#ain’t no way this was on accident | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

puckinghischier · 4 months ago

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Falling

Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary: reader gets hurt and nico is worried about her

notes: y’all i ain’t gonna lie, i went through a bit of a rollercoaster while writing this. i loved it at first, then halfway through started hating it, then somehow started loving it again towards the end. so if it seems a little all over place i’m sorry. also i know very little about how a dislocated shoulder works, so just pretended i didn’t if i got anything wrong. i hope y’all enjoy it!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - “A hears that B got hurt and rushes over in a panic to see if they are okay” where reader maybe gets in an accident or gets hurt in their sport (nothing major). Bonus points if you add “I can braid your hair for you- I mean, only if you want.”

[4.5k]

part 2

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Nothing’s broken, just a nasty dislocation,” you attempt to calm your mother’s nerves, trying to unlock your apartment door with your good arm while balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder. “They reset it for me and told me to follow up with my primary care on Monday. Gave me some pain meds and sent me on my way.”

“Well, what about until then? What if you need help? What about work? How will you drive?” she rapid fires questions at you.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Since it was a work-related injury, I’ll still get paid. And they’re paying all of the medical bills, so that’s all taken care of,” you make your way into your apartment, shutting the door with your foot behind you. “Everything else I’ll handle as it comes.”

She doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, tsking into her phone, making you picture her trademark displeased headshake.

“What about Nico? Why don’t you stay with him until you’re back to 100%? I’m sure he’d be willing to help out,” she suggests, her tone switching from worried to suggestive.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed.

“Mom, how many times do I have to tell you, Nico and I are just friends. We work together. Just because you think you saw him look at me a certain way when you were visiting doesn’t mean I have to call him every time something goes wrong,” you tell her, placing your bag on your kitchen table.

Ever since your mom came in a few months ago to visit, she’s been on your case about making a move on Nico, it all starting when she witnessed Nico helping you across the ice during a pre-game practice while trying to get some action shots.

You work as a photographer for the Devils, not realizing that being able to ice skate would have been a nice addition to your resume.

Your college advisor arranged the interview for you right before graduation. You had no previous knowledge of hockey, having come from a football family. You told your advisor this, but she insisted you didn’t have to know anything about a sport to be able to take good pictures of it.

During the interview, you made sure to inform your now boss that you didn’t know how to skate, hoping it wouldn’t be a problem. He assured you that you could take pictures from the stands or the players bench, the chance of you having to step onto the ice slim.

For the first few months of your job, it was smooth sailing. You were mostly taking pictures from the camera holes in the glass or being told to cover locker room and arrival pictures. You worked with one other photographer, a seasoned sports photography veteran named Phil. Phil was a New Jersey native, having grown up skating, so he took over the duties of any major action shots the director wanted from on the ice.

Unfortunately for you, Phil’s wife had convinced him to retire early, losing his help right before the league’s short Christmas break.

Seeing as they had just hired you, and it was the middle of the season, the hunt for a replacement for Phil was put on the backburner, more important team matters taking precedence.

You were forced to take over Phil’s duties, meaning you were now responsible for any on the ice shots. You had found a way to slowly scoot across the perimeter of the rink, staying out of the way while also getting the shots you needed.

Your system was working well until the morning of a gameday, having gotten permission from your boss to bring your mother along to this particular practice, wanting to show her all aspects of your job.

For this particular game, the players were especially focused on practicing their skills and running drills during morning skate. You were doing your typical shuffle while clutching the edge of the waist-high wall when someone came zooming past you, causing your feet to start sliding uncontrollably, not being able to find your footing on the slick ice.

You felt the moment you were about to fall, waiting for the impact of your butt on the cold ice, but it never came. You felt yourself fall into a body covered by plastic pads, gloved hands shooting out to grab your upper arms.

You looked up, seeing Nico smiling down at you in amusement.

“It’s a bit slippery out here, huh?” he jokes, making sure you’re standing steady on your feet before letting go of you.

“Well, we are standing on ice, so….” You trail off, grabbing onto the wooden ledge again, preventing another near fall.

Nico laughs, looking down and shuffling his skates back and forth.

“Well would you look at that? We are on ice ” He flashes a smile, looking back up at you.

You stick your tongue out at him, earning another chuckle from the team’s Captain.

“You know, most people use these great things called ice skates when they try to walk on ice,” he tells you, lifting one skate up for emphasis.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff out a “Oh wow, why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Just some food for thought,” Nico shrugged as he placed his foot back down on the ice, skating in a little circle, as if to say “See, told you so.”

You let go of the ledge to cross your arms, forgetting that you needed the stability. When you try to shift your weight from one leg to the other, you lose your footing again, this time falling forward into Nico. You let the camera in your hands fall, grabbing onto his biceps to stay upright, thankful for the camera strap around your neck.

His hands shoot out to grab your forearms.

“You know the sad thing is, even with the skates, I’d still be as clumsy, considering I have absolutely no idea how to use them,” you tell him, the two of you still holding on to one another.

Nico shakes his head at you, placing one of your hands on his forearm, moving you from in front of him to beside of him.

He starts slowly skating towards the bench while you shuffle your feet along, putting all of your focus on keeping yourself upright until you reach your destination.

When you finally reach the bench, you step off of the ice and let out a breath of relief.

“Thanks, Cap. Would’ve hated to make a fool of myself out there while my mom’s watching,” you thank him, looking over to where your mom sits, a smile on her face.

