a second, letting his grip go loose around his phone so that it falls back to the bed.

He seems content to let you do it, if only a little deterred by your insistence. But you’ll play the part of the fussy girlfriend, not wanting her injured love to work harder than he has to.

Nick and Pete take the time that you’re creating a group thread to question Bradley more on his memories, and every answer he gives sets your heart on edge. Your fingers feel numb as you type out ‘Rooster’s stable now, he has a mild concussion and a few broken ribs, but the doctors say he’ll recover fully. His memories are a little hazy from the past few weeks but apparently those will be back soon. I’ll send you any updates we get.’

Before anyone even has a chance to reply, you set the thread on silent. You can’t bear even getting a notification that the message can’t be sent, because you’re sure Bradley’s team aren’t too fond of you right now, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d blocked you in solidarity for their friend. But Bradley hadn’t even told his mom, would he have told his team? Would he even need to? Or would they notice the circles beneath his eyes worsening, the stubble adorning his cheeks from a lack of motivation to do anything productive? Or, maybe even worse, would they have seen him with another girl hanging off of his arm at a bar? Would they have caught him out to lunch with a woman and figured it out themselves?

“Hey,” Bradley rasps, effectively breaking your zoned-out worry spiral. Your eyes don’t lose their intensity but they focus on his pale face, and he offers you a weak smile, “Anyone respond?”

“Always the attention seeker,” Nick laughs, creating a distraction so perfect that you don’t bother checking the text to answer Bradley. “Should we tell ‘em to bring flowers too, Brad?”

“Shut up,” Bradley’s voice is far too quiet to be menacing, but it’s the type of teasing he always engages in with his old man, “When you were in the hospital you said I had to draw you one picture a day or you’d think I didn’t love you.”

“And I only got fifteen out of eighteen,” If Goose is capable of a withering stare, it’s what’s directed at Bradley now, “I can’t believe I bought a Bronco for a kid who doesn’t love me.”

“Alright, you two,” Carole swats at her husband’s arm, “Cut it out, don’t overwhelm him.”

“His heart’s beatin’ real fast,” Nick snickers, “But that’s probably ‘cause Miss Mitchell is doting all over him.”

The attention’s back on you, and it means Bradley’s waiting to hear your response. You dry swallow after sending Nick a good-natured eye-roll, trying to act like your heart isn’t beating ten times faster than Bradley’s.

Miraculously, nothing awful awaits you in the group chat. There’s no error messages, no scolding, no pledges of hatred for you, and it makes you think that you really might be able to get away with this for a while. Carole won’t tell, and that doctor said Bradley might not retain his memories for weeks. It’s like everyone has hit undo on what might be your biggest mistake in life, and you don’t know how to take the opportunity.

“Bob says he hopes you recover soon,” You push the panicked fog out of your head, reading in a low voice, “Hangman says he’s gonna give you flying lessons when you get back so that you,” You snort softly, “Get the hang of it, and to that, he is receiving a barrage of middle finger emojis.”

Rooster lets out a laugh, one that’s genuine and thick from his chest. It’s unlike his voice has been so far, it’s not fractured or achy, and the sound warms your heart. Some of the sickly despair that’s been coating your heart like globs of poison dries up, and you almost feel normal again when you slide your hand into his. He holds your back, and it’s like nothing’s ever happened.

You have your Bradley back; the only question is for how long.

Lunch is a sorry state of affairs for Bradley. His tray consists of chicken and gravy that runs into his mashed potatoes, and the jello they give him has a layer of cherry red liquid pooling overtop. You and Carole take turns spoon-feeding the man, giving each other a chance to mow through your sandwiches between bites.

Your dad watches out for the doctors while you sneak Bradley some of your sandwich. It’s cafeteria turkey, and honestly you’d rather go for the chicken on his plate, but he hums gratefully at the spread of mayonnaise and mustard on the bread.

“Thanks, babydoll.” He croons, a smear of mashed potatoes in his mustache that you wipe away with watery eyes at the nickname. He puckers his lips to kiss at your thumb and it’s like you’re at home on his birthday, feeding him in bed and stealing kisses between bites.

Bradley’s eyes start to droop halfway through his watery jello, and your dad stands, brushing sandwich crumbs off of his jeans.

“Alright, buddy,” He squeezes Bradley’s foot reassuringly, “I’ll head out. Probably best to let you sleep. Get some rest, and make her give us updates,” He narrows his eyes at you, accusatory, “I know you’ll be too wrapped up in him to remember we exist, but take some time away from his lips to tell me if he’s still breathing out of ‘em, m’kay?”

“Don’t be makin’ out too much, “Nick goads, standing when Carole grabs his hand and does herself, “His heart rate’ll skyrocket and the nurse is gonna think he’s havin’ a heart attack!”

‘Yes, yes, they love each other very much,” Carole hums, leaning down to kiss Bradley’s forehead. He leans into it but his hand stays in yours, and you gladly accept the same gesture from the woman on your cheek, “Let’s leave him be, okay? Brad, I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” She promises, “Your dad and Pete have some work to do in the backyard, but they’ll join us after lunch.”

The men don’t seem to have known about this yard work until now, and they share equally exasperated groans. 

“And I’ll be here,” You throw in, meeting Carole’s appreciative gaze, “I’ll stay until they throw me out.”

“You could always handcuff yourself to the bed,” Your dad hums, and you pointedly ignore Goose’s comment about the pair of handcuffs you ‘probably keep in your nightstand.’ It gets him a sharp smack upside the head from your dad, and you’re sure Nick will choose a better audience next time.

“We love you,” Carole promises, squeezing Bradley’s arm as he bids her goodbye, “We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!”

“Love you,” Bradley hums, voice less gruff than before now that he’s used it again, “See you tomorrow.”

The entire time he’s been awake, he hasn’t let go of your hand. He turns to you with those sleepy eyes of his, big and brown and begging for a kiss. You lean in before you can stop yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

His heart rate picks up.

You laugh against his mouth at the increased beeping, and he’s barely sheepish as he nudges his nose against your own. You feel like you’re loving on borrowed time, like any second now he’ll be slammed with the memory of you breaking his heart, stomping all over it like it hadn’t been yours for the past 20 years - maybe all of your life.

“I love you,” He murmurs, squeezing your hand, “Y/N, I- I love you so much. I don’t remember anything,” He’s slurring his words slightly with fatigue, and you kiss the corner of his mouth as he speaks, “But I know you could have lost me forever, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to handle.”

He has no idea how true his words are. Of course, you’d nearly lost his life to the crash. But two weeks earlier, you’d lost his touch, his voice, his gaze, his love, and you’re grateful the tears that line your eyes look natural.

“Mhm,” You nod, sniffling, “It was- it was hard, Brad.” You admit, thinking back to the night you’d left. You’d checked into a shitty motel for the night, and you’d cried yourself sick in the shower. Even after your stomach was emptied you couldn’t bring yourself to eat for two days afterwards, and you’d only given into the mini fridge after nearly passing out. Your days were long and spent regretting your decision, wondering if you’d ever be happy without him by your side, and worrying that he might be able to.

“I just keep wanting to do it over,” You gush, feeling his hand tighten around your own as you sob, “I- I wanted to take it back, to-” You swallow a sob, remembering your lines, “-to stop you from going to work. If I’d just made you stay…” Your face crumples with a gush of tears you aren’t able to hold back, and you give up on speaking for now.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Bradley hums, kissing the space between your nose and your cheek. It’s all he can reach from the way you’re sobbing into his pillow, and you’re thankful for the comfort you might not be able to get soon.

“You couldn’t have changed anything,” He promises, and you nestle your head into his own to absorb his soothing voice, “My plane was still the one with the defect, baby. I would have gone down tomorrow if not today. ‘S only a matter of time.”

A wave of sickness washes over you at his choice of words, and you nod, trying to regain a grip. You lift yourself up from the pillow, neck aching as you crane it to kiss his chin. He smiles at you, his eyes so genuine and sweet that it makes you want to lose your lunch; it’s an expression you don’t deserve anymore, even if you long for it. It’s only a matter of time before he remembers everything, and you don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t want you anymore.

“You’re tired,” You hum, and he nods against the pillow, “Sleep, baby. You need rest.” You sniffle, wiping away a tear from your eye more forcefully than you need to. You try to lean back in your chair but Bradley stiffens, and feel him tighten his grip on your hand.

“Please don’t leave me,” He begs, and more of that nausea comes rolling in. They’re the exact words he’d whimpered just next to your ear two weeks ago, keeping the door closed with one hand while the other wound around your waist. Then, you’d wormed your way out of his grip, ripping the door open despite his efforts to stop you and running off to your car. Now though, you meet his eyes, scared and desperate and lost, and you nod, scooting forwards to lay your head on his chest.

“I’ll stay,” You promise, and he raises a hand to brace it against your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm, and he strokes a thumb over your face, “I’ll stay, Bradley, I promise.”

The nap that you take on Bradley’s chest is the best sleep you’ve had since you left. Being in his embrace once more practically erases your undereye circles, and it takes you a few seconds after you wake up to remember that anything is out of the ordinary in the first place. Then it all comes flooding back, and you cycle through each stage of grief respectively while still slumped onto the bed. Then you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you realize that Bradley’s nurse has shaken you awake.

“Hi,” The man smiles down at you, “Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you didn’t want to wake up.”

“Oh,” You laugh hesitantly, slipping out from beneath Bradley’s hand and wiping away a slight glob of drool that had accumulated around the corner of your mouth, “No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?”

“Dinnertime,” Another nurse chimes from by the door, carrying another tray of meat and potatoes for Bradley, “Around six-thirty, Miss Mitchell.”

“You’re welcome to eat here with him,” The first nurse informs you, “But you’ll have to get something from the cafeteria, or order in. And visiting hours end at eight,” He levels you with a sympathetic smile, “But if you’ve got one bite left I won’t kick you out.”

“Thank you,” You chuckle wearily, your voice barely thickened with tears, “I appreciate that. Bradley,” You hum, squeezing his hand and stroking your free one through his hair, “Wake up, baby. They brought you some dinner.”

He comes to groggy, and you don’t blame him. He blinks a few times, then recognition washes over his face as he remembers why he’s there, and hopefully nothing else.

The nurses get busy with moving his bed, pressing buttons on the little remote strapped to the side until he’s inclined enough to eat his meal. The tray hooks into the sides of the bed so that he doesn’t have to hold anything, but you take his fork for him anyways, leaving his hands completely free.

“Thank you,” You nod gratefully at the nurses when they retreat for the door, a smear of mashed potatoes already gathered on the utensil in your hand. Bradley’s happy to let you feed him, humming at the taste of the beef they’ve given him. 

“Better than the chicken,” He hums, his voice gaining back a bit of its grating quality from earlier. He’s usually rough-voiced after a nap, so you don’t worry too much about it. Typically you indulge in his raspy morning voice, but now it seems insensitive. 

“Good,” You croon, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy onto a bite of the beef, “And it doesn’t bother your stomach?”

“What’s there to upset it, salt?” He grumbles around a mouthful, “Barely tastes like anything.”

“Sorry, Brad,” You hum, stroking a stray strand of caramel colored hair back into place, “I’m not supposed to feed you anything else, though.”

“I know,” He relents, lips puckering to kiss your wrist instead of wrapping around the spoon in your hand, “Not your fault, baby. But,” He rears back to takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully while you wait for his next sentence, “Can you bring me cookies tomorrow?”

You laugh, trying to keep it quiet in the slowly darkening hospital room. There’s no one around, and the door is closed, but his voice isn’t loud and you don’t want to overpower him. 

“I just said I wasn’t allowed to feed you anything else,” You roll your eyes affectionately, a teasing gesture you thought you’d never be able to do with the man anymore, “What makes you think I’d bring you cookies?”

“Um, ‘cause you love me?” Bradley drawls, voice finally rising to a healthy volume. Maybe it’s the food in his stomach, or maybe it’s a switch that was suddenly flipped in his chest, but he sounds like himself again.

His words sober your fantasy intoxication, and you smile sadly at him where he lays in his bed. You set the fork down to lay your hand over his cheek, your palm soaking in the warmth of his skin that’s newly returned.

“I do love you,” You promise, leaning in to kiss him. You have to lean over his plate to do so, and you’ll worry later about any potential gravy stains on your shirt. You go slow and gentle, worried that he’ll push you away for reasons he doesn’t remember yet. But he doesn’t. In fact, when you pull away to give him some air, he catches your wrist in a surprising display of agility for his weakened muscles, and you freeze in place.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, mustache shifting slightly with his apology, “I can’t stop thinking about you getting that call. I never-” His voice cracks, “I never wanted you to go through that.”

“Me neither,” You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, the same that are shining in Bradley’s, “But you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault, and what matters is that you’re okay now. I have you back, Bradley, I- I didn’t lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” He vows, and your lips sting with the force of your bite to repress a sob. 

He lifts his head from his pillow, the first time he’s done it since waking up. He kisses your temple as you try not to cry, lips dotting staccato kisses against your skin as you tremble slightly.

“I promise, baby,” He hums softly into your skin as his hand comes up to hug you, “You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” You cry, your fist gripping his hospital gown desperately. You want to believe him but it’s not even really Bradley talking, it’s three-weeks-ago Bradley that doesn’t remember you walking out of his life for self-preservation. It’s Bradley that doesn’t know the worst of you yet, but who could remember at any moment and cast you away.

“You won’t, I promise.” He coos, stroking up and down your back. You feel silly, accepting comfort from a hospital patient who went down in a fighter jet less than 24 hours ago, but you feel even sillier that it's the same man you’d torn to shreds days prior. But he’s comforting you, he’s rubbing your back, he’s kissing your face, and he’s promising you that you’ll never lose him, so you let him, because you love hearing him lie, even if he doesn't know he's doing it. 

“You promise?” You look up at him with watery eyes that blur out his face, but you see him nod. It’s unfair to ask, not when he doesn’t have the knowledge to truly promise. He cranes his neck forwards to bump noses with you, letting you cry against his skin.

“I do, honey.” He nods, holding you close like you’d never left at all,  “I promise.”

Going from crying into each other’s embraces back to eating bland mashed potatoes is hard, but you ease Bradley into it with a bite of granola bar you’d found in your purse. He’s grateful for something with flavor, and you’re glad to finally be rid of the half-eaten snack. 

“Oatmeal raisin cookies, please,” Bradley begs as he chews the snack, going as far as to bat his pretty lashes at you, brown eyes shiny with hope. 

You scoff, wiping a tear away from your face with a fond, albeit trembling smile, “Okay, Brad. Oatmeal raisin.”

“You’re the best,’ He hums, grinning with a mouthful of oats and chocolate. You check your phone to find that you’ve only got twenty minutes left until visiting hours are over, and your eyes dim as you glance back up at him.

“I have to go soon,” You lament, “Visiting hours are over in twenty.”

His face fades from its pretty smile, some of the newfound color draining from his skin once more. You’re sure he’ll have a nightmare tonight, something about jet crashes and dying alone, and you hate leaving him here so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, baby,” You sniffle, squeezing his hand, “They open back up at 8 tomorrow, so as soon as I make those cookies I’ll be back, I promise.”

“I know,” He nods, raising your intertwined hands to kiss at your wrist, “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

“I’d stay overnight if I could.”

“I’d sneak you into my bed,” Bradley grins sadly, “S’alright, baby, just get a good night’s sleep. You deserve it after today.”

“You too,” You squeeze his hand, smiling sweetly at him, “And if you have a nightmare, text me, and I’ll crawl through the window, ‘promise.”

He laughs again, and now that he’s got most of his strength back it’s a normal sound. It’s not weak, it’s not subdued, it’s perfect. It’s Bradley.

“I’d like to see you try,” He teases, and you wipe a smear of chocolate off of his lower lip, remembering the first time you’d ever done that with a fond smile.

“I’m on the sixth floor.” He reminds you, and you shrug, sucking the chocolate off of your finger.

“Meh,” You crumble up the granola bar wrapper in your fist, “I could scale that easy.”

“Oh, really? Yeah, I bet you could,” Bradley chuckles, “You’re Spider-Man, suddenly? Sticking to walls? I must have forgotten your transformation.”

“Yeah, you did,” You grin with a laugh, “Actually, while I rushed over here to see you, a truck full of radioactive spiders crashed, and I got bitten by one. You’ve missed a lot, Brad.”

“Right,” Bradley’s brows raise, eyes alight with amusement, “Those radioactive spider trucks are a real nuisance, I hear.”

Giggling sweetly with him feels normal. The kind of normal you crave, the kind that isn’t settled for, but yearned for. And you’re clinging to it, pushing the truth out of your mind and playing the part perfectly.

A knock on the door interrupts your gigglefest and you turn in time to see the nurse from before entering, a bittersweet smile on his face. 

“I’m supposed to kick you out,” He jokes, holding Bradley’s chart, “And you’re free to sleep whenever, Mr. Bradshaw, we don’t need to conduct any more tests tonight. You’re just here to be monitored."

“Alright,” Bradley nods and you stand, still clasping his hand in yours. The doctor busies himself with straightening up the chairs around the bed, and you take the privacy he so kindly grants you.

“Sleep good,” You recite your pre-bedtime deployment sendoff to Bradley, the phrase having gathered dust in the back of your head since his last overseas assignment, “Sweet dreams, and call me when you can.”

“I will,” Bradley leans up to kiss you, going for your lips, then your cheek, then your chin, “You too, baby. Get some rest. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” You beam down at him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, “You’re okay, Brad.”

"See you tomorrow!" He calls as you leave, and you turn to nod.

"See you tomorrow, baby." You promise once more, hand on the door handle, "Goodnight."

“Sleep well, Mr. Bradshaw,” The nurse bids Bradley goodbye with a smile and a nod as you trail out behind him, and at the click of the door behind the two of you, it’s like you’re the recovering amnesia patient. Now that Bradley’s not there anymore, not smiling at you, not telling you he loves you, it’s like you can’t be sure of anything, like you’re still that imposter you’d been when you’d first stepped in. You come to the sickening realization, only after the fact, that you'd loved lying to Bradley, and it makes you feel worse. Your reverie is shattered, and the nurse beside you notices your shaky breathing as you trail down the hallway.

“Miss, are you okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and you nod.

“Yeah, just-” You smooth your hands down your pants, your palms sweaty, “It’s a lot. Being in there, seeing him like- like that. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”

“No one is,” The nurse smiles sympathetically at you, leading you to an elevator, “But he’s right, Miss Mitchell. He’ll be alright. And hopefully, his memories will restore themselves overnight. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up remembering it all.”

You’re sure that was meant to soothe you, but it’s only sent more nausea rolling through your body. You nod, forcing a smile as the doors shut between you, “Thank you, Nurse.”

Once the doors shut, you want to burst into tears. You don’t want the reception desk to see that, though, so you rush through the motions of leaving, practically running to your car. Once you’re safely inside the floodgates open, and you’re surprised you don’t trigger the horn from how hard you’re sobbing against the steering wheel.

You try to channel Bradley’s voice, ‘I promise baby, you won't lose me.’ but it makes things worse, it piles guilt on top of your sickness and makes you want to run away again. Because he’d promised you that he’d never leave you, not that he’d ever let you come back if you’d left him. And that’s what you’re worried about now.

Running away hadn’t stopped anything bad from happening, it just made you feel worse when bad things did happen. Thankful for your second chance, you swear to yourself in the stuffy silence of your car that you’ll do anything to fix this, and that you’re not going to fuck this up again because you’re scared. Love is scary, giving yourself completely to another person is scary, but Bradley’s always been good at soothing your fears, and there’s no one you’d rather give yourself to.

You steel yourself as you prepare to drive back to your motel, but second-guess it when you remember that Bradley has his phone with him. You have each other shared on Find My Friends, and he doesn’t normally check it unless he’s worried about your safety, but you’re paranoid that he’ll find your pin at a crappy motel and know something is wrong. So you punch in Bradley’s address instead, the one you used to share with him, still labeled as ‘home’, and set off.

The drive looks familiar in no time, and it reminds you of how much you’d missed it. The big oak tree on your neighbor’s lawn, the flag perpetually at half-mast because the man across the street fell while adjusting it and never fixed it, the tricycle on the sidewalk beside your front door that the toddler next door always seemed to leave on your walkway. You check the mail and feel something stabbing at your chest when your name is on one of the letters, and your house key is cold with disuse as you slide it into the slot.

You hesitate when the doorknob turns beneath your fingers. Walking into Bradley’s space will tell you exactly how he feels about what happened between you. There’s either going to be empty bottles strewn everywhere with pictures laying around covered in tear stains, or there’s going to be a hot pink bra in his bed, and a new woman’s makeup kit in his bathroom. Hell, maybe she’ll even still be there, maybe you’re about to walk in on your replacement.

But the promise you’d made to yourself in the car wasn’t for show, and you turn the knob after taking a deep breath, stepping into the darkened home.

You call out an uncertain ‘hello?’ into the place, waiting with bated breath for a woman’s voice to respond. But it never does, and you flick the light on beside the door.

You’d been right with one of your guesses.

It’s messy. Not exactly the outwardly disastrous type of messy you’d imagined earlier, but knowing all of the little things about Bradley means that you know he’s let himself go over the past two weeks. His running shoes are gathering dust by the door, which seems to suggest that he’s been lazing in bed just like you have. The living room is pristine, the pillows all arranged the way you set it up that Bradley doesn’t care to replicate, and you wonder if he’s sat on the couch at all the entire time since you’ve been gone. There’s no grocery list on the fridge and upon further inspection, the appliance is close to empty, one lonely beer left alongside ketchup, mustard, and a rotting head of lettuce. Unless he was eating the worst burgers known to man, you don’t think he’s been eating anything from the kitchen. Your heart aches for Bradley; you hope he’s been ordering food in.

Walking through the space is like revisiting a crime scene as the killer. Everything here is because of you, the pictures stripped from the walls are gone because of you, the lonely toothbrush in the dual holder is because of you, the neatly made side of the bed with its messy counterpart is because of you. 

You realize that it’s your side that’s slept on, Bradley’s still tucked neatly in place, unused. You spot a red covering over your pillow, reaching for it and finding it to be an old t-shirt of yours that Bradley had raided your dresser drawers for. It’s one he’d bought you at a tourist trap on your vacation a few years ago, and it was your favorite to lounge in. You notice a dark spot on the fabric and only then realize that you’re crying, that it’s a tear that had fallen from your eye. Then it’s like everything hits you all at once, and you sink onto the mattress clutching the pillow. It smells like Bradley, and you know he’s been clinging to it every night, a thought that solidifies your sneaking suspicion that you might be the worst person on the planet.

You curl up and cry there, you don’t know for how long. All you can do is sob, soak your pillow with tears that you thought you were out of, clutch the bedsheets like they’ll reveal Bradley, hidden underneath and eager for a cuddle. This bed feels as empty as the motel’s had, maybe even emptier, because you’ve never slept in it away from Bradley. When he’s on deployment you always have a sweatshirt of his and a picture of him tucked under the pillow, but you know it won’t be there now. Now you’re alone, really alone. 

Your eyes droop and you know you need sleep, especially if you’re going to wake up early to make Bradley cookies in time for visiting hours to start. But you can’t bring yourself to sleep without the picture of him under his pillow, so you stumble out of bed to fetch it from your box of memories.

Your fingers close around the slightly wrinkled photo, a shot of you in a gown and Bradley in a suit. It’s one you’d taken yourself at your graduation, high school turned college sweethearts. He had wanted admission into the Naval Academy, but in order to spend more time with you, you’d enrolled together at a university. It’s your favorite photo to have with you, and you reach out to Bradley’s pillow to slide it underneath. Upon lifting the pillow, you find a stack of pictures already there. Each one of you, most with Bradley pictured in them too. They only make you cry harder, and you recognize some as the inserts of the picture frames that had been taken down from the hallway.

It looks like Bradley hoarded photos of you, and some are stiff and stained with tears. The sight is something out of a movie, a dramatic indication of the inner turmoil of its main character. You see a shot of your silhouettes together, faces darkened by the sun streaming in behind you. You’re kissing on the beach, and without paying much mind to the structural integrity of the photo, you clutch it to your chest.

You’re a wreck. You just want your Bradley back, but your Bradley isn’t yours anymore. You want three-weeks-ago Bradley back, the one who you didn’t run away from. But he’ll probably have his memories back by tomorrow, and there’s no telling if he’d even want you to visit again. Looking at the sorry state of his apartment, you know he misses you, but whether he wants you back is another question altogether. All you can do is wait and worry, and worry you do. As you sob and heave in the bed, your brain shuts down, and eventually you drift into a dreamless, unpleasant sleep, nose still buried in your shirt that smells like Bradley.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller's ff) - chapter 3

chapter 2 | series masterlist | main asterlist | chapter 4

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader.

summary: you're at your wits' end with joel. so you have to do something about it.

warnings: 18+. nsfw. mdni. mention of sarah's death. probably absolute filth. some slapping. explicit smut with a plot. softdom!joel. biting. masturbation (m and f). finger sucking. unprotected piv. a bit of ass play. pet names (darling, sweetheart). sir kink. a slight breeding kink. some violence towards the end. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 36. no use of y/n. joel's and reader's pov.

a/n: buckle up, my friends. i apologise in advance, but this has been coming for the last two chapters lmao. who am i to deny them? no one. all interactions welcome! enjoy and thank you all for reading! <3

w/c: ~3k.

It had been a week since Joel almost lost his mind, and he still couldn’t comprehend what had possessed him to do such a thing. For a split second he had lost control of his own actions and gave in to his yearning. A yearning for human connection he did not know he had. The last few months had been living hell, to say the least.

Every time he closed his eyes to try and sleep, Joel could only see Sarah’s face. Her smile, her warm hugs, her giggles, her vivacity. And then, the light abandoning her eyes, her blank expression, her limp limbs as he would press her dearly against his chest. The desperation he felt then had still not deserted him. He had been a man of God because that was what his family had imparted him, but since Sarah’s death his faith was wavering. Why would God take her away from him? Sarah was an angel sent from above, she should have not suffered such demise. So, either God was a cruel entity, or an imaginary one.

That night Joel did not even attempt to get some rest so decided to do the first night shift instead. They were still at the same cave as it had proved to be a good spot to rest up and plan what their next steps would be. Tommy had suggested they checked out the quarantine zones the government had set up in big cities, but Joel was not so keen on the idea. In the last nine months since the outbreak, they had been witness to too many ungodly acts ― all committed by the living, not so many by the dead.

That was why they were in Ouachita National Forest, further north than what they were a few months ago. They were still debating whether they should head towards Kansas City, Chicago or remain in the wilderness. Although resources were scarcer, so were the clickers. They had not encountered too many people either, which, considering their past experiences, it was a good thing. No one could be trusted anymore.

Joel sat down on a tree stump by the entrance of the cave, rifle on hand. He had his worn-out, unbuttoned military jacket on as temperatures dropped considerably after sunset. The night was so quiet it felt eerie. He could not see anything when he looked up as the treetops fully covered the night sky. He assumed it would be a starry night, clear of clouds. He kept his mind occupied with made-up scenarios to avoid drifting away into Morpheus’ world.

Hours had gone by when Joel heard the slight twitch of a branch from behind him. He rapidly stood up, gripping the rifle with tension. When he turned around and saw you, he clicked his tongue with disdain.

You were too sleepy to pick up on his rude gesture. You stretched your back, which hurt like hell. You had tried to fashion some sort of cushioned bed with leaves and grass, but your makeshift bed was still hard as a rock.

“What time is it?”, you asked grumpily.

“Not sure, around four in the morning?”, he answered without looking at you while he sat back down.

“You have a wristwatch, don’t you know how to read the time?”, you said sneeringly to get some sort of reaction out of him.

“Huh, you’re so fucking funny I’d laugh if I could”, he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “It’s broken”.

You looked at him in silence, as you had done many times in the last week. You didn’t understand how this man could kiss you like the world was ending and then, a second later, he would pretend you were nothing more than an annoying moth flying around him.

It infuriated you. He infuriated you.

He was there as if nothing had happened between the two of you, while you just woke up because of a very realistic dream. Or should you say a nightmare? Your body had some unreleased, built-up tension that was damn hard to ignore. You blamed Tommy for interrupting you ― had it not been for him, you might have known what it felt like to be under Joel. Or on top of him.

You shook your head, angry at yourself and at the man in front of you.

“Sure is, I bet they didn’t teach you how to read the time when you went to school, hmmm, when? Back in the 50s?”, you teased again.

He stood up, leaving the rifle on the ground, leaned against the stump.

“Seriously, what is your fucking problem?”, he growled, his fists tightly closed on his sides.

Finally ― a breakthrough.

“My problem?”, you chuckled. “You are my problem, Joel Miller. Are you telling me you have forgotten about what happened a week ago, huh?”, you ventured.

“What happened a week ago was a mistake, that is what it was. I don’t even know what kind of demon possessed me, because I wouldn’t even touch you with a ten-foot pole”, you could almost hear his teeth grinding against each other.

His words hurt you, but they made you even madder. Who did he think he was anyway?

“You are a fucking mistake. And what you say is complete bullshit. Do you think I have not noticed how you look at me when you believe I’m not paying attention? You pretend you are not interested, but you need a goddamn reality check if you really think so”, you snapped back, the palms of your hands tingling ― you wanted to punch him so bad.

“You are frigging delusional, darlin’. You are the only woman I have seen in the last few months, it’s not like I have much to choose from, do I? It was a desperate move, nothing else. Stop imagining things―”.

That was it. He had crossed a line. So you slapped him to shut him up. His rugged face turned ninety degrees with the force of your blow. His cheek reddened slightly.

And then you grabbed him by the neck of his flannel shirt, forcing down his face towards you so he would not have time to react. You were going to prove him who was right ― and it wasn’t him.

You kissed him, separating his lips with your tongue. You outlined his top teeth with the tip of your tongue and then he let you in. You would have smirked if you could. You mapped out his whole mouth with quick but insisting twirls, Joel following your lead. You helped him remove his jacket.

One of your hands was still holding onto his plaid shirt while the other travelled south. You could swear Joel had stopped breathing, but you distracted him by breaking the kiss and looking at him with intent. His lips were parted and wet with your spit, slightly red. You grazed the prominent bulge on his jeans with the palm of your hand, biting your bottom lip down when he heavily sighed with some relief before he trapped your mouth with his again.

You let go of the flannel shirt to work on the buckle of his belt, unfastening it with some difficulty. Joel groaned loudly when you pulled down from the brim of his jeans to bring them down just below his ass, giving you plenty of access. One of Joel’s hands darted to your neck, circling your throat with the span of his fingers and squeezing lightly. Not to the point where you couldn’t breathe, but to the point where it made the whole experience even more pleasurable.

You moaned while your hand trespassed the elastic of his underwear and dipped your fingers down. You grabbed his manhood, already hard and leaking from the tip. You smiled as your thumb rubbed the precum against his sensitive skin and then slowly started to pump him. You had not seen his cock yet, but judging by the girth of it, you were not to be disappointed. You put some pressure on his shaft before upping the rhythm of the pumps.

“Fuck it, fuck this”, Joel wailed as he broke off the kiss.

For a second, you thought he was going to push you away.

His mind was spinning like a Ferris wheel coming off its hinges. He was mad, utterly mad. He shouldn’t but wouldn’t stop. Not now when you had enticed him this far. His dick was pulsing in your hand, and he was panting like a thirsty dog which had not tasted water in days.

He grabbed your adventurous hand and forced you to take it out of his briefs. Then he pushed you towards a fallen tree nearby. Joel was right behind you, his manhood hard pressed against your ass as he bit your neck, then pecking it where he had marked you. He took off your shirt before you could complain. You wore no bra, so when the cold air touched your sensitive nipples, you sighed. Joel’s hands were resting on your hips, but both quickly moved upwards until they gently cupped both of your breasts. He massaged them with care while he left a path of kisses on the side of your neck.

Then his left hand ventured south at the same time he twirled your right nipple between his fingers. You whimpered audibly when he dunked two fingers in your wet slit. He traced you up and down, your knees trembling with delight. Your cunt was so soft with your own fluids that it felt like velvet. Joel wondered how it would taste if he flattened his tongue against the damp skin and fucked you with his tongue. He groaned at the thought, and instead he paid special attention to your clit with his dextrous fingers. Your back arched, your ass touching his bulge ― you unconsciously wiggled your hips to grind on his cock. Then he tested your entrance with one fingertip, circling it slowly, while your bottom lip was quivering.

“You want this?”, he said in a coarse voice.

You nodded.

“Speak up, sweetheart”, he demanded.

“Yes, please, sir”, you whispered.

You closed your eyes and suspired loudly when his ring finger got greedily engulfed by your dripping hole. He started slowly, then fingered you relentlessly with two digits, to the point where you had to grasp his wrist to steady yourself. He curved them towards the front of your insides, stroking the right spot. You couldn’t help but watch as his fingers disappeared between your soaked folds. Your mouth shaped a perfect ‘O’ before you let go and came violently on his fingers. But Joel gave you no truce, he carried on masturbating you until you orgasmed twice more in quick succession with tears in your eyes. Your cunt was gushing for him ― you could feel the trickle of your cum going down your inner thighs. Your knees bended and you almost fell to the floor, but Joel held you by your hips with the firm embrace of his right arm.

“Good girl”, he purred in your ear, offering you his wet left hand.

You wrapped both of your hands around his wrist to hold it in place and sucked on his fingers with wanton need, his digits touching the back of your throat. You showed him explicitly what you would do to his throbbing dick if you had the chance. You licked him clean, tasting yourself on him.

Joel understood exactly what you were doing, feeling the tip of his cock touching his lower belly. He pushed down your trousers and underwear in one swift movement. Joel placed one hand on your back to make you go down on your knees. You kneeled on the ground, and he did so behind you. You put your hands down on the fallen trunk and looked over your shoulder for a minute. Joel had freed his dick, and he was holding it from the base. For a moment you wondered if it would fit, and you bit down your lip at the idea. You felt hypnotised by the sight, pondering how it would feel against your tongue, its glans pushing past your uvula, suffocating you.

“Lean forward for me, darlin’”, he muttered, and you happily obliged with dreamy eyes.

You rested your left cheek against the fallen log in between your hands, ass up in the air. You heard the rustling of leaves as Joel positioned himself right behind you. He placed his hands on your butt cheeks and cracked them open to have a peek. Joel groaned at such blissful picture. He could see your pussy literally throbbing for him, beckoning him like a siren a sailor. What a sight to see, he thought. With a pained huff, he let go of your buttocks and guided the tip of his dick to kiss your entrance. You hissed with pleasure. Finally, you thought. But he didn’t go in ― instead he trailed the tip of his cock along your slick cunt a few times.

“Joel, please, I beg―”.

“Shh”, he hummed at the exact time he went back down to your needy hole and pushed in his tip. Your flesh parted to make way. Your pussy was aching for him, burning to feel him inside. You have never felt this aroused in your life.

He took his sweet time, caressing your clit again as he went in inch by inch until his whole length was inside you. He stayed there for a long minute, letting you get used to him filling you up entirely. Your pussy choked his manhood at irregular intervals ― you just couldn’t control your own muscles anymore. It felt like heaven for both of you.

Then he moved back slowly, his shaft almost slipping out before he pushed back in with brute force. Joel freed your clit from his touch to grab your hips and started fucking you mercilessly. He found a devilish rhythm and you just went along with it. Both of your moans could be heard from yards away, as well as the squelching sounds coming from where you two connected ― luckily for you, Tommy slept like a log.

The roughness of the wood scratched the skin on your cheek, but you didn’t care. It felt too good. Your fingers clutched, trying to hold on to something as your body was being rocked by Joel’s thrusts, an orgasm creeping up on you. And then you came again, almost screaming into the dead of night, like you never came before. You could feel your whole cunt squeezing him uncontrollably, your clit burning with electricity. You felt extremely overstimulated, but you let Joel ride you to find his own release.

Joel’s eyes had rolled to the back of his head ― he had never felt this horny before. This damn woman ―you― was doing something to him, albeit he didn’t know what. He felt your inner walls tightened firmly around his cock and he almost lost it. Every time he locked eyes on where you two met, seeing his shiny dick pulling out of you, he thought you the most beautiful woman in the whole world.

His balls were so tense he feared he was going to spill his seed in you. But he found the last bit of sanity within him ― as much as he would love to claim you for himself, he couldn’t. And so, he pulled out just in time, lodging his shaft between your buttocks. He put his hands on each side of your ass to squeeze his manhood in the fold of your skin. He leaned forward, his chest against your back, to bite you between your shoulder blades before straightening himself again. Joel pumped himself a couple of times in between your buttocks and came on you abundantly. What a waste, you thought out of nowhere.

Both of you stayed in the same exact position for a hot minute, breathing heavily with effort. You were the first one to move, although your limbs felt like jelly. You grabbed some leaves and cleaned the cum off your lower back as Joel watched you avidly.

Joel stood up and pulled up his briefs and jeans, while his mind was racing with doubt. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have let it go this far. What was meant to be a lesson for you, ended up being a lesson for himself too. Concealing his concern, he offered a hand to help you get up. You gladly took it and proceeded to clothe yourself again, being fully conscious of Joel’s hungry gaze.

You smiled at him.

“That was fun―”.

“A mistake”, he cut you off before you could say anything else.

You were left speechless. What did he just say?

“Are you fucking shitting me right now, Joel?”, you shouted at him. “Because if you are joking, I swear to God I will―”, your anger was raising up fast.

“No, I ain’t joking, we shouldn’t have done this. You don’t understand, I’ll just get you k―”.

“JOEL!”, you screamed at the top of your lungs when you suddenly saw a man a few yards behind him.

Before Joel could grab the rifle, a gunshot was heard and impacted on Joel’s right shoulder. He fell to the ground in agony, and you hastened to kneel beside him. Blood was quickly soaking his flannel shirt.

“No, Joel, please―”, then you felt someone pulling your hair back and yelled in pain. “Let go of me, you jerk!”. It was a different man.

The first man who had shot at Joel came towards you. Joel tried to sit up to fight back, but the man with the gun hit him in the head with the grip of the weapon and Joel fell back down on the dirt.

He was not moving. Was he dead? No, he couldn’t be. You felt the bile rise up in your throat but managed to hold it.

“Joel, Joel―”, you said with tears running down your cheeks.

“Shut up, bitch”, said the second man before slapping you.

You fought them back with all you had, but in the end, they hit you in the head too, rendering you unconscious, and dragging you away.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXXVI)

Chapter 36: ‘So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Time for an adorable first date!!! Also, a reminder that this is not meant to be read by minors…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3839

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Of love

I have been in love more times than one, thank the Lord. Sometimes it was lasting whether active or not. Sometimes it was all but ephemeral, maybe only an afternoon, but not less real for that. They stay in my mind, these beautiful people, or anyway beautiful people to me, of which there are so many. You, and you, and you, whom I had the fortune to meet, or maybe missed. Love, love, love, it was the core of my life, from which, of course, comes the word for the heart. And, oh, have I mentioned that some of them were men and some were women and some—now carry my revelation with you— were trees. Or places. Or music flying above the names of their makers. Or clouds, or the sun which was the first, and the best, the most loyal for certain, who looked so faithfully into my eyes, every morning. So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began.

Mary Oliver, Red Bird

Andrew looked at his reflection in the mirror, hesitated, freed his hair from the bun he had gathered it in.

He heaved a sigh, trying to slow down his heart, to alleviate the knot in his stomach.

He was so fucking nervous. God, Andrew had not been this nervous since his first date with Samantha. No, scratch that. He had not been so nervous since he had presented his thesis.

He checked his outfit again, pondered his choice for the hundredth time. A black shirt, black pants, black vest, brown leather shoes. Was it too much black?

He shook his head. He looked good in all black, his mother had told him so, and he trusted her with this. He readjusted his glasses. Should he wear contacts? Sam liked him better with contacts rather than glasses…

Fuck Samantha.

Andrew preferred wearing glasses, and so he kept them perched on his nose.

Hair up, or hair down?

He couldn’t choose, thought his hair looked good enough today even if he let it loose but then again he didn’t want to have his hair always falling before his face. He opted for the middle ground, tied up only a few strands in a half bun and let the rest fall loosely to his shoulders.

Yeah… he looked good enough.

He added a little bit of his cologne, just to make sure he smelled nice. He turned towards his dog, who was lying behind him on the floor, his head resting on his front paws.

“So… Elwood��� what do you think? Do I look nice?”

The dog lifted his head at the sound of his name, making Andrew chuckle. He walked over to pet Elwood behind the ears.

“Yeah, I agree. I look decent enough. Wish me luck! I’m gonna need it.”

Andrew had made sure he wasn’t going to be late, even if he had to drop Elwood at his brother’s. He had set up five alarms to mark the passing of time. And indeed, when he knocked on your door, he was two minutes early.

He was picking you up tonight. For your first date he was the one planning everything. He hoped you would like the evening he had planned for you. He wanted to impress you, to be honest. He wanted to show you that he could be better than Frank, that you didn’t have to regret your choice…

He took a couple of deep breaths as he waited before your front door, looking at the bouquet of flowers in his hands. Your favourites, he had made sure to choose them. He hoped you would like them.

When you opened your door, he was left speechless. He froze, stared, couldn’t help his eyes from raking your frame. You in your emerald dress, the one he had bought with you and that he had dreams about, the way you had tied your hair, the light glimmer of a jewel around your neck…

You… you were… so fucking…

“Gorgeous.”

You raised a surprised but amused eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips now. And Andrew blushed all the way up to his ears…

He cleared his throat, tried to overcome his embarrassment. God, he really was the worst…

“You… Hi.”

“Hi,” you let out in an excited breath, grinning up at him.

“You… you look beautiful,” he complimented you, making you shy away a little.

“Thanks. You look nice too.”

He grinned at that, a wave of pride washing over his heart.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

He handed you his flowers, and you thanked him again, breathing in their sweet scent.

“These are my favourite flowers.”

“I know,” he nodded, and you seemed touched by his answer, emotional now.

“You’re ready to go?” he asked.

“Sure! Just have to put these in some water and grab my purse. Come in.”

He obliged, waited while you were getting ready. He was fidgeting when you came back, his shoulders bent, nerves making him want to disappear. He had to bend to pass your doorframe, and he hadn’t straightened his posture after that.

You noticed as you walked back from your kitchen, found him still standing before your door, rubbing at his palms. And you were frowning now, slowly approaching him.

God… were you second-guessing this already?

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

He looked at you, surprised.

“’Course. Just… a bit nervous, I guess.”

The understatement of the century. He was this far from shitting his pants…

You reached out, placed your hand on his upper arm. His heart quickened at the touch, he felt his muscles relax without being able to control his own body.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look smaller than you are.”

He raised a surprised eyebrow, but didn’t straighten his posture.

“You do that when you’re sad, or feel bad, or just… want to disappear. Are you… Are you uncomfortable with us going on a date?”

“Uncomfortable? No, of course not… I’m… nervous. Terrified that I’m going to do something stupid and ruin our date, but… no, I’m not uncomfortable with us dating at all, on the contrary.”

“I like it, you know? How tall you are. I really like that about you. So… no need to shrink down when you’re around me, alright?”

His heart was filled with warmth, and finally, Andrew stood straighter again.

“Besides… I’m already in love with you. So… no pressure. It’s not like you have to seduce me or anything.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes.

“Right…”

You offered him a tender smile, narrowing your eyes a little at him, mischief painted all over your features.

“Actually… can you bend down for a second?”

He frowned.

“Why?”

“Just for a sec.”

Slowly, he obeyed.

“A bit more…”

He bent down again, until you were raising to your tiptoes and kissing his cheek.

You gave him a toothy grin, a mischievous one that made him giggle like a lovesick fool.

“Alright, now we’re ready to go,” you smiled, and he followed you outside of your flat again, his skin burning where your lips had touched him, feeling a little light-headed after your gesture, dizzy with your perfume.

He drove the two of you outside Dublin, all the way down to Wicklow. Andrew finally started to relax during the drive, conversation settling smoothly, as it always did with you. The sun was setting, it would soon be nighttime, but for now the light was painting the sky with golden and red, stripes of purple stretching towards the horizon.

“You haven’t even told me where we’re going!” you noted, and Andrew smirked.

“That’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Hmm… I hope you’ll like it. Had to ask for some help from locals to get everything ready.”

“Really?”

“Hmm.”

“What have you planned?” you asked, fully intrigued by now.

“Ha! Won’t say! It would spoil everything.”

You mumbled something about Andrew being annoying, and it made him laugh.

Indeed, he had asked a few friends to help him set up the scenery he wanted for the date. He was also using a part of the land owned by some family friends.

You frowned as you entered the property, but didn’t head towards the house; Andrew aimed the wheel towards the small wood instead, that stretched beyond the fields of barley.

“Where are we going?” you asked again.

“This property belongs to some friends. My parents live nearby, they’re practically neighbours, have been friends for decades. I asked if I could spend the evening on the edge of their wood. We shouldn’t be disturbed.”

“Oh… right…”

“They own the whole farm,” Andrew explained.

“Okay…”

“Don’t worry, no one is going to come during our date. I just needed a nice spot to set up my terrible plan.”

You chuckled at that, let Andrew drive the rest of the way in silence.

He parked by the edge of the trees, opened the door for you, and you smiled at the gallant gesture, a tinge of teasing in your smile.

“Oh, thank you, dear knight in shining armour…”

He rolled his eyes.

“Come on, don’t take the piss. Let me be romantic tonight, alright? The lad is doing his best…”

“Alright, alright… sorry.”

“Right, you need to close your eyes now.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes. This is a surprise. Don’t worry, it’s just behind those trees. And I won’t let you fall.”

He offered you his open palm.

“Trust me.”

His smile was kind, infinitely tender. You stared at him, but he didn’t read hesitation in your eyes, your expression was a little too emotional for that. Still, you nodded, slipped your fingers in his hand.

“I do trust you, Andy,” you tenderly smiled up at him, before closing your eyes, and Andrew struggled to breathe at your words, his heart feeling warm again.

“Although… I don’t know if I should,” you joked, back with your playful tone. “You are a pretty clumsy lad…”

He laughed at that.

“A clumsy giraffe, that’s what I am.”

Still, when he gently pulled on your hand, you followed him.

You walked for no more than a couple of minutes, before reaching a tiny clearing. Nothing impressive, but there was enough space between the pines and oak trees for Andrew to set up his plan.

He had hung a large set of white sheets between two trees, had set a projector so you could watch a movie. A blanket, some cushions and a picnic were set to eat during the film. He had borrowed some fairy lights from his parents to hang them around the clearing, and his brother and Alex had helped him set them up.

It looked nice. He hoped you would like it…

“Alright, you can open your eyes.”

You blinked, gasped as you took in the view. You looked around, found no words to say.

“Andy…”

When you turned to him again, you had tears in your eyes.

“This… this is…”

He offered you a shy smile, trying to take in the view as well. The way the sunset was painting your frame with orange hues, how the fairy lights shown in your eyes…

“Do you like it?”

You laughed, blinking tears away.

“I love it. This is… this is better than what I had imagined.”

“Good,” he whispered, burying his hands in his pockets, feeling himself relax.

“What are we watching?”

“A movie you like,” he answered simply, moving towards the cushions so you would both take a seat.

The picnic was simple, nothing too fancy, but you were glowing, a grin permanently glued to your lips, and so Andrew reckoned that he was doing something good. When the evening turned into night, that the sun finally disappeared beyond the Wicklow Hills, and that the moon and stars were left to light up the heavens with silver, Andrew proposed to watch the movie while you ate your dessert. You nodded eagerly, waited patiently while Andrew was setting up the movie with his laptop.

You recognised Pride and Prejudice with the first frame, gasped at the sight.

“This is perfect, Andy,” you breathed.

You leaned closer, letting your shoulder and head rest against his arm. He kissed your hair.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked in a quiet voice, warm and deep, and he noticed how you leaned even closer, until he was snaking an arm around your waist.

“This is… perfect,” you repeated yourself, and Andrew grinned, feeling proud and content.

“Good… That’s grand…”

“Andy… you know I… don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, by any means. This is magical. It’s… no one has ever done anything like this for me.”

He tightened his hold on your waist without noticing, his heart speeding up as he felt dread replace peace.

“But?” he encouraged you to continue.

“But you don’t need to impress me, you know? I… I love you. This is amazing, but spending time with you is enough to make me happy. Okay? I don’t need all of this to be happy to be with you.”

He felt tears rising to his eyes, but he blinked them away as he nodded.

“Thank you…”

“No, thank you, Andy. Thank you for tonight, thank you for everything…”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, picking up some fruits and watching Elizabeth and Darcy fall in love all over again…

You helped Andrew pack up everything in his car, leaving the clearing undisturbed by human activity again but for the fairy lights hung in the trees, Andrew would come back for these later. You failed to spot the owl you heard before leaving, but you didn’t mind. You took one last look at the small clearing, at the moon almost to its fullest above your head, at the stars shining bright and clear against the inky sky, and you thanked them for keeping a warm and bright weather for tonight.

Andrew drove you home, you chatted all the way, sang along to the songs on the radio and laughed at the lyrics you invented. He walked you to the door of your building, and you both remained standing there for a couple of minutes, under the pretence of finishing your conversation when, really, you simply didn’t want to part. At last, once neither of you had anything left to say, you looked up at him in silence, hesitating. You didn’t want him to leave…

You noticed how his cheeks grew a little pink, how his gaze grew more intense, entrapping your stare. They held such tenderness as they rested upon your features, such fondness… you dared to call it love…

And Christ, Andrew was so handsome like this. All in black, elegant and so damn tall, with his hair held back to reveal his features. You wanted to trace the edge of his sharp jaw, you longed to feel the roughness of his beard under the pads of your fingers, to kiss the bright pink of his lips… And in the streetlights the red in his hair and beard shone brighter than usual, his eyes a darker shade of green and brown. Your heart was pounding at the sight, your entire body heating up at the thought of reaching out to touch him…

“Y/N?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can I… Can I kiss you?”

You grinned at that, reassured. He wanted the same thing as you did. Andrew wanted you too…

You finally noticed that his breathing was irregular, loud and slightly trembling. That his fingers, as they reached for your hand, were warm and calloused and unsure. He seemed vulnerable, waiting for your answer. As if he didn’t really believe this was happening either, as if he too was unconsciously awaiting a rejection.

You closed the space between your hands, intertwined your fingers together, and Andrew released a long breath.

You stared right into his eyes as you spoke.

“Please… kiss me, Andy.”

Something changed in his expression, then. It held the same tenderness still, the same loving expression, something close to adoration. But instead of doubt and fragility, his gaze darkened, he seemed more confident again. His grin was bright and a little dreamy as he reached up to cup your face in his large hand. And if it made you feel small, his touch also made you feel safe.

Slowly, he bent down, while you went to your tiptoes to meet him halfway. When he finally kissed you, it was like the world had disappeared, like you were the only beings left in the universe, like time itself had stopped to grant you this moment. You let go of his hand to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Meanwhile, his now free hand was resting on the small of your back, pressing you against him. For how long you kissed, you couldn’t have guessed. All you knew was that when you finally pulled away, gasping for air, head spinning a little, your chin burning because of his short beard, all you wanted was to kiss him again, and again, and again…

“Andy?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to come in?”

He blinked his eyes open, stared at you, but there was nothing but want, desire and awe to find in your gaze. And so, Andrew let out a shaky breath.

“You’re sure?” he asked anyway, even if the answer was obvious, written all over your features.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you nodded.

Before you could add another word, Andrew was kissing you again, more urgently this time, something filled with sparks and want, kissing you like he never wanted to stop…

He did break away though, nodding, his nose brushing against yours in the process.

“Yeah… yeah, I definitely want to come in.”

You giggled at that, noticed he was blushing, but you still took his hand and guided him inside the building.

In the elevator, his lips were back on yours, he was pressing your back against the wall, hands holding tightly your waist. You had rarely felt so wanted in your life, and you were not even in your apartment yet, let alone your bedroom.

He followed you to your door, you noticed the way he closed and opened his hands repeatedly, as if refraining to reach out and touch you.

The second you were locking your door, Andrew was kissing you again, pressing your back to the wooden surface, holding onto you tightly.

“Y/N?” he whispered against your lips, and you hummed quietly to encourage him to continue. “You… I trust you to tell me if anything feels wrong, if you don’t want me to do something, if you feel uncomfortable or… whatever. Alright? No matter what it is. Okay?”

You looked up at him, pupils blown, and panting with want, hair already made a mess by your fingers, glasses a little lopsided upon his nose. You had never felt as safe as you did in this moment.

“Okay. Same for you. I trust you to tell me. And I trust you to stop, too.”

He gave you a reassuring smile, silently nodding. He kissed you again, tenderly, softly this time. Slow and loving.

“I love you,” he whispered against your mouth, stealing all the air from your lungs.

“I love you too, Andy. I love you…”

You kissed him once more, passion making your movements more urgent again, he groaned when you gently captured his lower lip between your teeth.

“You’ll be the fucking death of me…” he murmured.

He let out a breathy chuckle, the kind that revealed he seemed barely able to believe this was real…

“Can I undress you?” he asked, voice deep and low, the sound alone making your entire body tremble.

“Yes… God, yes… Can I undress you?”

“Please, do…”

A second later, his jacket was on the ground; your shoes soon followed.

You felt the tip of his fingers glide up your waist, sneak behind you to touch the bare skin of your back. Every fibre of your being was on fire, boiling, burning, burning…

“Any boundary I should know about before we do this?” he asked, voice so deep, you thought you were losing your mind.

His warm breath was fanning over your lips and chin, reminding you how close he was.

“Erm… I don’t know… Nothing that could hurt, I guess…”

He chuckled sweetly.

“I’m not much of a bdsm kind of guy either, if that can reassure you.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed, you absolute softy…”

“Anything else?”

You couldn’t think straight, had nothing to add. You asked back the question.

“Nothing I can think of right now… but then… it’s hard to think at the moment.”

You both giggled at that, and if you were still both highly turned on, you bathed in the solace of the moment, all trust and tenderness.

“You’re still okay with me undressing you? With me touching you like this?” he asked, and you nodded.

“You too?”

He chuckled, something darker in his gaze as he bent closer to kiss you again.

“Y/N… you have no idea how much I want you…”

His lips moved to your jaw, your cheek, your neck. He nibbled at the tender flesh over your pulse, kissed and tasted your skin with a brush of his tongue…

Your legs were shaking, you were ready to combust right there, against your front door.

His fingers were back to your waist and then moved up your frame as he spoke again, a path excruciatingly slow across the velvety material of your dress, from your waist to the edge of your breasts. He flattened his hands on your stomach, and you took a sharp intake of breath at how big they felt across your torso.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he confessed into your ear, before sucking on the skin behind it. “Dreamt of you… Christ… I want you so fucking bad. The sins I want to commit with you…”

Then his hands left your stomach to travel down to your arse, and then to the back of your thighs, a silent demand to let him carry you to your bedroom. You didn’t hesitate as you jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his torso and kissing him again. You undid the buttons of his shirt while he walked to your bedroom, letting your fingers cover his breasts, touch his chest hair, fall across his stomach. He shuddered under your touch, his breathing stammering, and you felt so powerful like this, held within his arms and able to summon such reactions from him.

“God… I want to taste you so bad,” he confessed, and you were surprised at how straightforward he was about this. “Can I? Can I put my mouth on you?”

“Yes… yes, please…”

The undressing resumed, he peeled off your dress, your stockings, your underwear from you, and you pushed away his clothes as well.

There was so much awe in his gaze as he took you in, eyes travelling your body as if to make sure he would remember every inch. When he caught your gaze once more, you could read nothing but want and adoration in his dilated pupils.

A silent question, one last checking in to make sure you were still fine to continue, and you nodded, reaching up to touch him, no matter where, you only longed to feel the warmth of his skin under your palm. You untied his hair, the last item remaining on his body, while his glasses had been discarded to your bedside table a while ago. His hair fell down around the two of you, you giggled as it tickled your shoulders, and so did Andrew. When he lowered his lips to your skin again, it was with the intention to touch and kiss every inch of you, make sure you knew how much he longed to worship you.

Your eyes closed with his lips reaching at long last their final destination across your skin, and the groan he let out when you pulled on his hair as a reaction to your pleasure made you question whether this was real or merely one of your dreams.

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 37: Pieces

Mitchum sends you to where he wants you as Joel questions Cody. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-36 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and several steps beyond that. Fairly graphic torture (not of reader.) Mention of past sexual assault, not described. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 6k

A/N: As with the last chapter, I want to state, real quick, that Bambi is NOT going to be sexually assaulted again. This is a highly triggering subject and, given the situation she's in, I understand if folks are bracing for it. That's not going to happen. The threat of it is there but it's not going to happen.

We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. This character returns THIS CHAPTER. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

They were talking about you like you weren’t there. 

You’d been used to that once but it had been a long time since you’d been just a thing, separate from that life about as long as you’d suffered it. You had forgotten just how much you hated this part of being a prisoner. You’d internalized so many of the more acute horrors that the smaller things had slipped away, but the change from human being to livestock was sharp. You didn’t have much in you to fight against anything - still barely able to stand - but it seemed what little there was faded quickly just listening to the men talk about you as though you were some unruly animal. 

“Take her back to the main camp,” Mitchum said, taking your arm and turning you around so he could look you over. “She’s good on a horse, don’t let her near the reins. Don’t be stupid enough to think this one won’t take off just because she’s down some fingers, she’s a feral thing. That fucking moron… Get her there and don’t fuck her, understand? She’s mine and I gotta make sure she’s broken in right. Been wild too long, gonna have to start from scratch.” 

He took your chin in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his own. 

“Gonna bring you back where you belong,” he said. “I tamed you once, I can do it again.” 

You didn’t say anything, all your energy going in to keeping yourself standing. You tried to think about something, anything, beyond how close Mitchum was to you again, every alarm bell your body had ringing. Where his fingers were on you burned and your heart raced, the blood loss and fear making your head spin.

The only thing that could be worse than being this close to him again was Savvy and Ellie being this close to him. The thought that you’d saved them from this was a small comfort. You hoped they made it back. You had to believe they made it. You weren’t sure you’d have the strength to keep going otherwise. They made it, they made it back to Jackson, they were safe there. 

But the men were talking about Jackson, too. Like it was something they could take. What’s worse, they sounded confident that they could do it. It was something that had seemed impossible when you were within the walls, everything so strong and permanent. How could the will of men destroy something like that? But now that you were here, back in the grip of what terrified you, it didn’t seem so impossible anymore. Jackson was just people, too. Good people, strong people who had decided to survive and work and love alongside each other but people all the same. It doesn’t take some act of God to destroy a person, just one other, determined person can do the job. 

You couldn’t handle considering that, not when the only things in the world that mattered were dependent on Jackson to be safe. You had to believe that Jackson could withstand whatever came its way, that Ellie and Savvy had made it back, that they would be safe within its walls and would never have to face men like Mitchum and Cody again. They made it, they made it back to Jackson and they were safe. The whole city was.

You thought it over and over again in your head, a mantra of sorts, as they brought you to a horse and forced you on its back. You were too out of it to grab the reins immediately, a man mounting up in front of you before you could think twice about taking control of the animal. 

“Better not try anything back there if you know what’s good for you,” the man snapped before making the horse move. You just tried to stay upright and tried to think of ways to escape once you were strong enough to run. You had to resist the urge to try now, every nerve in your body on fire and driving you to run or fight. But you couldn’t. You’d never survive a fight right now and you’d only be able to walk a mile - maybe two - before you’d collapse and then they’d have you again. You needed to save your strength or you’d never get out. 

You tried to remind yourself that you’d done all this before. You’d survived what they did to you and made it out. You’d lived and built a life and found your daughter and protected what mattered. You’d done it once, you could do it again. You just had to survive. 

You focused on the people that you wanted to survive for - Savvy and Ellie and Joel and Maria and Tommy and William and Julie and and and - and tried to settle into the sway of the horse as it walked.

Time was strange like this, pulling and warping. It seemed like it was dark longer than it should have been when the sun started to rise and then, when the men stopped for a break, the sun seemed higher than it should have been. You drank water when it was offered. You watched for a chance to steal a horse - the only way you thought you’d be able to make it far in that moment - but didn’t get one. 

The light hadn’t yet taken on the soft, hazy quality of evening when you reached where you were headed. It was an unfamiliar place, a small subdivision - maybe two dozen houses total - with mountains at its back. There was a guarded perimeter, men in cowboy hats who gave the men you were with a nod as they rode in. 

They brought you to the center of the neighborhood, to a house that was small but looked to be in good repair, two men stationed outside. 

“Down,” the man you were riding with ordered. You obeyed, sliding off the horse and stumbling, head spinning. He dismounted more smoothly before grabbing you by the collar of your shirt - Joel’s shirt - and hauled you for the door, one of the guards meeting him there. He took a padlock off the front door before opening it and shoving you inside, past a small living room with a sunken sofa and a kitchen with counters covered in a thick layer of dust. He forced you down a hall to a bedroom. You were almost positive it had been a little girl’s room once but it had been stripped of all forms of childish comfort. There were two twin sized mattresses on the floor, tucked into corners on opposite pink walls. There had been carpet once, you were sure, but it had been pulled up, just the plywood below remaining. There was a bucket at the foot of each bed and some drywall had been pulled away near each bed, exposing the frame of the walls, chains wrapped around a stud near either bed. 

“On the bed,” the man ordered, shoving you toward it and making you stumble. You more fell onto the mattress than sat on it but it didn’t seem to make a difference. He approached you and you went to kick him, not about to let him just take what he wanted without a fight, but he caught your boot, giving you a sharp shake when he did. “Just making sure you don’t run. Sit still or this will hurt a lot more than it needs to.” 

He pulled your boot off before you had a chance to respond and tossed it near the door before picking up the chain. It was thick and heavy, no cuff on the end. He wrapped it around your ankle, tight enough that it cut into your flesh a little, and put a padlock through the loops to hold it in place. He gave it a testing pull and it didn’t budge. He nodded. 

“Recommend you rest while you can,” he said, dropping your leg. “Mitchum’s back in a day or two, don’t imagine you’ll have much while he’s here.” 

He turned to leave and you looked to the other mattress. There was a smear of blood near the chain that was still bright red, like it hadn’t dried yet. There was someone else who had been here, someone recently. The door closed and locked and you stretched out on the bed, trying to force your body and mind to still enough that you could rest. 

It didn’t work very well. You faded in and out of consciousness for a while - you weren’t entirely sure how long but you were fairly certain night had fallen. The window in the room was covered with yellowed newspaper but you were pretty sure you’d seen light coming through it earlier in the day. It was dark now. 

It took you a moment to realize what had pulled you back to consciousness. There was a scuffle outside your door, the sound of someone being wrestled inside. You shot up, scrambling to find something you might be able to use as a weapon but came up empty, the room stripped of anything that could be a tool and your mind still working slowly. You were still down a lot of blood. 

The door opened and you braced yourself to claw and bite but the man there paid you no mind. Instead, he shoved a tall, broad young woman in, one with a blonde fishtail braid that hung down her back. Something inside you twinged at the sight of her, a distant alarm bell ringing. She was familiar, you couldn’t see her face but you knew her. You could feel it.

The man forced her onto the opposite mattress and all but threw the chain around her ankle before locking it into place. 

“If you’re fuckin’ smart, you’ll behave yourself,” the man backed away from her, panting for breath with a cut on his cheek. “If you weren’t one of Mitchum’s favorite toys, I’d kill you myself.” 

“Fuck you,” she spat, lifting her head from the mattress, her teeth bared in a snarl. Your breath caught, the fingers from your intact hand groping for the chain attached to your ankle, your best hope for a weapon. 

You did know this woman - almost more of a girl in spite of her size and strength, she couldn’t be much older than Ellie and definitely young enough to be your daughter. You didn’t know her name or where she was from or why she had tried to murder your husband but you knew her, knew how she looked when she was filled with rage and desperate to kill a man. Knew how she looked as she beat Joel until he was bloody and half dead. Your grip on the chain tightened. 

The man left and you weren’t sure if the two of them had said anything else, the high pitched whine that had taken over your ears only just beginning to fade. 

She seemed to notice you then, straining to sit up, her eyes wide at first but narrowing when she reached your face. 

She recognized you, too. 

“You,” she was still panting for breath, leaning against the wall at her back, sneering at you. Watching you. “I should have known they’d find some other fucking way to torture me.” 

You watched her back, ready to defend yourself in case she made a move. 

“I could have said the same thing about you.” 

***

Joel wasn’t aware of much. 

There were gunshots but they were of little consequence. The screams didn’t register, either. Neither did the sweat on his neck or the pain in his back or the pull in his leg that had been there ever since he was shot by the girl who wanted him dead. 

He could feel your blood on his hands, though, and the feel of your fingers in his pocket and hear the thud of his heart and he could see. He could see Cody on his horse but he could see how you’d been afraid of him, too. That day in the stable when Joel held you and you were so scared you could barely stay standing. He could see how it would have happened, how this man would have cut away pieces of you. How scared you would have been, how you would have fought anyway, how you would have screamed. 

All Joel really knew in that moment was that he needed to hurt this man. He needed to take every ounce of pain from his body until there was nothing else left inside of him and he needed him to know, as he died, that he was dying for you. 

Cody tried to dodge Joel as he threw himself at him, the horse stutter stepping away as Cody tried to pull it back while also grabbing his gun. But he wasn’t fast enough, Joel’s hands closing around the edges of the man’s jacket as he yanked him to the ground, Cody’s gun flying into the trees. 

But Cody was not a small man and his thrashing weight threw Joel off balance, the two of them sprawling to the forest floor. Cody was younger and more agile and got to his feet first, pulling his knife free from his belt, lunging for Joel. But Joel was ready for him, kicking him in the gut so hard that it knocked the wind out of him and sent him stumbling back. He got to his feet, too, Cody leaning against a tree, knife out as he caught his breath. 

“You’re not gonna get her back,” he panted, a sneer on his face as he watched Joel. “She’s with him now and he’s not gonna let her go so easy this time. And when he’s done with her, don’t think you’ll even want her back.” 

There was commotion at Joel’s back but it barely registered. 

“I should have fucking killed you when I had the chance,” Joel said, watching him closely. “She was too good to you. She’s always been better than anyone left fuckin’ deserved, least of all you.” 

“And she should’ve known what I gave her when I let her go,” he said, standing up a little straighter now, breath caught. “Instead of being an ungrateful cunt.” 

Joel roared and threw himself at Cody, the other man striking out at him with his knife. He nicked Joel’s shoulder with the blade but he barely noticed it, the blow not really hurting so much as being filed away as information, things he would need to contend with at some point when Cody’s blood was cold on the ground. 

Joel threw a punch, catching Cody on the jaw and he stumbled for a moment before lunging at Joel, striking out with the knife again but falling short and following up with a clumsy fist after. Joel caught his hand and twisted it, the other man giving a sharp yelp. Joel liked the sound, the evidence of his pain soothing the gnawing desperation inside him. 

But his satisfaction was short lived, the knife slamming into Joel’s shoulder making him seize up for a moment. He was aware that it should hurt, that there was metal inside him now that didn’t belong, but all it did was bring everything into sharper focus. This knife was probably the one that had drawn your blood, too. It seemed right that he should suffer it with you after he’d failed at doing what he’d vowed to do. 

The split second of the shock of the stab passed quickly and Joel drove Cody back into the tree, slamming his back into the trunk of it and knocking the air out of him, his head hitting the bark with a sickening thud. Joel didn’t relent. Instead, he punched him across the face, one arm holding the man in place as he hit him again and again. 

This satisfaction held longer. Cody’s fingers scramble and clawed at Joel, trying to find purchase somewhere they could pull him away from his singular mission but that was impossible. Joel’s physical body didn’t matter to him anymore, not without you, and every small hurt was swallowed by the drive to destroy. 

“Joel!” Tommy’s arm looped around Joel’s neck, pulling him back from Cody who slipped down the tree trunk, his hands limp on the blood coated leaves, his chest still rising and falling, eyes blinking as he stared into space. Joel strained to pull away from Tommy’s grip but his brother held him firm as he panted for breath. “Joel, you can’t kill him yet, we need information. We kept one of the others alive but we need information or we’ll never find her. He’s alive, we need him to stay a live a little longer.” 

Joel slumped forward in Tommy’s grip and his hold on him loosened, starting to feel his body again. His knuckles hurt and were slick with blood. Joel wasn’t sure how much was Cody’s and how much was his own. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder and he reached back with his other arm, flinching as he did, before taking hold of the knife and pulling the blade free. He heard Tommy wince as he did and Joel brought the weapon around in front of him, holding it up for a moment. His blood was slick over half the blade, the edge serrated. 

“You cut off my wife’s fingers with this?” Joel panted, squatting down to be on Cody’s level, holding the knife up. His own voice sounded odd to him, so normal when everything was so wrong. 

“Wait, what?” Ellie stalked over to him and Joel glanced up at her. There was a cut on her cheek and her eyes were wide. Joel turned back to Cody and reached into his pocket, gently pulling your fingers free before setting them on Cody’s stomach. “Motherfucker!” 

Joel barely registered the sound of Tommy wrestling Ellie away, too focused on the man in front of him to worry about anything else. 

“Did you cut off my wife’s fingers with this?” Joel said again, voice flat. 

Cody struggled to swallow and Joel took hold of his jaw, yanking his head around so he was looking right at him. 

“Answer the question.” 

Cody blinked a few times before taking a shaky breath. 

“Yes.” 

There was a rattle in his voice and blood on his teeth. 

“Good.” 

Joel took the knife and thrust it into his thigh, just over his knee. Cody screamed and squirmed uselessly under him and Joel waited, keeping constant pressure down on the blade, giving him no relief. 

As he quieted - gasping for breath, eyes wide and bloodshot - Joel pulled the knife from his leg and wiped the blood on his jeans. 

“Gonna hurt you like you hurt her,” he said, picking up Cody’s hand from the ground. He started trying to pull it away, heavy breaths shifting to hyperventilation, but Joel held firm, forcing the hand down to the man’s thigh. “What, you afraid of me usin’ your knife the way you do? That it? Can’t be that bad, can it?” 

“No,” he panted. “No, please, I’ll give you whatever you want, I’ll…” 

Joel lined the blade up with the smallest knuckle on Cody’s pinky and cut through it in one devastating push, the man screaming and writhing and trying to pull his hand into his chest to comfort himself but Joel didn’t let him. 

“You’ll give me what I want?” Joel asked, putting the knife at the next joint down. “But what if what I want is my wife? What if what I want is your pain, hm? You give me that?” 

He cut again, the blade meeting more resistance this time. Joel pushed through it, the knife cutting through the denim of his jeans on the other side of his hand as he screamed again. Cody closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree and Joel resisted the urge to beat his face in. He had to leave him alive for a little while longer. 

And besides, he couldn’t take more pain from him if he was dead. 

“No, you don’t get to fuckin’ pass out on me,” Joel stabbed the knife through his hand, pinning it to his thigh before grabbing his hair by the fistful, bringing his head forward so it was only inches from Joel’s own. He could smell the blood on his skin, clearly see the trails of salt on his cheeks. “You get to be awake for this. Doubt you ever let her pass out, did you? Not about to do you any favors. Now, you focus on me, understand?” 

Cody managed a nod. Joel dragged the blade through is palm, between the webbing of his fingers, cutting a path through the delicate bones of his hand and the thick muscle of his thigh as Cody begged and screamed. The wound at Joel’s shoulder ached. He couldn’t bring himself to care about either thing. 

He held Cody’s hand in place again and gave him a second to quiet and catch his breath before lining the knife up at the base of his pinky. 

“Please,” he panted, eyes so desperate as they met Joel’s. “Please, I can’t…” 

“Can’t what?” Joel asked, brows raised. “Can’t survive what you did to her?” 

Joel cut, separating the bloody remains of the finger from Cody’s hand and casting it aside. Cody’s screams were growing hoarse and Joel ground his teeth. He still needed answers from him and he needed to be able to talk for that. 

He pulled the knife away, holding it firmly and watching as the other man caught his breath. 

“I can make this easier,” Joel said after a moment. “You tell me where she is? I kill you. Quick. Maybe not painless but not as bad as this. You’re not leavin’ here alive. Should have killed you in Jackson months ago. Hell, should have fucking found you years ago and killed you then but I didn’t. Not about to let you go again. But it’s up to you if how I kill you is for you or for me, if it’s fast or if it’s slow.”

“I…” the wet rattle of Cody’s breath was sharper now. “I can’t… I can’t trust you to do it quick…” 

“Yes you can,” Joel said. “You tell me where my wife is? I’m gonna go get her. Not gonna want to waste more time here with you. It’ll be quick if you just tell me.” 

Cody’s eyes searched Joel’s for a moment, like he would find some kind of answer in them. Joel didn’t need to see his reflection to know that the only thing Cody would find in his gaze was the hollow, desperate pain of your loss. There wasn’t anything else left in him to see. 

“I traded her,” he said. “To Mitchum. Met… met him about 10 miles north east of here but he won’t still be there. I don’t think he’d keep her with him - he never did before, always… always had her at his base…” 

“And where’s that,” Joel asked when he trailed off. Cody’s neck went limp and Joel grabbed his chin again, giving him a sharp shake and forcing his eyes to spring open. “Stay with me, focus right here. Where is Mitchum’s base? Where would he take her?” 

“Little spot,” he panted. “Just… a bunch of houses, don’t know if it’s got a name…” 

“Tommy!” Joel called without even glancing back at him. “Need a map.” 

It took a few seconds before Tommy appeared, handing Joel a wrinkled and worn map. 

“Point to where it is on this map,” Joel said, releasing his bloody, four fingered hand. “Your buddy over there know where it is?” Cody nodded, shaky, once. “Good. You point where it is. He’d better point to the same goddamn spot.”

He handed the map back to Tommy and kept Cody in his sights, watching as his skin grew pale and his head listless and limp. There was a scuffle and scream behind him, loud enough that Cody shocked back to full consciousness with it. 

“Sounds like your friend don’t know what’s good for him,” Joel said, taking Cody’s bloodied hand and forcing it to his thigh again. “Or what’s good for you.” 

“No,” he shook his head, his eyes so wide. “No, please!” 

“Tell him to cooperate,” Joel said. 

“Do what he says!” Cody screamed. “Just do it, please!” 

Joel pressed the knife to the base of his ring finger and cut. He was almost surprised at how easy it was to force the blade through the bone and sinew. He could barely feel the strain of it as Cody screamed below him. The knife sank a bit into his leg as it cut through the last of the skin and Joel picked the finger up, holding it in front of Cody’s crying eyes. 

“She scream like you?” Joel asked, turning the piece of his captive slowly before them both, the wet of his blood catching the light like the fractures in the glass of his watch. “You like hearin’ it like I like hearin’ you?” 

“Please,” Cody managed, voice ragged and hoarse.

“Why’d you do it?” He asked, lowering the severed finger but keeping it firmly in his grip. “You already took her, already were handing her over to that… animal. Why’d you need to hurt her, too.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Joel thrust the knife into his upper thigh, inches shy of the man’s crotch and he gasped, mouth open in a silent scream. He was wearing out, inching closer and closer to death. 

“Don’t give a shit about your sorry,” Joel said. “Why. Tell me.” 

He gave Cody a second to start to recover from the pain before twisting the knife, making him seize again. 

“Tell me.” 

“She tried to run!” He sobbed, collapsing back down again. “She… she tried to run, killed two of my men. And she never… never appreciated what I did for her then…” 

Joel just nodded slowly. You’d been able to try to run, at least before Cody took your fingers. You weren’t so scared that you couldn’t move, weren’t so beaten that you couldn’t run. That was a good sign. You were a survivor. He had to remember that. You’d survived before. You would now, too. You would still be alive for him to find, for him to save, and he would save you. If it was the last thing he did, he would save you.

“Joel,” Tommy was at his side and it was quiet at his back. “Same spot.” 

“Good,” Joel said. He carefully picked your fingers up from where they’d fallen in the leaves at Cody’s side and tucked them away in his pocket again before getting to his feet. Ellie was at his side, her rifle in her hands. 

“I want to hurt him,” she said, her voice flat. 

Joel looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since they’d found Cody. There was a darkness in her eyes that terrified him in its familiarity. It was the look she’d had for a split second when he’d found her after David had taken her from him. It was sharp and vicious and demanding and Joel wasn’t sure she knew how to come back from it. 

“Will hurtin’ him help you?” Joel asked as gently as he could. She looked up at him, that sharp look still in her eyes. 

“He hurt my mother,” she said, a hint of barely contained rage on her face. “I need to make him pay.” 

He considered her for a second, trying to think clearly as he looked at the young woman who had once been the girl he’d shepherded across the country. In so many ways, she was still that little girl, one who he’d protected and failed at protecting, one who he had saved and had led to her near demise.

Would this be any worse than anything she had already suffered? Would it hurt her any worse than the things that Joel had allowed on his watch before, when he hadn’t been good enough to take care of her the way she deserved? Would it be, somehow, any more terrible because he allowed it? 

Ellie was so like him in so many ways, ways that terrified him when he thought about it. There was a passion in her that so easily bloomed into rage and he knew what it was to keep that stifled and smothered. He knew, too, what it was to take it out on another human being, even one who deserved it. 

He adjusted his grip on the knife and held the handle out to her. She went to take it but he pulled it back for a moment. 

“Can’t kill him,” Joel said. “Understand?” 

“Joel…” Tommy said at his back, but Joel just held out his empty hand, silencing him. 

“Understand?” He repeated, watching Ellie closely. 

She hesitated a moment, watching him back with those sharp, dark eyes. 

“I understand,” she said, taking the knife from him and turning to Cody. She cocked her head, examining him cooly. 

“Please,” the man whispered, looking up at her. 

“Which fingers did he take?” Ellie asked, not looking back at Joel. 

“Outside two,” Joel said, a twinge in his chest as he said it. “Her wedding ring with ‘em.” 

Ellie nodded, her grip tightening on the knife before lowering her knee to pin Cody’s wrist of his intact hand to the ground. 

“I told you I was gonna fucking kill you,” she said, her voice dangerous as the man tried weakly to pull his arm away from her. “My dad told me not to do that. But I am going to make you fucking pay.” 

She slammed the knife into his hand with a sharp, angry cry, more hacking at him than cutting, striking him again and again until she was splattered with blood and Cody had screamed himself to silence. Joel’s stomach twisted at the sight of it, the satisfaction at knowing Cody’s agony twinged with an ache of his own at the sound of Ellie’s pained scream. 

“If you’re just gonna let her fuckin’…” Tommy snapped, nudging Joel roughly to the side and stepping around him to wrap his arms around Ellie from behind, forcing her to still. She quieted then, no longer screaming and just sobbing instead. “It’s OK baby girl. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up…” 

“No!” She tried to shake him loose but he held firm. “I want him to hurt! I want to make him hurt, I want him fucking dead, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve to live, he doesn’t…” 

“I know,” Tommy said gently. “I know. But you hear him? He’s passed out, you’re not gonna make him regret this any more than he already does and Joel’s gonna finish him. He’s not gonna live, OK? He’s paid for it, he’s hurt for it, it’s OK baby girl.” 

The knife slipped from her hold then, lying beside the mangled flesh and bone that had once been Cody’s hand. His pinky and ring fingers were completely gone. 

“C’mon,” Tommy said again. “Gonna get you cleaned up, let Joel finish the job, then we’ll get movin’. You’re OK.” 

He pulled her gently to her feet and gave Joel a deadly look as he passed, Ellie gathered against his side as he led her away. 

Joel knelt and picked up the knife, every inch of it splattered in blood now. He didn’t care. He took Cody’s chin in his hand and gave his head a sharp shake and the man gave a sharp gasp before trying to cough but choked on his own blood instead, his eyes opening slowly. He couldn’t even lift his head now, his eyes the only thing it seemed he could really move. 

“Wanted you to be awake for this,” Joel said, his voice a deadly calm. “Wanted to make sure you felt it. Wanted to be sure you knew why you were dying.”

Joel thrust the knife into Cody’s side, burying it fully between two ribs and twisting it there. His eyes went wide and his body thrashed as much as it could but it was a useless endeavor. He started gasping for breath, the gurgling sound of him starting to drown in his own blood overwhelming the sound of the woods around them as Joel pulled the knife from his side. 

“You could have lived, you know,” Joel continued. “Could have spent the rest of your years anywhere but Jackson, never would have looked for you. She asked me not to look for you, to just leave you alive. Felt like she owed you somethin’. Maybe she thought you’d been a good man once, long time ago. But you and me, we know the truth. You were never a good man, never had it in you to be good. You didn’t deserve her mercy so you ain’t gettin’ mine.”

“You…” he gasped and choked. “Promised…” 

“Promised what?” He asked. “To make it quick for you?” 

He didn’t give Cody a chance to respond. Joel just shrugged. 

“I lied.” 

He thrust the knife in between the same ribs on the other side, twisting it and pulling it free before wiping the worst of the blood on Cody’s pants and getting back to his feet. He put his hand in his pocket, the one that held the pieces of you. He traced your wedding band with his thumb, feeling your cold skin below his touch. How many times had this flesh laced with his? How many times had it tangled in his hair or squeezed his arm or touched his cheek? 

He held it himself now, trying to keep the pieces of you warm as Cody drowned in his own blood. His dying breaths were harsh and rasping and desperate, the last gasp of his mortality clinging to this life as though there was anything but pain to be found for him here. As if there was anything he deserved beyond pain. Just before the light left his eyes, Joel picked Cody’s fingers up off the ground and opened his mouth, forcing them inside. He stood back again, watching as he tried to take two quick, shallow breaths around them before going completely still. 

“Joel,” Tommy said from behind him. 

Joel looked down at Cody’s body for a moment longer. This man had hurt you, raped you, taken you. He was dead now, at Joel’s hand. There was justice in that. He spit on his body all the same. 

He turned to find his brother and daughter standing side by side, Ellie’s eyes still sharp but rimmed in red, her cheeks puffy. Both of them were wet, Ellie no longer splattered in blood. 

“We should move,” Joel said, stalking toward Cody’s horse. Tommy just watched him as Joel mounted up, the horse pawing at the ground for a moment as he got settled. He looked back at his brother. “If you ain’t got the stomach, Tommy, I’ll do this myself…” 

“I’m comin’,” Tommy said, going to another horse and mounting up, too. “Just hope you don’t get lost in the process.” 

Joel didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That the man he had the potential to be had left when you did? That, without you, there was nothing left to lose? 

He didn’t need to say it. Somehow, he was sure, Tommy knew. 

Instead, he nudged his horse forward, starting on the path given to him by the man he’d left in pieces on the ground. 

Next Chapter

A/N: So Joel is pretttttttty damn feral at this point. I'm not sure I've ever written a Joel quite this unhinged and that's not even accounting for the fact that the juxtaposition between Jackson Joel and Feral Joel is pretty harsh. He's just gone, at least for now.

There are just three chapters left of this fic now (I think, the way some of this chapter flowed means it may grow to 41 chapters but I don't think so)! Next chapter is going to be a big one, one that's been building for the whole of this fic and I'm so excited for it. I hope you are, too!

Thanks for being here through this INSANELY lengthy journey both in word/chapter count and in time. It feels like we've been with Joel and Bambi forever and that's because we kind of have been - almost a year now! I hope you've enjoyed the ride. I know I have.

Love you!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

[ckret2]

Chapter 36 of human Bill Cipher is on death row in the Mystery Shack and would rather not be, featuring: the author being pissed as hell after spending all day drawing eight pictures for a comic oh my god it really took all day, and then discovering that the Internet connection is so shitty the images won't upload, so y'all have to pretend that I included eight pictures here and cheer and clap and applaud for them.

Insert colorful pictures here. 💦 Use your imagination. 🚗 I'm so tired.

But more importantly: Mabel makes Bill do community service.

EDIT FEB 8: i finally got around to uploading the art lmao

I don't know why I thought all that effort was a good idea. Please appreciate the hell out of it.

####

Two blue- and orange-haired girls trailed after a pink-haired girl as she furiously stormed into the stark white control room. Each wore the same uniform—a skintight space suit with a pleated skirt and heart-shaped patches that matched their hair colors on their sleeves—but the pink-haired girl had taken off her helmet and ripped the patches off her sleeves. "Please, Momoko-chan," the blue-haired girl said, "don't do it. What if you make the director angry—?"

"That devil can't feel a human emotion like that," Momoko snapped, making the blue-haired girl gasp in horror. "I've made up my mind, Aoko-chan! Are you joining me or not?"

Aoko bit her lip, pressing one hand worriedly over her chest. "I can't."

"What about you, Orenjiko-chan?"

The orange-haired girl shook her head, her curly corkscrew locks bouncing inside her helmet.

"Fine! Then I'll just do it myself." Momoko stomped into the aisle between the computer consoles and looked up at a shadowy figure at a desk, overseeing the control center from a mezzanine level high above. "Hey, Director!" She threw her heart-shaped patches to the ground. "I quit!"

The shadowy figure didn't flinch. A cold, emotionless voice said, "Is that so."

"I've had enough of your lies! You told me my anger was just me tapping into the righteous fury I needed to protect humanity—but it isn't! These battles are... doing something to me!" She held her hands in front of her face, watching as they trembled. "Every time I'm on the battlefield, my berserker rage keeps getting stronger and stronger. The last time I lost control, I turned on my own friends and nearly killed..." She looked guiltily at the cast on Aoko's broken arm. "I won't do it again. I want out."

"It's too late for that." The director leaned forward into the light. A small floppy-eared albino bunny in a navy blue suit sat on the desk, the reflection on its sunglasses hiding its cruel pink eyes, its fuzzy white paws pressed together in front of its face. "We made a deal, Momoko-chan. I gave you your wish, and you gave us your heart." A wall lit up behind the bunny, displaying a dozen glass terrariums. Each one contained a live, beating human heart. "The battery we replaced your heart with must be running low. You'll need to recharge it, whether you want to or not."

Momoko flinched. She reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a heart-shaped crystal on a chain like she was retrieving a pocket watch. It faintly glowed a hot pink, but even as she looked at it, it faded closer and closer to black.

She frowned and stuffed the crystal back in her pocket. "Then I want to trade back."

"What?!"

"My heart for my wish."

"You can't," the bunny said. "That wish is the only thing protecting your friends! If I reverse it—"

"That's just it," Momoko said. "When I made that wish, I thought my friends needed me to protect them! But now, having fought alongside them..." She looked to Aoko, and then Orenjiko. "I know the truth. And it's that they never needed me to save them! They were always strong enough to save themselves. I just needed to have faith in them."

Aoko's eyes watered up. Orenjiko said, "Oh, Momoko-chan—"

The bunny pounded a soft paw on its desk, calling the girls' attention back. "When will you learn, child! Once you've made a choice, there's no way to undo it! None of your mistakes will ever be erased—and no matter how you grovel, God will not forgive you! So will you die in shame like a worm? Or will you shoulder the burden of your sins and carry on into the future?"

The bunny sat back and looked at a photo in a cracked picture frame on its desk. It showed another bunny in an apron with big golden hoop earrings, holding a tinier bunny that was sucking on a pacifier. A tear rolled down the bunny's fuzzy cheek, hidden from the girls behind its paws.

"We must all live with the consequences of our choices," the bunny said. "Now you must live with yours."

Aoko and Orenjiko frowned and looked away from the bunny, afraid to meet their director's steely gaze. Even Momoko's scowl wavered with doubt.

The bunny adjusted its sunglasses, reasserting its cool, detached demeanor. "The next angel attack will reach Retro Tokyo at midnight. And if I'm not mistaken, you have less than 24 hours until your batteries run dry. You'll need to be in your cockpits to recharge them. You might as well fight."

Aoko's shoulders sagged in defeat. Orenjiko murmured, "Yes, sir." They meekly crept out of the control center.

Only Momoko remained, glaring up at the director. It glared down, unmoved. Momoko grit her teeth and growled at it.

"Enough foolishness. You know what you have to do," the bunny said. "Get in the Fukuin robot, Momoko."

"Dang it!" She stamped her foot with an angry grunt and trudged out of the room.

The shot closed in on the bunny's face as it murmured, "Someday, you'll understand," and then the screen went black. The words Neon Crisis Revelations Angry Cute Girl: Annihilation! Episode 23: The Dark Heart of the White Rabbit! flashed on screen as the ending theme played.

Soos said, "If you ask me, that's one of this season's best episodes. It's often forgotten for the lack of spectacular mecha combat Annihilation is known for, but I find the emotionally-driven episodes give me more to think about later, and we couldn't have gotten this kind of character development out of Momoko in a more action-packed episode. Plus, it gave Director Bunbun some much-needed depth. It doesn't excuse its actions, but it explains them."

"This is exactly why Bunbun's my favorite character," Melody said. "It feels so bad for its mistakes, but all it knows how to do is double down on them. I just wanna give it a hug."

"As much as you want Bunbun to stand down, it's clear why it thinks it can't. It's a textbook example of the sunk cost fallacy," Ford said thoughtfully.

As the episode credits played, Fiddleford leaned over to whisper to Ford, "I think I might've figured out a way to synthesize that paradox element we're needing."

"Did you? Fiddleford, that's amazing—"

"Don't get too excited just yet, I only might've figured it. Usually, I'd want to run a lot more calculations to confirm it—but considering the dire circumstances, we might just need to run the experiment and see what happens."

Ford stared at him. "Skipping calculations? Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"Heh! You hush. It ain't dangerous, I just don't know if it'll work. We'll have to pull a fast one on the universe."

Ford was dying to know what that meant; but before he could ask, the credits ended and Momoko's voice actor perkily announced, "Next time on Neon Crisis Revelations Angry Cute Girl: Annihilation!"

A school exploded. A bright orange combat mech as tall as a skyscraper exploded. A steel grey warship exploded.

Director Bunbun's voice said, "Remember, Momoko, your true enemy isn't the angels, but entropy itself. We are fighting to save the universe from a cold grave. If God wants to kill us, we'll just have to kill God first!"

A giant one-eyed mechanical angel spread out four white-hot arms and six wings with metal feathers like enormous knives. It threw back its inhuman head and trumpeted toward the heavens. And then it exploded.

Tate pointed at the exploding angel, pointed at his father, and said, "Don't even think about it, Dad."

"I wasn't! I ain't got enough beards to run all them arms." Between episodes, Fiddleford hissed to Ford, "I'll explain tomorrow. Come over with Stanley and Soos. I'll need all y'all's help to pull this off."

Ford nodded. He'd have to tell Stan in the morning. He just hoped whatever Fiddleford had in mind would work.

####

As soon as the vending machine opened, Ford could hear Mabel in the living room: "Checkmate! You owe me a soda."

"That's what yooou thiiink," Bill said, voice sing-song. "Congratulations on cornering my king's body double."

"Aw, man! I hate when you do that."

"Good luck finding him amongst all my pawns!"

They were up this early? Ford had thought he'd have to wake the kids. (He'd hoped he would get to them before Bill was up.) He leaned into the living room to see what they were up to.

Bill and Mabel were sitting at the table, playing chess. He recognized some of Mabel's "fairy chess" pieces on the board. They were obviously well into their current game; each had claimed about half the other's pieces.

(It was eerie how much more Bill looked like Bill these days; he'd somehow found a top hat to add to his ensemble, and now when Ford saw him from behind—yellow hair blending into his yellow hoodie, with the eye on his hood laying flat on his back—for a split second, he nearly looked like himself again.)

Mabel waved. "Good morning, Grunkle Ford!" (Bill glanced back at Ford over his shoulder, and the illusion was shattered.) "You're up early!"

"Good morning. So are you." He nodded toward Bill with a disapproving frown. "You do know he cheats, right?"

Mabel gushed, "I know! It's so fun!"

"She's a worse cheat than I am," Bill announced proudly.

"It's not cheating when I do it, I'm a senator!" Mabel leaned across the table, snatched the top hat off Bill's head, and proudly set it on her own. "I can legalize anything I want!"

"Well oh-kay, Miss Senator." Bill stole the hat back. "We're still monarchists on this side of the board."

Ford took a few steps closer to inspect their game more closely. "Why are there sandwich cookies on the chessboard?"

Bill said, "Mabel's got the knights all cozy in the horse stable," he pointed at the "nest" Mabel had made by folding the bottom of her sweater up, "so I'm trying to coax mine back out with delicious treats."

"It'll never work!" Mabel crowed. "The horses are too cozy!"

"I'll get them eventually! Even the loneliest monkey goes to Wire Mother to feed!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Ford said, "He's referring to an important psychology experiment where baby monkeys were..." He caught sight of Bill's face, looking right at him and grinning oh so brightly, and mumbled, "Never mind." He cleared his throat. "Anyway—Mabel, when you've finished your game, could you head downstairs? I need to discuss something with you."

"Oh. Okay, sure," Mabel said, giving him a questioning look.

"How come?" Bill's exposed eye was locked onto Ford like a laser. "Is it about the Mysteries?"

The what? Before Ford could ask, Mabel quickly said, "I haven't told Bill anything about the Mysteries, I promise!" She winked at Ford.

Hmm. Ford looked at Bill and said coolly, "I don't think the Mysteries are any of your business, Cipher." He had no idea what game he'd just been roped into, but he was gratified by how quickly Bill scowled.

"I'll be back downstairs in a few minutes," Ford said; and then left to pass the same message on to Dipper and Stan.

####

Ford woke Dipper; told him, like he'd told Stan, not to go through the living room to reach the elevator so Bill wouldn't notice how many people were congregating downstairs; and then headed back down. Stan was out of bed by now, drinking coffee and still in his underwear as he spectated the chess game from the doorway. Stan nodded, "Morning."

"Morning." Ford paused to watch alongside him.

Over thirty years ago, Ford's chess games with Bill had been minor acts of psychological torture. In their first meeting, after flattering the dickens out of Ford's intelligence, Bill had set up a game of "interdimensional" chess; Ford had quickly figured out from Bill's moves that some rules of interdimensional chess were different from Earth's chess; and then, afraid of looking ignorant in front of this strange, friendly muse, Ford had decided to try to pick up the rules of interdimensional chess based on what Bill did rather than ask for an explanation.

The challenge of figuring out the new rules might have been fun, if he hadn't lived in fear of making a fool of himself in front of an interstellar angel. As it was, though, he constantly fell into traps he didn't know were there ("Rookie mistake, by using your bishop to check me you activated my wormhole!"); he never seemed to remember all the things the pieces could do ("Sure, I upgraded my queen to ricochet off the edges squares—I'm surprised you haven't yet!"); and more often than not, when he tried to emulate Bill's moves, Bill gently "reminded" him that it wasn't the right time or place for Ford to do that; and Ford, humiliated and sheepish, had "corrected" his error. He won rarely, but not often.

It took years for Ford to learn there was no such devil as "interdimensional chess." Bill had used the name as a ruse to make up whatever rules he wanted. And on top of that, Ford had it from several reliable sources that Bill wasn't even that good at chess.

Now here Bill was pulling the same con on Mabel with "fairy chess"—and when he tried to tell her it didn't matter that she'd taken out his (disguised) king because the queen was co-regent, she told him that her pieces had democratized and Bill couldn't win until he'd defeated all of them. He not only allowed her this rule; he actually seemed thrilled. Proud.

It was so different from the cordial, half-interested way he'd played chess with Ford.

Ford was sure Bill had just decided this was the best way to keep Mabel's attention; she would have seen secret rules as an unfair imbalance rather than a mental challenge, she had no doubt asked Bill to explain how "fairy chess" worked rather than stupidly tried to guess herself, and if she noticed her opponent was disinterested she'd probably lose interest too rather than try harder. Obviously, Bill had to handle Mabel differently than Ford.

But a small part of Ford wondered: if he'd ever looked Bill dead in the eye, moved a rook like it was a bishop, and confidently informed him that the board had slipped into a mirror universe—would Bill have laughed in delight and congratulated him on figuring out the game?

Stan nudged Ford. "Hey. You look like you could bite through a chair leg," he murmured. "Are you alright?"

Ford snapped, "No, of course I'm not."

Stan gave him a surprised look. "What?"

"What?" Ford shook his head. "Sorry—I misheard you. I thought you asked if I was jealous. Of course I'm not jealous; and yes, I'm alright." He cleared his throat. "What was I—? The study. Right." He clasped his hands behind his back and marched across the living room, nodded to Mabel as he passed, ignored Bill, and swept into the gift shop.

Stan stared after him, stared into the living room trying to figure out what the heck Ford could possibly be jealous over—Bill and Mabel were cracking up over a rook Mabel had turned upside-down and debating the mechanics of a reverse-gravity chess variant—then shook his head and headed back to the kitchen.

Mabel took out one of Bill's bishops and snuck two sandwich cookies off the board to eat without him noticing. He was only half focusing on the game now, distracted by the sound of the most beautiful word in the English language ringing in his head: jealous, jealous, jealous.

####

Stan was the first down, followed by Mabel—"Grunkle Ford, just so you know, I told Bill you gave me that clear pyramid because you inducted me into the Mysteries! He's been going cuckoo trying to find out what that means!"—and then Dipper, hair still disheveled from sleep. Ford nodded. "Good. Everyone's here."

"Great," Stan said, "now what's going on? What's with the whole cloak-and-dagger act?"

"Yesterday, Fiddleford informed me that he may be on the verge of a scientific breakthrough—but he needs some assistance. Stanley, he specifically said it's crucial that both of us and Soos help."

Stan groaned, rolling his eyes. "If this is another one of his cockamamie giant robots..." (Mabel laughed, "Cockamamie.")

"It isn't," Ford said seriously. "Soos is already prepared to go. But if the three of us are at the Northwest estate..."

Stan nodded in comprehension. "And Mrs. Ramirez is out visiting family today." He looked at Dipper and Mabel. "So it'll be just the two of you in the shack with the demon today."

Mabel nodded. Dipper frowned; he'd had an investigation he wanted to go on today. "So, this scientific breakthrough—is it...?"

Ford paused. "Too soon to tell. But, if everything goes stupendously well... it could be, yes."

"What are the odds of it going that well?" Stan asked.

"At a loose, uneducated guess? 20%. But I'd give only 20% odds that it will end in complete failure, too. Far more likely, what we do today will just bring us one step closer to... to." He shrugged. "To the end of everything."

There was a split second too long of silence as everyone tried not to look at Mabel to see how she took that. But she just nodded again.

Ford took in a deep breath and nodded. "So. Dipper, Mabel, you've got Soos's number in case of emergency," he said. "I know you've dealt with Bill yourselves a few times, but—are you both confident you can handle him entirely alone today?"

Stan laughed, breaking some of the tension in the room. "Of course they can handle him! Have you seen 'em? Mabel's got that monster doing anything she says!"

"Oh, come on," Mabel said, waving off the compliment but grinning. "I just get how he thinks, that's all."

"Yeah, and that makes you the only one!"

Dipper gritted his teeth. It stung that only Mabel was getting a vote of confidence—what, did they not think he could handle Bill, too? But he supposed he couldn't argue with it. Mabel was the expert on Bill. Dipper couldn't even have a full conversation with him without getting tangled up in weird haunting metaphors about caves and shadows.

Ford nudged Stan. "But they still need to keep their guard up around him." To Dipper and Mabel, he said, "Do not tell him we're gone, so he can't try to take advantage of the adults being missing. And don't leave him unsupervised. We should be back by dinner."

"Got it," Dipper said.

Mabel snapped off a salute and said, "You can count on us!"

####

Mabel burst into the living room, made a beeline for Bill lying down on the couch, and flung herself across his stomach. "Hey Bill! If you don't tell anyone that I told you that the adults are gone, I'll take you outside to do something fun!"

Bill grinned and tossed aside the Gold Chains For Old Men issue he'd picked up. "Deal!"

####

"This is such a bad idea," Dipper told Mabel as she collected buckets and towels. "You don't trust him that much, do you?"

"It's fine. We have an understanding now," Mabel said. "We speak the same language!"

Dipper grimaced. "I don't really think..."

From the entryway, Bill called, "Found the bracelets! They were hanging on the coat rack." He ducked into the kitchen, already wearing one half of the enchanted bracelets. "Ready?"

"Ready!" Mabel grabbed her half as she ran by, and they were out the door.

Dipper reluctantly followed.

####

On Summerween, some kids had gone at Stan's car with eggs, toilet paper, and—by the looks of the damage—probably also several rocks, keys, and the scratchiest branches they could find. Stan had already washed off what damage he could; but there were still some bits of egg stuck in the seams of the car, and the paint job was a tragic scraped-up disaster, capped off by the giant phrase "TRICK-OR-CHEATER" scratched across the driver's side doors.

Mabel led them to the car and set down her buckets. "Wait here, I've gotta get the hose."

Bill studied the contents of the buckets—cleaning brushes, towels, various liquid soaps. "So, what are we doing?" He emptied one bucket's supplies. "Adding to the damage?" He lifted the metal bucket over his head, prepared to throw it down on the car's hood.

"NOOO! BILL!"

He laughed, "I'm messing with you!" He set the bucket back down.

Mabel returned with a running hose and started filling the buckets. "Grunkle Stan was complaining about how hard it is to repair a classic car like this," she said. "So, I thought we could surprise him by fixing it while he's gone. And you can show everyone how much nicer you're getting by helping!"

"Aw, what?" Bill planted his hands on his hips. "You took me outside to do community service?"

"Bill." Mabel grabbed his arms. "I think it's really important that you show everyone how much nicer you're getting. Really."

Bill swallowed down the urge to scoff. "Sure—but by doing chores for Stan? I'll be nice, but I won't be boring."

"We can play with the hose, too!"

Bill thought that over. "Okay, I'm in." It was an opportunity to get some sunshine, at least.

"Good!" Mabel grinned evilly, lifted the hose, and sprayed it at Bill's face.

He ducked just in time for the stream to miss his head and knock off his hat (which Mabel had generously permitted Bill to hold onto, since she'd forgotten she owned it). He snatched up a brush and a towel like a sword and shield and backed away from Mabel. "Ha! You'll have to do better than that, kid! I can see every possible future branching out from this moment—you'll never land a surprise attack on me!"

"You can see the future, but can you see... this?" Mabel yanked on the hose. It pulled taut behind Bill's ankles.

He tripped, yelped, and landed on his back. "No," he said, staring at the sky. "Apparently I can't."

Mabel sprayed the hose in his face.

Within a couple of minutes, they were on opposite sides of the car, lobbing soggy soapy sponges and towels back and forth at each other—and, in the process, accidentally managing to get the car a tiny bit cleaner as their projectiles drizzled soap over it. Bill had thus far successfully dodged nearly all of Mabel's projectiles—his lower legs and sleeves were more soaked than the rest of him, and mainly from preparing his attacks—while Mabel was quickly drenched and accusing Bill of cheating. Waddles, who had been allowed outside (and, Bill noted, not required to wear a leash), elected not to join the battle, but was quite content to bask in the mud puddle expanding around the car.

And Dipper, meanwhile, sat on the porch, his journal open and ignored in his lap, glaring at Bill and Mabel, disapproving of this scene as hard as he could.

"Okay, truce!" Mabel shouted. "Time out! Pause! Sto—" A soaked towel landed on her face as Bill cackled. She pulled it off. "My bucket's empty, I've gotta refill it."

"You think I'd show mercy just for that?"

"Seriously, Bill!" She ran over to the porch with her bucket and hose.

"Coward!" Bill called; and then, bereft of any targets to attack, entertained himself by picking up a sponge and actually starting to clean the car.

Dipper leaned over toward Mabel. "This is such a bad idea," he muttered.

"No it's not, it's great. Look, he's already helping."

"I'm serious. His aim's getting too good, he could throw a bucket over the top of the car and knock you out or something—"

"But he won't," Mabel insisted.

"How do you know?"

"Because..." Mabel attempted to convey her knowledge by swinging her arms emphatically. "Because he won't, okay? Bill's gonna do community service today and nothing's gonna go wrong!"

Dipper glared toward Bill—just to see that he was looking straight at them, not even trying to hide that he was listening in. He flipped up his eye patch to wink at Dipper.

"Fine." Dipper slammed his journal shut and got to his feet. "But I'm not sticking around."

Mabel gave him a surprised look. "Dipper? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" Just Mabel thinking washing a car would make Bill worthy of coming off of death row—which meant she wasn't taking the threat he posed seriously. Which apparently she didn't need to, because she understood him so well—everyone said so—while Dipper, official junior paranormal investigator, somehow wasn't the one who understood the alien demon, and now Mabel kept spending all her free time around Bill because they got each other so well—but Dipper didn't care. Why would he care? There was like a 20% chance Bill could be dead by the end of the day. Which wasn't big, but it was something. "I just don't wanna sit around watching you wash the car, okay?"

"Oh," Mabel said, shifting awkwardly. "You could help out?"

"No he can't!" Bill yelled.

Dipper ground his teeth and tried to ignore him. "I've got other stuff to do. I have a paranormal investigation to go on. It's what I wanted to do today until we got stuck on triangle-sitting duty. So if you're so sure you've got the situation under control, I can just go ahead and do that anyway." Under his breath, he muttered, "I thought we could do it together, but if you'd rather hang out with Bill..."

Mabel bristled. "Well—fine, then! I do have it under control. Thanks for noticing." A tad guardedly, she asked, "So... what's today's big investigation?"

Dipper hesitated, trying to decide how irritated he really was; but if Mabel had extended an olive branch, so should he. He flipped through his journal. "You know about all the recent nighttime burglaries?" He showed Mabel a page where he'd glued a printed-out photo of a long-legged, armless, ghostlike creature, and next to it paperclipped an article cut out from the Gravity Falls Gossiper. "Something's been stealing jeans from every clothing store in town. Based on the surveillance footage, I bet that it's a mysterious, little-known creature called—"

"The Fremont Nightwigglers?" Bill cut in. "Yeah, this is about the time of year their migratory route should take them through Oregon. You oughta check the dumpsters in town. They flock in parking lots at night, but during the day they tend to nest together in half-empty dumpsters."

Dipper stared at Bill.

"You're welcome!" Bill said.

Dipper couldn't even enjoy a good old-fashioned monster hunt without Bill stealing half the thrill of discovery. "Great," Dipper grumbled. He'd better get out of here—before Bill also spoiled what planet the Nightwigglers were from. "I'll see you later, Mabel." He trudged off to find his bike, angrily kicking a patch of grass as he went.

Mabel watched him go, half considering chasing after him.

And then Bill very carefully lobbed a soaking sponge straight at the back of her head.

Mabel squealed—"Bill!"—and charged back into battle.

####

It took them the better part of the morning to finish washing the car—in part because the growing mud puddle kept undoing their work. When they were done, Mabel stepped back and announced, "Okay, great work! Now it's time for... part two! Covering up the scratches." She whipped out two aerosol cans, "With spray paint!" She rattled the cans like underwhelming maracas. 

"Whoa, and you didn't even bring me safety goggles?"

Mabel stared at him. "Since when do you use safety anything?"

"I'm just saying. I'm not sure I trust you wielding spray paint near me."

Mabel thought it was still too soon to be cracking jokes about anything that happened in the Fearamid; but she punched his arm and said, "You'll be fine as long as you don't try to kill me. Here!" She handed him a third can.

He accepted it and shook it up. (Mabel felt like he was just doing it to hear the little ball rattling, too.) "So what's the plan?"

"Grunkle Stan said usually, car dents are... hammered out? Somehow?"

Bill nodded. "Intriguingly counterintuitive."

"But I don't know how to do that," Mabel said. "But! I saw this great makeup tutorial that explains contouring! You use makeup a little lighter and darker than your skin to make fake shadows so your face looks like a different shape!" She held up her cans next to Bill's; his was as near to the same color as the car as Mabel could find, while the other two were a bit lighter and darker. "So I thought, maybe we can use different shades of red to contour the dents and make them disappear? If we spray the shadowy parts with light red and spray the pokey-outie parts with dark red?"

Bill looked at the car thoughtfully. "Yeah, that makes perfect sense! I mean, what's 'three-dimensional' vision anyway?" He set his can on the ground so he could hold his arms out, forming a rectangle between his thumbs and forefingers, framing the car in between like it was a picture. "It's just a two-dimensional view that you take on faith is three-dimensional, because your mind's learned that highlights and shadows are the curvature being revealed by sunlight!"

Mabel had never considered that her vision of the world was a 2D view that looked 3D; but she had taken a lot of art classes, and the first lesson of a new art class was always drawing a circle and carefully shading it in pencil so that it looked like shadows being cast on a ball, so she kinda sorta figured she got it. "Yeah! Exactly like that."

"So you're absolutely right: shadowing the highlights and highlighting the shadows will just cancel out that curvature and make it look perfectly flat," Bill said. "You're an art genius, Shooting Star. We'll have this car looking good as new in no time."

####

Thirty minutes later, they had a scratched, dented car covered in terrible-looking mismatched blobs of red. They actually made the dents stand out more.

Mabel and Bill surveyed their masterpiece silently.

"I've figured out our problem," Bill said. "We forgot to account for Earth's rotation. As the planet turns, the sun casts shadows at different angles, so the dents' shadows will look slightly different."

"Ah. Yeah," Mabel said. "That's gotta be it."

"When I take over this town again, I'll freeze time and we can paint this thing properly."

Mabel wondered if there was a way to briefly freeze time with the time tape they'd confiscated, before quickly remembering exactly what she'd been trying to do when she'd started Weirdmageddon in the first place. "Let's come up with a plan that doesn't involve messing with the fabric of spacetime."

"Hm." Bill planted his hands on his hips thoughtfully. "I have a great idea. What if we cover up the dents with something cooler. Like—flames. Or lightning—"

Mabel gasped, "Or a wizard!"

Bill gave her a puzzled look. "Where are we going to find a wizard—? Oh, right, painting a wizard."

"Bill, that's perfect. We could give Grunkle Stan the airbrushed wizard van of his dreams!"

"Oooh. Oh yeah. I love that." Bill nodded appreciatively. "I've always thought Stanley was more of an 'airbrushed hot babe' guy, though."

"We can put a hot wizard babe on the other side," Mabel said. "And the wizard could be fighting a unicorn! Because that's awesome! And the unicorn probably deserves it. Grunkle Stan would totally fight a unicorn if he ever met one."

"I think we've got a plan."

They retrieved a wider variety of spray paint cans from inside the shack. Mabel took over the majority of the art duties—she was the only one of the two of them who could draw wizards or unicorns—and she left the little details (stars and lasers and so forth) to Bill. He got sidetracked several times drawing multiple copies of his own face around the battle scene, until Mabel pointed out Stan would get arrested driving around with those so they'd just have to cover them up.

Mabel had finished the first mural and was working on the hot wizard babe (it was riding a dolphin) when Bill called from the other side of the car, "Head's up, we're out of orange."

"That's the fourth color you've run out of. What are you doing?" Mabel circled around to the other side of the car to see his work. He'd added some graffiti across the windows in an alien alphabet—Mabel recognized some of the letters from when he'd left coded messages in Dipper's journal—and between the wizard and the unicorn...

Mabel wrinkled her nose. There was an immense multicolored blob stretching between the two figures, scribbled over multiple times in random patterns with every color they had. Well, now she knew why Bill was running out of colors. "Bill, what is that?"

"It's the wizard's magic rainbow laser! The one he's shooting at the unicorn."

"It's too many colors," Mabel said.

Bill gave her a shocked, deeply offended look. "Too many—? Who are you and what did you do with the real Mabel?"

"You can't use every color. For a laser like this, it's gotta be three or four colors."

"Unbelievable."

"And they need to be straight! If it's scribbled like that, it looks like a blob."

"It's more realistic that way! Wild magical powers don't go in a straight line—the more powerful it is, the more chaotic it gets!" Bill gestured insistently at the blob. "I'm doing a perspective thing, here—the colors layering over each other shows how they're all weaving together and wrapping around each other! See?"

Mabel studied the blob more closely. She shook her head. "Sorry Bill. It's just a mess."

Bill threw the empty orange can on the ground and flung his hands in the air. "I can't believe you of all people don't appreciate my art."

"The stars look nice," Mabel said. "And the alien text. It looks like magic wizard runes."

Bill grunted.

Maybe they needed a break. "I think we need to buy some replacement colors before we can finish," Mabel said.

"Yeah, sure," Bill said. "Pop open the car door for me, I can drive us to the hardware store—"

"Nope!" Mabel didn't trust him that much. "You're staying here. We'd get in too much trouble if anyone finds out I let you drive."

"You worry too much about getting in trouble," Bill said; but now that the conversation had moved on from the blob, he already sounded less irritated.

"Sorry, but you've gotta wait here while I get supplies. I'll just bike to the hardware store." She pointed at the house. "Back inside!"

Bill considered the command like he thought he had a choice in it; then nodded in approval. "Fine. Just help me get lunch outta the fridge before you go."

Surely he could find some way to entertain himself, all alone in the Mystery Shack, completely unsupervised.

####

(This chapter was a nonstop train of the most ridiculous scenes I could think of, I hope y'all enjoyed. If you did, I'd love a comment—some of my favorite jokes and character moments so far are in this chapter and I wanna know what y'all liked. Also after spending 9 hours on a comic my internet is too shitty for me to post I could really use some nice comments, thank you, I suffer so much for my art)

[d1xonss]

Desert Rose

Series Masterlist ~ Seasons 1-5

✧ Media : The Walking Dead

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x OC

✧ Status : Ongoing

Warnings : Mentions of blood, death, gore, swearing, sex, violence, etc.

Prologue ~ When a zombie apocalypse breaks out and wipes over half of the population, Rose is left alone to take on this new world as it unfolds. She knew it would be difficult, for things to not work out the way they once did, turning in ways she never would've expected. But what she really didn't expect was to come across more survivors like her. Not only that, but the journey that would come right along with it.

Disclaimer ~ This is a fan fiction I wrote that follows the TV show The Walking Dead, Seasons 1-11. This mainly follows the entirety of the plot of the show, but there will be little changes here and there that I've added on my own. There may be some disturbing topics in some chapters, but there will always be a warning at the top before you read. I don’t own any of the characters in the series except for my OC. As of now the story is not complete, but there will be weekly updates. Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Hope you enjoy!

Character Moodboards

Spotify Playlist

Season 1 ~ Moodboard

Chapter 1 - Introductions

Chapter 2 - Who the Hell are You?

Chapter 3 - Opening up

Chapter 4 - One Long Day

Chapter 5 - Decisions

Chapter 6 - Metallica

Chapter 7 - Overthinking

Chapter 8 - Panic Room

Season 2 ~ Moodboard

Chapter 9 - Sophia?

Chapter 10 - Darkness

Chapter 11 - The Farm

Chapter 12 - Cherokee Rose

Chapter 13 - Hey Stranger

Chapter 14 - Thank you

Chapter 15 - Heart Attack

Chapter 16 - It ain't like that

Chapter 17 - Guitar lessons and confessions

Chapter 18 - Gone

Chapter 19 - Goodbye

Chapter 20 - Stay

Chapter 21 - Randall

Chapter 22 - Scars

Chapter 23 - Broken

Chapter 24 - Good Mourning

Chapter 25 - The Herd

Chapter 26 - Reunited

Season 3 ~ Moodboard

Chapter 27 - New Beginnings

Chapter 28 - Stranger Danger

Chapter 29 - Shit happens

Chapter 30 - Three little words

Chapter 31 - Happy Birthday

Chapter 32 - Avoiding Me

Chapter 33 - Woodbury

Chapter 34 - Come with me

Chapter 35 - Hey Jude

Chapter 36 - The Attack

Chapter 37 - Welcome Back

Chapter 38 - Worries and Apologies

Chapter 39 - Going to War

Chapter 40 - The Deal

Chapter 41 - Peace

Season 4 ~ Moodboard

Chapter 42 - Wildflower Wildfire

Chapter 43 - The Honeymoon Phase

Chapter 44 - Little Things

Chapter 45 - All Good things Must come to an End

Chapter 46 - I’m Here

Chapter 47 - Infected

Chapter 48 - In Sickness and In Health

Chapter 49 - Blood runs Thicker than Water

Chapter 50 - Bring me to Life

Chapter 51 - Liar

Chapter 52 - We’re Okay

Chapter 53 - The Pretty Purple Clip

Chapter 54 - Claimed

Chapter 55 - Moonshine and Memories

Chapter 56 - Alone

Chapter 57 - Found

Season 5 ~ Moodboard

Chapter 58 - As Deep as a Wound

Chapter 59 - The Priest

Chapter 60 - Just Married

Chapter 61 - White Crosses

Chapter 62 - Deafening Cries

Chapter 63 - Death’s Deaf Ears

Chapter 64 - The Rain

Chapter 65 - A Friend

Chapter 66 - Just the Beginning

Chapter 67 - Alexandria

[jessicaloons]

Masterlist - Invisible String

Charles Leclerc. Lizzie Doetterer. Childhood best friends. But maybe even more…

New Chapters every Sunday (or rather I try to upload every Sunday 🙈)!

I’m starting a taglist. If you want to be added to it, drop a comment!

Meet the characters down below!

Chapters:

1. Just to learn that my dreams aren’t rare

2. Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you

3. I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser

4. Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts

5. Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, you were bigger than the whole sky

6. Because these things will change, can you feel it now?

7. All that bloodshed, crimson clover…

8. I can tell that it’s gonna be a long road

9. And when we go crashing down we come back every time

10. You been stressed out lately. Yeah, me too

11. ‘Cause it’s all over, it’s not meant to be

12. They think that it’s over but it’s just begun

13. But I come back stronger than a ‘90s trend

14. And it’s coming over you like it’s all a big mistake

15. You can see it with the lights out: You are in love

16. The devil’s in the details, but you got a friend in me

17. But there was one prize I’d cheat to win

18. You learn my secrets and you figure out why I’m guarded

19. Kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain

20.1 Ask me what I learned from all those years

20.2 Ask me what I earned from all those tears

21. I had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting

22. ‘Cause baby, now we got bad blood, You know it used to be mad love

23.1 Freedom felt like summer then, on the coast

23.2 Freedom felt like summer then, on the coast

24. Every time you call me crazy I get more crazy

25. The world moves on, another day another drama

26. I swear I don’t love the drama, it loves me

27. But the story of us might be ending soon

28. I can't find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore

29. 'Cause you kiss me and it stops time

30. It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age

31. I watched it begin again

32. Don’t say I didn’t, say I didn’t warn ya

33. The rumours are terrible and cruel

34. My knuckles were bruised like violets

35. I’m standing on a tightrope, alone

36. I can do it with a broken heart

37. I think I am finally clean

38. You gotta step into the daylight and let it go

39. Don’t blame me, love made me crazy

40. And some things you just can’t speak about

41. I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with Paper Rings

42. Put it on the one people put wedding rings on

43. What if your eyes looked up and met mine, one more time?

44. Sometimes walking out is the one thing, that will find you the right thing

45. Just breathe, just relax, it’ll be OK

46. You play stupid Games, You win stupid Prizes

47. When the truth comes out, it’s quiet

48. Am I allowed to cry?

49. All's well that ends well to end up with you

50. All along there was some Invisible String tying you to me

51. And why I’ve spent my whole life trying to put it into words

52. Long live the walls we crashed through - I have the time of my life, with you

EPILOGUE

INVISIBLE STRING: FROM THE VAULT

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3: A Christmassy story | Part 4

BONUS 18+ MDNI!

Meet the character’s of Invisible String:

[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 36

Summary: You drift through a haze of pain and darkness, barely aware of your surroundings until a familiar scent—comforting and grounding—pulls you back. In the midst of chaos, Daryl's presence is the one constant as the world falls into chaos around you. But even as the pain threatens to overwhelm you, you refuse to be a passive observer, determined to fight alongside him no matter the cost.

No warnings apply, except everything obvi goes to shit

You

It felt like you were drifting, floating in a thick fog—nothing but darkness surrounding you. The world was distant, unreachable, and for a long time, there was nothing. No sound, no movement. Only a dull ache thrumming in the background, like a distant echo. You tried to stay there, in that hazy place where the pain couldn’t fully reach you, but something pulled you back.

The first thing you noticed was the smell. Familiar. Comforting. A mix of leather, wood smoke, and something that was unmistakable. It was the smell of long, endless days spent in the woods, hot days swimming in the lake with a bottle of vodka and a pack of cheap cigarettes. It was the smell of memories late at night, when the only lifeline was him coming through your window, reminding you everything was okay. Like home. Like Daryl.

It cuts through the fog, wrapping around you like a tether, pulling you closer to the surface. Slowly, the memories fade, replaced by the present—by the steady rhythm of his footsteps and the jostling of your body as he carries you, with nothing but the deep dark sky and twinkling stars above. The warmth of him beneath you is real, solid, and the pain creeping into your awareness is sharp, tugging you further from the haze.

Your body aches, sharp stabs of pain bringing you back to reality, but it isn’t the pain that grounds you. It’s Daryl. The steady rhythm of his breathing, the feel of his arms around you—strong, protective, as if he’s holding you together, keeping you safe from whatever nightmare is waiting on the other side of consciousness.

You fight to open your eyes, even if only for a second. It’s like pushing through mud, every breath heavy, but you can feel him, hear the soft rasp of his breath close to your ear.

“Daryl...” You try to speak, but your voice is barely a whisper, a broken sound that doesn’t carry past your lips.

He keeps moving, but you feel the shift in his body—he hears you. The arm cradling your shoulders tightens slightly, pulling you closer to him, as if reassuring himself that you’re still there.

Your body protests the movement with sharp, stabbing pains, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the warmth of him, the way his breath hitches just slightly when he hears your voice, how his scent—so familiar and grounding—slices through the chaos swirling around you. It’s enough to pull you further from the void, to remind you that you’re still alive.

Gradually, your senses sharpen. The sounds of the tall grass come into focus—the rustling of leaves underfoot, the distant moans of the dead, the faint hum of the world around you. It’s too much, and yet not enough to pull you fully awake. Your head throbs, the pain wrapping around you like a blanket you can’t shake off, but you hold on to the steady rhythm of Daryl’s breath, the rise and fall of his chest, keeping you in the moment.

Finally, he slows, his steps faltering just a little. You hear the rustle of leaves as he drops to one knee, lowering you gently to the ground beneath a large tree. The bark presses against your back as you slump down, your head resting against the trunk. You feel his presence beside you, his hands still cradling your shoulders as he crouches, breath coming in uneven, shallow puffs.

“Hey,” he rasps, his voice thick with exhaustion and worry. His hand comes up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, his touch gentle but hurried. “You with me?”

You nod faintly, the movement barely there, but it’s enough. The fog is lifting, bit by bit, though the pain remains, sharp and unrelenting. You try to speak, but your voice is still too weak, a croak in the back of your throat. Instead, your hand drifts toward his face, blood-caked fingers brushing against his cheek, where you see more traces of blood smeared across him. His grip tightens around your shoulders, and for a moment, everything narrows to this. You’re both here, both alive.

You hear more footsteps approaching quickly and see Rick crouch down beside you on the other side of the tree, his breath coming fast and heavy.

“—’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice breaking, barely audible. The words scrape out of your throat, raw and anguished. It isn’t just the ghost of Shane’s hands around your neck that tightens your voice, but the sudden rush of guilty tears welling up in your eyes.

You look at Daryl then, your heart twisting at the sight of him. He’s covered in blood, streaked across his face, staining his clothes, and smeared on his skin like a reminder of everything you’ve just fought through, what he must’ve witnessed. Your eyes drift down to yourself, the dark red stains starting to cling and cake to your skin. You’re drenched in it, most of it caking into dry layers of old blood that doesn’t even belong to you.

A walking target for the dead.

The groans of walkers around you grow louder, closer, their presence pressing in from all sides. Rick leans closer, his eyes darting between you and Daryl. “She can’t run on her own yet,” he says in a low, urgent whisper. “Our best option is to go for the barn.”

Daryl gives a sharp nod, glancing around at the approaching walkers. “Ain’t got much time.”

Rick’s hand rests briefly on your shoulder, his voice soft but determined. “We gotta move, now.”

Daryl doesn’t hesitate. He scoops you back up into his arms, your body protesting the sudden movement with flashes of pain, but you grit your teeth and hold on. They take off, Rick leading the way, sprinting across the open yard toward the barn. The dead are everywhere now, stumbling through the shadows, but none have fully noticed you yet.

Not until you’re halfway to the barn.

A low groan sounds from behind, followed by the unmistakable shuffling of feet and the tearing moans of the walkers. You turn your head just enough to see them—several have spotted you, their decaying faces twisted in hunger as they lurch toward you.

“Go, go!” Rick hisses, his steps quickening as the barn looms ahead.

Daryl’s grip tightens around you, his breath heavy in your ear as he pushes harder, moving faster than you thought possible. The barn doors creak open under Rick’s forceful shove, and in a blur of motion, you’re inside. The barn is dark, the air thick with the smell of hay and wood, but it feels like salvation.

Daryl lowers you carefully beside a hay bale, your legs too weak to support you as your body slumps back against the wall. His eyes flick toward you, a flash of concern, but he doesn’t say anything. There’s no time.

“We gotta seal this off,” Rick mutters as he pulls a container of gasoline from the corner. “Get the walkers inside, trap ‘em, burn it all down.”

Daryl nods, already moving toward the other side of the barn to grab another canister. The sound of the dead grows louder outside, their groans a constant reminder of how little time they have. Rick tosses Daryl a lighter, the small clink of metal echoing through the barn as Daryl catches it, pocketing it in one swift motion.

They work fast, pouring gasoline in heavy trails across the barn floor, over the hay, along the walls. You watch them through half-lidded eyes, the exhaustion weighing on you, but your mind races. This is going to be close—too close.

Rick is the first to speak, glancing toward Daryl as he finishes his path with the gas. “Once they’re in, we light it.”

Daryl’s eyes flick to the door. The walkers are pressing closer now, their shadows visible through the cracks in the wooden beams. “Better be ready to move fast,” he grunts.

You take a deep breath, wincing as the pain surges through your ribs. “I can… I can make it out,” you say, though you’re not sure how true that is.

Daryl crouches beside you for just a second, his hand brushing the back of your head, his voice rough but soft. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’ but stay alive, alright?”

Before you can answer, Rick stands up, his hand hovering over the barn door latch. The groans of the dead are practically on top of you now, their hands grabbing for the openings in the wooden slats. The door is being banged against the frame, the weight of them all making it groan. Rick makes a run for it suddenly, letting the horde take over the gasoline soaked barn.

Daryl moves quickly, his movements precise and steady despite the chaos erupting around them. He pulls you back up into his arms, and your hands instinctively latch around his neck as he pulls the lighter from his pocket, flicking it open with a practiced motion. He moves behind Rick out of the tiny backdoor of the old shaft in the back, and brings the flame down to the hay under you. The tiny flame catches the edge of the gasoline trail, and for a split second, the world seems to hold its breath. Then, in one swift motion, Daryl tosses the lighter into the barn, the fire igniting with a loud roar, and the two of them turn on their heel with you in tow. The flames burst up the walls, catching the hay and gasoline-soaked floor, and within seconds, the fire swells, consuming everything inside. The walkers, drawn in by the three of you, but now stuck inside the burning building stumble forward, bursting into flames. Neither Rick or Daryl watch any longer, and you’re out of there within seconds. Daryl’s grip on you is tight as he pulls you through the barn doors, shielding you from the heat and the noise. But as soon as you stumble outside, your eyes widen at the scene before you. The farm is overrun. Everyone is out here, firing at the herd of walkers that have already broken through the fences, taking over the yard.

As the barn crackles behind you, the fire licking up its walls and sending thick plumes of smoke into the air, the sounds of chaos outside grow louder. Tires squeal, kicking up dirt, and the sharp crack of gunshots echo over the property. There are even more walkers everywhere, their groans blending with the frantic shouts of your people fighting for their lives. 

Rick runs forward, shooting at walkers as he goes to find Lori and Carl. Some of the others are in cars zooming past, one person driving, the other with a gun held out the window. They’re trying to take them all on. But it isn’t enough. They’re being overwhelmed, the dead closing in from every direction. Where the hell did all of them come from?

You can’t just do nothing–you can’t just watch everyone fighting for their lives.

“Let me go,” you say, your voice weak but firm as you push against Daryl’s chest.

He shakes his head, his arms locked around you like a vice. “Ain’t happenin’. You’re hurt.”

“I don’t care!” You grit your teeth, your heart pounding as you struggle against him. “I can’t— I can’t just stand here, Daryl. I’m not— I won’t be useless!”

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, frustration boils over. Being carried like a broken thing—it isn’t you. Not now, not with everyone you care about fighting for their lives. You need to do something. Anything.

You fight him harder, your hands pushing against his chest. Despite the shooting pain in your ribs, you buck against his arms, “Let me go!”

Daryl looks down at you, his eyes torn between anger and fear, but something in your voice makes him pause. He lets out a frustrated growl, his grip loosening just enough for you to break free. He sets your legs down gently as you lean on him for balance for a moment, “Damn it, girl,” he mutters, but he doesn’t stop you as you stumble forward, your legs shaking beneath you.

The pain flares, sharp and relentless, but you push through it. Rick is close, reloading his gun, and without thinking, you lunge toward him. He barely has time to register you before you reach for the holster on his belt, pulling the gun free with trembling fingers.

“Y/N—!” Rick starts, his voice full of shock, but you don’t stop. You spin around, raising the gun, your vision blurring for a moment as the pain pulses through your body. But the walkers are everywhere, and there’s no time to think, no time to second-guess.

You squeeze the trigger.

The recoil jolts through your arm, but the walker in your sights crumples to the ground. Another step forward, another shot. You grit your teeth, firing again, ignoring the sharp ache in your chest. Each shot feels like a piece of your body breaking apart, but it doesn’t matter. The walkers keep coming, and you aren’t going to let them take the farm.

Daryl is at your side again, but this time he doesn’t try to pull you away. His crossbow strapped to his back, he holds a pistol in his hands, and you catch the briefest glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye—his focus sharp, his face hard as stone. He’s not happy about you being out here, but he lets you fight. He knows you need this.

The herd presses closer, their rotting bodies stumbling over one another as they move toward the gunfire. You barely notice the searing pain in your side as you fire shot after shot, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

The fire behind you roars, casting an eerie orange glow across the field. The walkers are relentless, but so are you. Through the haze of pain and fear, one thing is clear: you aren’t going down without a fight.

Daryl

“Y/N!” Daryl’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding. “Get to the bike!”

Your head snaps in his direction, but he doesn’t wait for a response. The dead are closing in fast, too fast, and every second counts. His heart pounds in his chest as he grabs your arm, pulling you toward the motorcycle parked just beyond the barn.

The ground beneath you is uneven, littered with debris and bodies, but Daryl’s grip on you is firm, keeping you upright as you stumble, still weak from everything. He can feel the strain in your movements, the way your breath comes in short, shallow gasps, but you don’t protest. You just keep moving, your determination matching his own.

The walkers are everywhere—groaning, reaching, shambling closer—but the bike is in sight now, just a few more steps. Daryl’s eyes flick between you and the horde, his mind racing. He can hear Rick shouting to the others, the gunfire cutting through the night, but all he cares about is getting you out of there alive.

“Almost there,” he grunts, pulling you forward. He doesn’t let go, not even when he feels the heat of your exhaustion through his fingers. “Just a little further.”

The sounds of the walkers are louder now, their guttural groans filling the air as they close in. Daryl’s crossbow is strapped to his back, but there isn’t enough time to stop and fire. He can’t risk it. Not with you barely on your feet.

Finally, you reach the bike.

Daryl swings his leg over the seat in one smooth motion, the leather still warm from the sun despite the cool night air. He glances at you, seeing the strain in your eyes, the blood streaked across your skin, but you don’t hesitate. You climb on behind him, your arms wrapping tight around his waist, holding on like your life depends on it—because it does.

“Hold on,” Daryl mutters, his voice rough, more of an order than a reassurance.

The engine roars to life beneath him, the familiar rumble vibrating through his bones. He guns it, the tires kicking up dirt and gravel as the bike shoots forward. The wind whips against you, but he doesn’t slow down, weaving through the chaos with practiced ease.

Your grip tightens around him, and for a brief second, he glances over his shoulder, just enough to catch the look in your eyes. You’re still fighting—exhausted, hurt—but fighting. And Daryl knows that as long as you’re holding on, as long as you’re with him, he isn’t letting anything happen to you.

Not again.

Daryl drives up alongside the hatchback sedan, the rumble of the motorcycle’s engine merging with the chaotic sounds of gunfire and groaning walkers. Glenn and Maggie are seated in the front, Glenn leaning halfway out the window, firing his gun with rapid precision. Maggie turns her head when she sees you approaching, her face pale but determined.

“We’re gonna draw them out!” Maggie shouts, her voice strained as Glenn continues to fire at the approaching horde. “Trying to get them away from the house and take them down!”

Daryl nods in response, his grip tightening on the handlebars. The roar of the bike surges as he guns the engine, moving forward again. The ground is rough beneath the tires, every jolt and bump sending shockwaves through your aching body, but you hold on.

He stops sharply just ahead of the sedan, and in an instant, both of you have your guns drawn, aiming for the heads of the walkers shambling toward you. The dead are closing in, a relentless swarm of bodies moving toward the sound, toward the people still standing.

“There’s no use in corralling them, we’re gonna run out of ammo before we even make a dent!” you yell, your voice barely carrying over the roar of the bike and the gunfire that cracks through the air.

Daryl doesn’t hesitate, reloading his gun with quick, practiced movements. “Ain’t nobody givin’ up this place just yet,” he shouts back, his voice gruff but steady. He reaches into the motorcycle's pouch, pulling out another gun and loading it as if on autopilot. His eyes never leave the walkers, the focus in his expression sharp as he raises his weapon and fires, dropping another one of the dead.

You follow suit, your hands trembling slightly from the pain and exhaustion, but you force yourself to stay steady. The shots ring out, hitting their marks, but the dead keep coming. The sheer number of them feels overwhelming, but you know what Daryl said is true. This place—Hershel’s farm—is the last real home anyone has left. No one is ready to give it up.

But suddenly, that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore. Your eyes dart toward the house, and you see Carol, Lori, Patricia, and Beth sprinting toward the blue truck. You see them getting cut off by walkers, Patricia pulled down in a horrific scene of one ripping at her throat and neck. The women keep making their way to the truck before it peels off onto the dirt road, kicking up dust in its wake. The sound of tires squealing sends a chill through your veins.

“Daryl, we have to go—it’s time to go!” you shout, your voice tight with urgency.

He turns to look at you, his gaze pained as he catches sight of the cars leaving the farm, their taillights vanishing into the growing darkness. For a moment, it seems like defeat is closing in, like there’s no choice but to follow them. But then, a scream—a sharp, terrified scream—cuts through the air, piercing the chaos like a knife.

Daryl’s head snaps toward the sound. You sit quickly in the seat behind him as, without hesitation, he puts the bike into gear, his body tense as he speeds off, following the direction of the scream.

Carol is running along the fenceline, her steps stumbling, barely managing to stay upright as tears stream down her face. How did she manage to get separated from the others? Panic and exhaustion radiate from her as she runs, her movements frantic. Daryl guns the engine, peeling the bike in front of her to cut off her path. Dust swirls around you as the tires kick up dirt, but Daryl doesn’t stop there.

He jumps off the bike in one fluid motion, grabbing you without warning and swinging you around him. Your legs instinctively find his hips, your thighs wrapping tightly as he holds you in place. His hands grip your legs firmly, and you quickly lock your arms around his neck for balance. Before you have time to question what’s happening, Daryl is back on the bike, his voice cutting through the noise.

“C’mon! We ain’t got all day!” he yells, his tone gruff but filled with urgency as he waves Carol over.

She’s sobbing, her face streaked with dirt and tears, but she pushes herself forward, picking up the pace. She stumbles toward the bike, her breath ragged, and when she finally reaches you, she collapses behind Daryl, gripping at his waist like he’s her last lifeline.

You sit in Daryl’s lap, your body pressed against his chest, and you find yourself facing Carol’s tear-streaked face. Her eyes are wide, filled with fear and desperation, and without thinking, you reach out. Your blood-caked hand touches hers, and her trembling fingers grip yours in return, holding on tightly.

“Hold on,” Daryl mutters, his voice low as the bike rumbles beneath you.

You hold on tight as the bike roars beneath you, but your eyes stay locked past Carol and to the barn, its flames licking at the night sky. The fire consumes it whole, collapsing in on itself, as walkers swarm the farm like ants overtaking everything. The smell of smoke and ash fills your senses, and as the bike speeds away, the farm—your last bit of safety—disappears in the distance, swallowed by the flames and the dead. You stare at the roaring flames until your body can’t take it anymore, and the pull of unconsciousness finally drags you under.

[hellbornsworld]

JUNGKOOK WATTPAD RECOMMENDATIONS(3)₊˚✧ ﾟ.🐈‍⬛˚₊‧꒰ა ‧₊˚

˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀

🫧 Room 1997 | Ghost!Jungkook X OC | Gore | 34 Chapters | Duration-2h 27m | Completed

"Would you dare to go inside?"

🫧 cold world | General!Jungkook X Prisoner!OC | 𝗪𝗔𝗥 𝗔𝗨 ❦ 𝟮𝟬𝟰𝟰 | Dictatorship and Democracy | 40 Chapters | Duration-15h 58 m | Completed

❝The moment I put this ring on your finger, you became my property.❞

🫧 𝐒𝐄𝐗 & 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | CEO!Jungkook X Employee!Reader | Fuckboy JK | Completed | Re-Uploaded in inkitt

"Do me Jungkook, p-please."

"With all the pleasure. I will fuck you, only fuck you with everything I have."

🫧 Two Percent Straight | Gay!Jungkook X Crossdresser!Reader | Side-Jimin X Reader | Crack AU | 75 Chapters | Duration-4h 45m | Completed

"I'm just 2 % straight y/n, but I can love you more than a hundred percent straight man"

🫧 HOLIDAY AFFAIR  | Husband!Jungkook X Wife!OC | PJM Vs JJK | Crack | 24 Chapters | Duration-3h 7m | Completed

"Admit it Jungkook, she'd rather sleep with me." Jimin Vs Jungkook

🫧 His Hostage | Mafia!Jungkook X Reader | Re-uploaded by other author | Duration-16h 57m | 85 Chapters | Ongoing

"fuck yourself... and let me watch"

🫧 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 | greaser!Jungkook x soc!reader | 1950S AU | 20 Chapters | Duration-2h 17m | Completed

❝She's a delicate little flower, hyung,❞ Jungkook grabs his leather jacket and slips it on. ❝And if anyone is going to hear sinful moans pass those innocent lips, it'll be me.❞

🫧 broken ghosts | Ghost!Jungkook X OC | Angst | 32 Chapters | Duration-4h 5m | Completed

"i have died everyday waiting for you."

"i should be the one lying next to you at night."

🫧 𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 | Jungkook X Stipper!OC | College AU | Dark | 131 Chapters | Duration-20h 6m | Completed

What's wrong with being a little chaotic? -J JK

🫧 𝗥𝗲𝗱 | Mafia+Ceo!JK X Reader | 53 Chapters | Duration-8h 18m | Ongoing

"That dress-" he says, eyes raking down your body. "-is 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 fucking distracting."

🫧 A Little Burden | Jungkook X Reader | 36 Chapters | Duration-3h 35m | Completed

I still remember that day clearly.....every night it comes back to me like a nightmare. The small fragile human getting pushed into my arms. Tears streaming down my face as I looked at her....Doctors storming in from everywhere trying everything they could to keep her alive. The look in her eyes she gave me made me break inside.

She knew she wasn't going to make it.

She smiled at me and took one last look at her child before speaking.

🫧 secret admirer | JK X OC | Angst | 101 Chapters | Duration-9m | Completed

" notice me senpai " - jjk

🫧 THE SACRIFICE | Yandere!Jungkook X Reader | Angst Abuse | 46 Chapters | Duration-6h 27m | Completed

A child must be sacrificed in order for the city to gain its happiness. a tale when doom and love are two sides of the same coin.

🫧 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘 | clone!Jungkook x reader | Clone Au | 20 Chapters | Duration-2h 11m | Completed

When the doctor tells the Jeon's that their newborn Jungsoo could die due to his premature birth, Mr. Jeon decides to clone him as soon as possible.

To their surprise, Jungsoo is able to grow up happy and healthy along with his clone, Jungkook, who's the total opposite of him.

🫧 petals  | BF!Jungkook X GF!Reader | Childhood Sweethearts | Fluff | 28 Chapters | Duration-39m | Completed

❝ -How much is your daughter? ❞

Jungkook loves food and computer games, but compare to those two you are his favorite thing in this world.

🫧 HELLBORN | LuciferSon!Jungkook X Human!Reader | Crack | 15 Chapters | Duration-2h 21m | Completed

He is the spitting image of an Angel but the blood in his veins is that of the Devil's.

🫧 Once More | Ex!Jungkook X OC | Angst | 33 Chapters | Duration-4h 22m | Completed

❝Your son, he looks very similar to Jungkook...❞

Leave it to a 3-year-old to bring two parents back together.

🫧 ROSES | Jungkook X OC | Angst | 54 Chapters | Duration-3h | Completed

❝ she slipped away the same way the velvet box slipped in my hand ❞ she was oddly peculiar and pure mystery yet, he still finds the refuge of feeling at "home" to the mute girl whom he met at the seaside.

🫧 The Prince & The Servant Girl | BFF+Prince!Jungkook X Servant!Reader | Childhood Au | 64 Chapters | Duration-7h 48m | Completed

A prince and servant girl grew up together in a castle. Best friends for life until that love as friends changed to something more. All was well until the prince was to be married and everything changed. Forever forbidden to be together but can one fateful reunion change everything?

🫧 Angel Beside Him | Jungkook X Reader | Angst | 48 Chapters | Duration-6h 24m | Completed

"Jeon Jungkook, I like you." You said, your eyes wide and cheeks on fire. You finally had the guts to tell your long time crush what you feel about him. Jungkook smiled, giving you a spark of hope and a wash of relief. Or maybe it was a false hope or just him being kind as he says, "I'm sorry but I'm already in a relationship."

🫧 Monstrously Sinful Love | Younger!Jungkook X Older!OC | AgeGap | 71 Chapters | Duration-9h 49m | Completed

"...Kookie" she calls that's when Kookie's small little hands tugged onto his mother's sleeve's pulling her to look at him.

"what's wrong Kookie?"

❝I want to buy her❞

🫧 That Awkward Magic | Werewolf!JK X Witch!Reader | Crack AU | 42 Chapters | Duration-4h 1m | Completed

"You smell very nice."

"Are you...trying to flirt or something?"

A socially awkard witch has to struggle with being the sudden love (?) interest of a wolf shifter

🫧 "IDC, BABY" | Jungkook X Reader | GangRivals | 21 Chapters | Duration-1h 16m | Ongoing

"If they catch us, they will kill us."

"I don't give a fuck right now, baby."

🫧 On.line | Staker!Jungkook X Camgirl!Reader | Dark | 38 Chapters | Duration-5h 36m | Republishing

"I don't call myself a pornstar, but I'm pretty famous on Live Babes (LB). I make money doing what people ask from me and they are mainly men, married man. Some even gave a wife or kids. But I don't care about that at all. The only thing I want is to continue earn their money. Oh! It's already 9PM! Don't forget to watch the show!"

"I can't wait, princess." -J.JK

🫧 Overmorrow | Idol!Jungkook X Reader | Crack | 33 Chapters | Duration-2h 8m | Completed

What would you do if one day you woke up as Jeon Jungkook?

🫧His Gangster Girl | Jungkook X Gangster!Reader | 68 Chapters | Duration-8h 57m | completed

'She is a maze with no escape.'

🫧 Fuck It List | BFF!Jungkook X Reader | 60 Chapters | Duration-5h 30m | Completed

• Go skinny-dipping

• Have a make-out session

• Try foreplay with ice .....

˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀➷˖°࿐ •⁀

MASTERLIST is here for other recommendations

[aethon-recs]

This Week in Tomarrymort (7 – 15 August 2024)

Testing out a new format for recs! Trying this out as I don’t always have time to put together detailed themed rec lists, and there’s always SO MUCH good fic getting published every day on AO3. So these are all either ongoing Tomarrymort fics that I’m subscribed to or new one shots that I found while browsing that were updated in the last week. 

My goal is to compile these lists on Fridays, so that everyone has lots of juicy fic to read going into the weekend 🤍 I find myself missing updates all the time, so I hope this will be a helpful compilation of updates of must-read ongoing fic that you may have missed! Happy reading. 

Also, I didn't even realize so much Tomarrymort fic gets updated every week until I sat down and started doing this. Like, this is why I don't have a life, because I spend all my time reading AO3 (and I'm sure many of you feel the same way 😅) The incredible range of talent and insane output in this ship is absolutely awe-inspiring and breathtaking.

*

Tomarrymort One Shots and Completed Fics

One Shot | Heartbeats by @cyandenial

One Shot | yours forever, harry by i_am_a_tree

One Shot | Quid Pro Quo by anonymous

One Shot | Expelliarmus Red by @poljupci

One Shot | Black Fire by sparrowshellcat

One Shot | Let's never wake up (Stay With Me) by @blackseatwenty

One Shot | And all the devils are here by @i-dream-of-libraries

Chapter 9 (complete) of Fourth: The Ritual's Consequence by @ramabear

Chapter 2 (complete) of Tom Riddle's DIY Disaster by @sri-verse

Chapter 9 (complete) of Still Into You by @moontearpensfic

*

Tomarrymort Ongoing Fics

Chapter 7 and 8 of Sits the wind in that quarter by @mosiva

Chapter 5 of Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse

Chapter 23 of would that i'd loved (long ago) by @sprst1tion

Chapter 21 of Paved With the Best Intentions by @perhaps-sunlight

Chapter 17 of A Simple Request by @shyinsunlight

Chapter 2 of Cane Sugar by @blogalinda @cindle-writes @reggieblk @telectronique

Chapter 9 of Catching up by lemonchase

Chapter 9 of Shattered by Flipdarkchill

Chapters 1 and 2 of Saint Harry by @alenablack @chaos-bear

Chapter 3 of Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic 

Chapter 9 of a touch of fate by @virgil-anon 

Chapter 1 of Atonement [Tomarry Edition] by @just-a-whorecrux

Chapter 3 of the scar remains by @noctelier

Chapters 5 and 6 of we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands by @boyneptunee

Chapter 14 of When time and reasons fail by citrumade

Chapter 7 of Every Trick in the Book by tomrddle

Chapter 17 of Occultation by TimaeusKosmou

Chapter 2 of the vault by @milkandmoon-ao3

Chapter 16 of Pledged by @moontearpensfic 

Chapter 7 of A Snake in the Grass by @teaandsweaters9

Chapter 11 of Outrunning the Villain in You by @zenyteehee

Chapter 3 of Moon Rite by @isalisewrites

Chapter 2 of These Fragments We've Shored by @rowena-rain

Chapter 110 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapter 36 of Revolution of Configured Stars by @tollingreminiscentbells

Chapter 28 of Part One - The Solitude of Suffering by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapters 11 and 12 of Learning to love by @l-archiduchesse

Chapter 9 of sandpaper kisses, paper cut bliss by @xodahafez

Chapter 5 of Do It Over by @thefangirlibrarian

Chapter 1 of Dark Water by Dariahn

Chapter 17 of What In Me Is Dark, Illumine by @telelli-writes

*

[ashblooddragons]

My Heart, My Ruin (Chapter 6/?)

Dragonstone

36 ac

Rhaellas pov

We all stand in front of the funeral pyre where Grandsire lays dead. He passed in his sleep with a smile on his face, Father says it's because he's with Rhaenys again. 

It's a lovely thought, and probably true, but I know Aunt Visenya won't like it. She never did like how close Rhaenys and Grandsire were, but she accepted it. 

I try not to move much, I started my moonsblood just the night before and all I have to say is I'm glad I'm wearing black. 

I remember the first time I woke up with my moonsblood. It was a moon after Maegor's wife passed, I woke up in excruciating pain in my lower abdomen. When I lifted my covers to call for a maester I saw blood, so much blood from my core. I don't care how many lessons a girl has about their moonsblood, she will never be ready for that sight.

So here I stand as a Valyrian Septon chants as blood leaks from my core and feeling like a knife is twisting in my belly. 

I was a sobbing mess when I heard Grandsire passed, but none was as broken as Father or Aunt Visenya. For his Father has left him, he has no one to guide him besides courtiers. And Visenya has lost her final sibling, the only other person who understood what she felt when they conquered Westeros. They both lost someone dear, but I only lost a Grandsire who barely spoke to me if he didn't have to.

He always preferred Aegon and Viserys over me and Rhaena. From what Mother says he was trying to convince Father to marry another seeing as Mother had two pregnancies and failed to give him a son. Thank the gods Father ignored him. 

I breathe in the cold salty air that always has a darker edge that you can only find here. I've always loved the smell here, Mother and Aegon prefer the scent Driftmark brings with it's spices and overwhelming saltiness that seems to stick to your skin. 

Rhaena grips my arm as Vhagar moves forward to light the pyre. She was hit the hardest out of me and my siblings. She always wanted his attention, wanted to feel his love that he always gave Aegon and Visery. But no matter how hard she tried, he probably wouldn't be able to tell us apart. 

“Just a bit longer Rhaena, then you never have to feel his disappointment again.” I whisper to her as she glares at the pyre. 

With one look at her I saw the rage and fire in her violet eyes. I knew her sobs weren't because she lost Grandsire, it was because she would never be able to show him, he was wrong about our worth. To prove we are more than just broad mares that only need to be wed off. 

“We're more than he ever thought of us, we are the riders of Dreamfyre and Meraxes. We don't need him to be breathing to prove him wrong. Because there are more like him, and we'll show them, we'll show them why they bent their knees to Grandsire. Not because of him, but because of his sisters.” I swear and Rhaena nods as she stands straighter watching as Vhagar lights the late King's pyre turning him into worthless ash in the wind.

I watch as courtiers who never even spoke to my Grandsire sob and talk about how wonderful he was. I have to fight a scoff each time someone stops me saying how sorry they are and how he was a good man. 

You would think he didn't burn their homes to the ground if they didn't bend the knee. I think as I roll my eyes as a drunk lord I know never even saw my Grandsire talk about how amazing he was.

I finally find the person I was dying to speak to since the news had reached my ears. I waste no time making my way over to the balcony he is leaning against.

I already know what he is looking at before I even reach him. “He is now riderless, a dragon without a rider is a cruel joke.” I say as I watch Balerion sleep where we had just burned his rider. 

Maegor shakes his head with a sigh. “No, it is too soon.” 

This peaks my interest as I turn to look up at him. His jaw is set in a tense line, his eyes are set on the dragon and with one glance I can see the embers of an inferno burning within them. I know he may say it it is too soon, but I also know he doesn't care anymore. 

“And who made the rules on when you can claim a dragon? What is it he used to say, ‘you claim or you die? And a Targaryen without a dragon isn't a Targaryen at all’?” I say knowing the quote will hit close to home for him, for it always did for me until I claimed my Meraxes.

He only hums as he looks down at me. I fight the blush that threatens to rise to cheeks as he pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Tell me, what does it feel like when you claim a dragon?” 

I think about his question as he turns back to stare at the Black Dread. “It feels like your soul is complete. It feels like home, like the world could burn but as long as you have that beast you could make it.” 

He hums and looks down at me again before turning back to the dragon we both know he will claim in the coming days, if not tonight.

I take this as a sign that the conversation has ended, but I have one final thing to say. “I don’t know if he loved you, I hope he did but Grandsire never was good at showing you his affection. But I want to know, you don’t need him, you have proven yourself beyond what anyone could imagine already. And you much farther to go, you don’t need him, never did, and neither did I.” 

And with that I turn on my heals leaving him to his brooding and thoughts. If only we knew of the darkness on the horizons, maybe my brothers would still be here, maybe it would be Rhaena as Queen instead of me. But of course these are just maybes, and there is nothing we could have done. For how are you to defend yourself from a threat you didn’t know was coming?

Series Masterlist

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @sachaa-ff @athzhowakar @thelastemzy @themoonlitquill

[stylesispunk]

"I couldn't want you anymore" part 5

Artist! Joel Miller x Florist! Reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next

summary: when Sarah's mom comes back into Joel's life to fight for their past relationship, Joel needs to convince her he is in a happy relationship with the florist next to his gallery in order to make her go away. The problem is, that he and the florist can't stand each other's guts or that it's what he thinks.

warning: age gap (Joel is 36 and reader is 28). Remember that "Bee" is reader's nickname, fluff, some feelings are being confessed (again), angst (poor reader) mentions of an accident, and conflicted emotions.

a/n: This one is more than 6k. I don't love this one as the last one, but I wanted to deliver this one to you. Sorry for the drama during this chapter, I was PMSing haha. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, please share your thoughts with me, I love reading your comments and send ne any ask if you want ❤️ Sorry for any grammar mistake.💌 p.s the first line is a reference to all too well 😭

masterlist

After 3 long months in the grave. The flowers died of thirst. The place that once seemed full of life, now it was an empty street of broken pieces left behind by your ghost, and for Joel, passing by your shop every day seemed to be the hardest task of his life.

As time passed by, the cobblestones outside your shop remained empty, echoing the silence of what once was the first page of you and him. Joel couldn’t help but wonder how he had let something as precious as that slipped through his fingers, a regret that would haunt him for a long time to come. 

Meanwhile, you found yourself far away from the streets of that life. Still in town, but trying to leave behind any trace of him and the painful memories of the night Joel broke your heart.

Your place now was next to Connell. After your castle crumbled, he was there, and before life separated the both of you, he fit in your life. He built the fire to kept you warm after the storm that left you stranded, and both of you had made the decision to give your love story a second chance. This time, taking tiny steps to build a steady castle. After all, he acted like a prince, taking you out on dates, and expressing his affection through gestures that left you feeling unworthy of his kindness. 

 You had become someone you weren’t. The one with the knife, a liar.

And these few weeks leading up to your new life in London were fulfilled by different emotions. You were busy taking care of some things, closing down your flower shop, and making arrangements for your upcoming journey. It was a bittersweet time filled with farewells to old friends, packing up your life, and starting to write the pages of your new book.  

But you still thought of Joel, the memories of him were hard to erase. He remained a lingering presence in your thoughts. You could still see you both lost in those memories, but it was never real. You shared something that didn’t work beyond words and fake actions for the world to see. And you just hated your persistent temptation to ask what would be different if you had never let those three words escaped from your lips. You may still have moments together, he may still have been part of you, but at what cost?

During the course of these three months, Lily and Tommy got together. The news left you speechless at the beginning. You were happy for them even when it was unexpected. You never saw the signs or you were just mesmerized by the other Miller to even notice Tommy was making his way through your best friend’s heart. Now, they were building their own love story, creating a heartwarming contrast to your journey. Their relationship served as a reminder that love could be found in different places. 

But for you, moving on wasn’t easy. The pain of a broken heart, mixed with the sweet memories you were leaving behind alongside the life you once knew, weighed heavily on your mind. And the biggest fear heightening over your shoulders was the intense fear of hurting Connell. 

Connell, the one thing you did right in your life. The man you knew you wanted to marry once you met him, who had always treated you right. The thought of causing him to regret you because of pain was almost unbearable.

You knew he deserved nothing but happiness, and you wondered if your relationship with Joel had permanently damaged your capacity to truly commit to and reciprocate his love.

Of course, you loved him, but you just weren’t in love with him.

And you found yourself almost every night deeply sighing in the middle of the night, wondering if Joel was still up thinking about you the same way you still thought about him. And you bet he thought you still hated him, even when you had spent the last three months thinking about the minimal chance of him coming back to you, asking for your forgiveness, and stopping you from going to another country to start a new life. 

But after three months, he had gone radio silent, and you were dreaming about him touching your face, asking if you wanted to try it for real this time.

And you despise yourself for it.

You had Connell giving you all his love, and you were becoming a knife ripping his heart.

Connell had been the one in charge of helping you to sell your shop, as you didn’t want to spend the time in that place and accidentally running into Joel.

Saying goodbye to the place you made so many memories was hitting hard on you, and you could see the love and concern in Connell’s eyes as he told he had managed the sale. Nevertheless, he spared you from details of the buyer’s identity and only walked straight to your room without uttering more words. He carried the weight of this decision on your behalf.

the next day, when he was supposed to go to the shop and give the new owner the keys of your now ex-flower shop. An emergency call prevented him from going, so he told you to go instead. 

And you couldn’t lie, even when you had decided to distance yourself from your shop and everything associated with your past, the thought of saying a final goodbye in person didn’t seem like a bad idea. You wonder about the new owner's identity, the person who would now hold the keys to a place that had been a special of your life. 

As you stood outside the shop, you took a deep breath to steady your trembling hands, so you stepped inside. The familiar scent of what was left of the flowers that once adorned the place, and the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the windows, made your heart break at the thought of leaving. 

But in the end, your eyes fell upon the last person you expected to see, Joel. He seemed just as taken aback as you were. 

“Bee,” he said, softly,  making himself believe you were in front of him.

Your name seemed foreign slipping through his lips, the same ones brushing over your skin not long. 

You even feared speaking and risking another goodbye.

For a moment, time stopped, as if the world outside these walls didn’t exist. Your heart pounded in your chest.

Your heart raced as your eyes locked onto his, and a mix of emotions surged within you.

"Joel," you finally managed to say, your voice carrying surprise. His presence stirred memories, both beautiful and painful, and it was hard for you to face them. "What are you doing here?"

Joel hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a sign of understanding. "I… Connell sold your shop to Tommy” he said. 

Your heart constricted at the mention of Connell selling the shop to Tommy. You knew there was more behind that statement. You had gotten to know Joel to know he was lying through his teeth right now, but you had rather ignore that feeling settling in your heart. 

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

"Tommy bought the shop?" you asked, trying to wrap your head around the situation.

Joel nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. "Yes, he did. He thought it would be nice since you love this place so much.”

That stirred a mix of emotions within you, but you pushed them aside for the moment. “And why are you here instead?

“He couldn’t make it and I thought Connell was coming” Joel answered, "But it’s nice to see you.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and the weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air between you and Joel. The past few weeks, becoming in three months , had left their mark, and you weren't sure how to navigate life with those permanent wounds. 

Joel's presence, felt so strange to you now. The familiarity of his face, his voice, and the way he looked at you brought back a flood of memories of the stolen kisses you found yourself missing so much. 

“When are you leaving?” He asked, knowing that this would be the last time he was going to be able to have you in front of him. 

“In a week” you answered shortly. 

Joel's heart sank at the confirmation. He had everything in his hands to prevent the end of your story, but he didn’t want to stop you from finding peace and happiness in the arms of a man who truly deserved you in every way. You had chosen to start a new chapter in London with Connell, and he was the character from a chapter you were leaving behind.

He looked at you, searching for something in your eyes, a glimpse of the love you told him you felt for him. But it was hard to read your emotions. You felt a foreigner before his eyes. 

"I see," he replied, trying to hide the pain in his voice.

The room felt heavy with unsaid words and unfinished written pages. You both had left things unsaid, Joel especially, and the future was uncertain. You couldn't help but feel the pull of what once was, even as you tried to move forward with your life.  

Joel realized he had to make his peace with your decision. He had been given a chance to say those three words, three months ago, and he had to accept that he had ruined his opportunity with you. Your upcoming goodbye was a reminder that time was running out for him to say what needed to be said.

"Bee, I won't hold you back," he said, his voice gentle. "But before you go, there's something I need to tell you."

Your gaze met his, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. There was a vulnerability in him that you had rarely seen. Joel's next words would be crucial and may be a turning point for both of you.

As Joel was on the edge of saying something, the door chimed softly as it opened.

It was Connell. His entrance created an unexpected interruption, and the atmosphere grew tense.

You shared a brief glance with Joel, and the weight of the unspoken words lingered heavily.

Joel addressed Connell first; his voice laced with an attempt to save you from any problem. "We were just saying goodbye.”

Connell acknowledged this with a nod but couldn't shake the feeling that he had walked into something else.  

“I thought you were busy,” you said to Connell, walking to his side.

“I finished earlier” he gave you a small smiled as he touched one of your arms “You can wait for me outside” he told you, trying to give you reassurance.

You nodded, glancing one last time at Joel, the tension remained inside the room, and the words Joel had been on the verge of sharing with you were left hanging in the air.

And you finally exited the room, saying your last goodbye to Joel without uttering a word. 

Once you left the shop, Connell spoke first, his voice carrying a serious tone "Joel, I know you want her to forgive you, but I want you to know that she's important to me and I love her."

Joel nodded, understanding the weight of Connell's words. "I know, Connell. And you've been good to her. I've seen that."

Connell hesitated, searching Joel's eyes for sincerity. "She deserves to be happy.” 

Joel's gaze was unwavering as he replied, "I know she does. And if that means she's happier with you, then I won't stand in the way."

Connell kept silence for a moment. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Joel shook his head.

“Thank you. She would have killed me if she knew I sold the shop to you”, Connell said, with a tint of humor in his tone. 

Joel managed a small smile at Connell's comment. It was an attempt to lighten the atmosphere even though the underlying tension remained. "I wouldn't have wanted to give her another reason to be mad at me."

Connell nodded in understanding. "I appreciate that, Joel. I just want her to have a fresh start, free from all this mess”

Joel's gaze turned thoughtful. "I want that too, Connell. She deserves to move on and be happy."

Connell looked at Joel for a moment. “You made her happy too. Don’t blame yourself too hard, Joel” 

Joel met Connell's gaze, gratitude and sadness intertwined in his eyes. "Thank you, Connell. It means a lot to hear that from you."

The two men shared a silent moment, the weight of feeling they both share for you intertwined lives somehow.

Joel took a deep breath, finally breaking the silence. "I should get going. You both have a new life to start."

Connell extended his hand, and Joel shook it firmly. "Take care of her, Connell."

Connell nodded; his grip steady. "I will, Joel. And you take care of yourself too."

With that, Joel turned and walked away, leaving behind the memories he shared with you inside this place, the first stolen glances, the fighting, the laughter, and the cups of coffee you left for him every morning. All that being left behind, buried.  

As Joel stepped out of the shop, he turned and locked eyes with you for what felt like the last time. The weight on both of your hearts hung in the air. In that fleeting moment, your gazes held longing and hurt. You were the tear hanging inside his heart. 

And Joel's eyes searched yours for a final glimpse of love. He had wanted to say so much, but the timing had never been right, and now it was too late, but he hoped that you’d find your way back in the end. 

You met his gaze with sadness and understanding. There was something about him that made your heart clench. He had been the man who touched your soul before your skin, and how would it be possible for you to forget about that?

You offered a small nod, and he returned it in kind, sharing that secret language you both learned, as a silent goodbye. 

Was that “I love you” the worst thing he had ever heard?

And then, as quickly as it had begun, Joel turned and walked away, disappearing into the distance. The chapter you had shared was closing, and as he faded from view, you knew it was time to look ahead, to embrace the new beginning that awaited next to Connell miles away. 

Connell watched that unspoken interaction and sensed the weight on your shoulders. He walked over to you, and gently pressed a kiss on your forehead, as a tender gesture, a silent promise of a future without wounds to take care of.  With his kiss, he silently looked for reassurance that you weren’t having second thoughts. 

.....

The warmth of the evening had set the perfect backdrop for a dinner in the backyard. You and Connell had prepared a delightful spread of chicken, grilled vegetables, and a bottle of wine that Connell had selected for sharing with your friends. Lily and Tommy sat around the wooden patio table, the soft glow of string lights overhead casting a warm glow.

As Tommy and Connell got engrossed in a conversation about their favorite sports teams, you and Lily found yourselves drawn to the quieter solace of the backyard. There, under the starry sky, you could speak without being overheard.

You looked at them, attentive, with a serious expression, your eyes reflected the soft, flickering light.  

Lily glanced at you; concern etched across her face. "A penny for your thoughts, Bee bee?” 

You took a deep breath, “I think I’m a little bit nervous about next week.” 

Lily's eyes filled with understanding as she listened intently. “Nervous about London? Or leaving Joel behind?”

Your gaze shifted, and you looked at Lily with surprise. It was as if she had read your thoughts, as always. You nodded slowly. "Both, actually.” 

Lily leaned in closer, her voice a soft, comforting murmur. "Bee, it's okay to have mixed feelings. Leaving behind a place and someone who meant so much to you is never easy. But it's also the beginning of this new adventure with Connell."

You sighed, feeling grateful for Lily's understanding. She made you feel at ease with your racing thoughts. “I just wish it were simpler, you know? I don't want to hurt anyone. I couldn’t forgive myself if I hurt Connell” 

At that moment, your and Connell's gazes met from the distance. He gave you a big smile which you mirrored, but it didn’t reach your eyes. 

You felt Lily’s hand on yours as a gesture of reassurance. “You have a big heart, Bee. Connell loves you for who you are. Trust in that."

Lily's words were a soothing balm to your worried mind. Her support and the warm of her friendship alongside the starry evening created a special moment in her last days in this place. You knew that leaving the past behind was never a straightforward journey, but it was reassuring to have a friend who understood your complexities.

As Connell's gaze met yours and you exchanged smiles, once again, you realized that your anxieties didn't mean you loved him any less. The weight of the past could coexist with the past, and maybe you could learn how to fall in love with him again. 

Joel managed a fragile smile, and he held your hand as if it were the lifeline he needed at that moment.

Sarah and Tommy lingered in the doorway, watching the two of you with tiny smiles on their faces. 

Joel spoke softly, "I'm sorry for worrying you, Bee."

You shook your head, your voice filled with genuine concern. "Don’t say anything” you said as you laid your head on his chest, as if hearing the beating of his heart would reassure you, he was going to be okay.

As you leaned your head against Joel's chest, seeking comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you didn't notice Connell watching the two of you from the hospital lobby. His expression was unreadable. There was concern, understanding, and a tinge of jealousy. 

Connell had supported you through everything since you both were eighteen years old, and he loved you deeply. But seeing you in this moment with Joel stirred emotions within him that he couldn't fully process, leaving a siren in his mind.

Sarah and Tommy decided to leave the room, giving the two of you some privacy. Joel's hand gently rested on your back, his fingers tracing comforting patterns down your spine as if his fingers were brushes tracing lines on your back.

Joel spoke again "Bee, I know I've made a mess of things, but I want you to know that you mean a lot to me. More than I can put into words."

You didn't respond with words. Instead, you tightened your grip on him, holding him close, and Connell remained in the background, his thoughts and feelings his own, as you and Joel found peace in each other's presence. 

Once you were back home, you were awfully quiet for Connell’s like. He had seen the way your face sparkled when you were with Joel in his room, how you held him tight, and how you seemed terrified at the thought of losing him.

It was the moment in which Connell realized he wasn’t the one anymore, but he didn’t want to admit it. He wanted to hold onto the memories. 

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked you, trying to make you talk.

Connell's voice pulled you out of the storm inside your mind since your arrival from the hospital. You turned to face him, offering a faint smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"I'm okay, Connell," you replied, though your tone carried a hint of sadness. "Just a lot to process."

He nodded; concern showed across his features. "I understand. It's a lot to take in. But you know I'm here for you, right?"

You appreciated Connell's support more than you could express. He had been a rock in your life. It was just the reappearance of Joel after these three months and the accident had stirred up a multitude of feelings you thought didn’t exist. 

"I do,” you said, reaching out to take his hand. "You've been amazing, and I love you for that."

Connell's smile brightened at your words, and he squeezed your hand gently. "I love you too” he declared as he kissed your temple, as a way to find reassurance. 

You hugged Connell tightly as if to reassure yourself that you were still grounded in the present, even as the past loomed large in your heart and mind.

But for Connell, the pages were clearly written and he knew your heart didn’t belong to him anymore. 

One week later, and the night before your departure for London, everything seemed bittersweet around you. You were finished packing what was the last of your belongings, and the weight of leaving your life behind was the heavier suitcase you were carrying.

During the last week, you didn’t see Joel. All the updates about his recovery were through Lily, and the only thing you knew was that he had been dispatched from the hospital today.

You really wanted things between Connell and you to work out, so you made your promise to not see Joel again in order to do that. That night in the hospital was the goodbye you needed, and that was it. He was okay, so you were okay. You had bled, but your wounds would heal sooner than later. 

Nevertheless, Connell had been watching your movements for the last few days, and now, as you were carefully folding your clothes and going through the last-minute preparations. He found the strength to speak up. 

"There's something I've been thinking about," Connell began, his eyes reflecting the depths of his feelings.

You paused in your packing, looking into Connell's eyes, eager to hear what he had to say. "What is it?”

Connell took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. " I don't want to be the reason for your regrets."

Your heart pounded in your chest as Connell spoke, tears welled up in your eyes. 

“You love him,” he said in a breathy voice. 

He wasn’t thinking about himself anymore, or where you would go after this, he was thinking about you. 

“Connell, we’re leaving tomorrow. I’m with you and I love you” you whispered, trying to convince him, and mostly yourself at the same time. 

Connell nodded, his own eyes brimming with tears. "You love me, I know, but you’re not in love with me.” 

You wiped away a tear, your voice trembling. "Connell"

“You’re in love with Joel and he is in love with you”, he declared.

As much as he was devasted by the thought of letting you go, he wanted you to be happy. He would give you everything, even when he would be a little in between for a while.

You shook your head. “He isn’t.”

“Then why did he buy your shop?”

“What?” Your eyes widened. You felt shocked and confused. “Why?”

Connell reached out and took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "I think he did it because he thought you would come back and because he is in love with you.” 

Connell gazed at you with a mixture of sadness and love. "And I love you enough to let you go” " He said “You need more time to figure things out, and I don’t want you to go with me if you can’t do that.”

His words pierced your heart. 

“I don’t want you to hate me,” you said, whispering. 

Connell chuckled softly, Connell squeezed your hand gently, and then he cupped your face with his hand to look at you in the eyes. “Nothing you say or you do would make me hate you” You leaned in his touch and hugged him tightly, crying on his shoulder.

“I love you more than I could express.” You mumbled.

Connell held you tightly, his embrace filled with love, even though he knew it was time to let you go. His heart was heavy.

And the next morning, with one last, lingering kiss, you and Connell let each other go. You watched him boarding the plane, and as it took off, your eyes watered, you let your tears fall down your cheeks.

That plane carried Connell away from your life again, and you held onto the final image of Connell, offering a gentle wave and a bittersweet smile, muttering an “I love you” at you before disappearing from your sight. 

Once you got in your car, you felt the weight of your emotions pressing down on you like a heavy blanket suffocating you. All the love, guilt, sadness, and anger crunched your heart, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

In the spare of seconds, Joel came to your mind and you felt anger surging through your veins like fire. You couldn’t help but blame him for ruining the opportunity you had to move on. You questioned yourself why you still wanted to go back to him and why he was coming back to you in your dreams as if he wanted to taunt you, and your frustration grew.

With a burning feeling settled in your chest, you made your way to Joel's house. You couldn't understand why he had bought your shop, why he had disrupted your life once again, so once you arrived, you stormed out of the car, determined to confront him. 

 You stood at his doorstep, your knuckles brushing against the wood, your heart pounding in your chest. When the door opened, there he stood, still bandaged from the accident. He looked surprised at seeing you here. 

"Joel," you began, your voice laced with anger. "Why?”

His brows furrowed, and he stammered "Bee, I thought you'd be on a plane to London with Connell by now."

You met his surprised gaze with anger. "I was supposed to be, but Connell stopped me from it.” 

Joel seemed surprised, but something in his gaze showed relief at knowing you would still be here. He stepped aside, allowing you to enter his house, and you both moved to the living room. The familiar surroundings seemed to echo with memories of your last time together. The three words you confessed to him, the way he broke your heart, and then you walked out of his life. 

“Why did you lie to me?” you demanded “Why did you tell Tommy bought my shop, when it was really you?”

You were met with silence.

“Why did you buy it, Joel?” you shouted. 

“Because I knew you would come back to me,” he said, as a matter of fact. Simply as if he owned you.

Your anger flared at his audacity. "You can't just manipulate my life like that, Joel! You can't decide things for me without even asking” Your voice suddenly deepened. “And for what do you even want me?” you asked “For playing with my fee-“

Joel's lips crashed onto yours, and for a moment, you were stunned into silence. The kiss was intense and filled with all the longing and regret Joel felt. 

As he pulled away, his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that took your breath away. "I bought the shop because I couldn't bear to see you go without a chance for us to make things right."

You were caught between anger and desire, your heart racing from the sudden kiss. "Joel, you can't just kiss me and expect everything to be fixed."

He reached out to cup your face, even with one of his hands broken, his thumb gently tracing your cheek. "I'm not expecting that, Bee. I just needed you to know that I love you”

 Torn between your anger and the lingering love you felt, you took a step back, away from his touch.

“What?”

“I love you,” he said, not taking his eyes off you. “I’m in love with you.” 

Your eyes and mouth were wide open, but you still managed to shoot him a glare. You could pretend you didn’t hear him and leave. You didn’t trust yourself right now, but his big brown eyes prevented her from walking away.

He told you he was in love with you.

Your voice wavered as you replied, "Joel, you can't just say that now. Not after everything that happened."

He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "I know I should have said it earlier, and I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused. But it's the truth, Bee. I love you, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes me to make things right."

You struggled to maintain your composure, you were shocked,

“Are you going to say something?” he whispered. 

 "Joel, it's not that simple” you spoke

He nodded, his expression earnest. "I understand that. I know we have a lot to work through, and I'm willing to take the time and the effort.” 

Your heart ached at his words, and the internal battle you had been fighting raged on. "Joel, I need time to think and process all of this. I can't make any promises right now."

Joel reached out to gently touch your arm, a silent plea in his eyes. "I'll give you the time you need, Bee. Just promise me you won't leave” he said, cupping your face.

You found yourself relaxing with his presence and touch, by nodding your head as a silence promise. 

 "Okay,” you whispered.

Your head was a thunderstorm of infinite questions running through your head. You had so many, but you didn’t know where to start. 

He smiled at you, and that made you lose your mind and you don’t know what to do, what to express, or how to act. 

“I’m glad you’re okay” you whispered.

Joel's smile held a genuine warmth, and his thumb traced soothing patterns on your cheek. "I'm glad I'm okay too, and I'm grateful you're still here."

The two of you stood there in a moment of fragility as your eyes locked onto Joel’s.

You had to go before you lost your mind, and you needed space to clear your head. You took a step back, your gaze not quite meeting his. 

"I need to go now, Joel. I need time to think."

Joel's expression showed understanding, and he nodded. "I get it, Bee. Take all the time you need."

You turned and headed for the door; your steps were slow as if a string was pulling into him. The weight of what started as a simple game between you two, the confusion of the present and the uncertainty of the future were heavy on your shoulders. You needed time to heal your scars, to figure out what your heart truly wanted.

Before leaving, you glanced back at Joel, and for a brief moment, your eyes met again, unspoken words flowing in the air. Then, you stepped out, leaving behind the man who had both broken and mended your heart, and who now waited for your decision.

It was his time to wait now.

a/n: Okay, so now he bought the shop because he knew she was going to come back to him somehow and he wanted to have it for her because the flower shop was important to her and after all, he has the keys to her heart (yes, as cheesy as it sounds). Now, he has to fix everything and suffer a little because the reader (bee) has to be loved. btw I'm already thinking about the next fic

tags: @joeldjarin @borhapparker @fatima-marisa @kirsteng42 @paleidiot @harriedandharassed @runningmom94 @pedr0swh0r3 @ssacharcoalgrey