Nico follows your gaze and waves to your mom, matching her smile.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we? What if she found out her daughter was a skating fraud?” he teases, leaning in to whisper the last two words.

“It’s her fault for never taking me to the rink my town would throw up once a year at Christmas. Who knows, maybe I would’ve been a skating prodigy if given the chance,” you shrug.

A mischievous smile makes its way onto his face. “I think we should put that theory to the test,” he tells you, causing your eyes to latch onto his.

“Come again?” You raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin down.

“I mean, I can’t have some photographer out on my ice during practices that can’t even stand up,” he keeps his tone light, making sure you know he’s just teasing, “So, I’m going to teach you how to skate, and see if you really would have been a skating prodigy.”

He skates off, winking before resuming his practice.

You don’t have a chance to speak to him again until after the game, when you get at text from an unknown number reading “Rink, tomorrow, 2pm. I’ll bring skates, just bring your prodigy skills.”

After that, you meet with Nico twice a week for skating lessons.

The two of you quickly form a friendship, Nico bringing you coffee on gamedays and you slipping him snacks on the bench during games. You even started inviting him over for dinner after your lessons, insisting the least you can do is feed him to repay him for preventing you from making a fool of yourself on the ice.

Today, however, you did make a fool of yourself on the ice.

You were standing behind the net, telling the players to skate towards you so you could get some shots for the team’s Instagram account by request of the social media manager.

Once you were pleased with the amount of shots you had gotten, you left your spot from behind the net, skating slowly towards the benches, still a little wobbly on your skates.

You were looking down at your camera, thinking of how you’ll have to get Nico out here after the game to get some shots, knowing he’s currently doing pre-game interviews in the locker room.

You weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the pucks littering the ice in front of you, skating right into one and losing your balance, holding your camera up with one arm while trying to catch yourself with the other.

You felt the way your shoulder shifted, crying out in pain as players turned and started rushing towards you on the ice.

The team doctor came out and told you he was pretty sure your shoulder was simply dislocated, but sent you to the hospital to make sure nothing’s broken.

The ER doctor confirmed your diagnosis, putting your shoulder back into place before pumping you full of pain meds and placing your arm into a sling.

Which leads you to where you are now, back at your apartment, explaining to your mother why Nico can’t be at your beck and call.

“Honey, when are you going to realize that boy is in love with you? I’m telling you, the way I saw him look at you that day I came to visit, the skating lessons and dinners,” she starts, giving you her typical speech when you tell her Nico is just a friend.

“Mom, it doesn’t matter what you think you saw, we’re seriously just friends. And he’s busy, his schedule is too hectic to spend his time babysitting me,” you interrupt her, not wanting to hear her Nico speech for the thousandth time, regretting ever telling her about the skating lessons.

She sighs into the phone.

“I’m just trying to help you, you know…” you hear your mother start, but you tune the rest of her words out, focusing on the three loud knocks on your front door.

Your head turns to your door, the unexpected noise causing you to jump, the sudden motion tipping your bag over, the contents spilling all of your kitchen floor.

“Honey, are you alright? What was that?” your mom halts her one-sided conversation, worry in her tone.

“Shit!” you exclaim, watching the container of memory cards fly open, the small squares sliding across the linoleum floor.

You forget about the sling on your arm, crouching down and trying to reach for the cards with your bad arm, a searing pain shooting through your shoulder at the movement.

Letting out a loud yelp, you bring your arm back to its resting positing in the sling.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Did you hurt yourself?” you barely hear your mother’s voice through the phone speaker, not being able to think about anything other than the throbbing pain in your shoulder.

You hear three more pounds on your front door, this time a voice following the knocks.

“Y/N! Open up!”

You groan, trying to stand up, too many people trying to get your attention at the moment.

“Honey, talk to me. Is someone in there with you? I heard another voice,” your mother asks you as you stand, making your way over towards your front door.

“Someone’s knocking on the door,” you grit through your teeth, trying to think about anything but the pain in your shoulder. “I dropped my bag and tried to pick something up with my bad arm. I’m fine. Just hurts,” you tell her, opening your door to see a frantic Nico standing there.

His wide eyes scan your body, stopping once they see the sling on your arm.

You notice his wet hair and lack of socks on his tennis shoe covered feet.

“Are you okay? They told me you had to be taken to the hospital before the game started, but no one knew what really happened,” he rushed out, looking up at your face.

“Hey, Mom, gotta go, Nico’s at my door,” you tell her, a little stunned that the object of your conversation just appeared, hanging up the phone before she could make any comments about it.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” you ask him, pointing towards his feet, an amused smile on your face. The shock of seeing him at your door making you completely forget about the pain in your shoulder.

Nico looks down at his own feet, looking back up at you with red cheeks.

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t find my socks after the game and i couldn’t get you to answer your phone, so I rushed over to the hospital to see if you were still there, and they told me you left about an hour ago, so I hopped in my car and came over here to make sure you were okay,” he tells you, not meeting your eye.

You’re shocked at his confession, not expecting him to be so concerned about your impromptu trip to the hospital.

“Well, I’m here and still standing,” you awkwardly stand in your doorway, not knowing what else to say, thinking about how if you weren’t arguing with your mom over Nico on the phone, you might have gotten his calls.

“Yeah, I see that now,” he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

The two of you stand there, not really knowing what to say to one another.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask him, moving out of the doorway to let him step into your apartment.

Nico shakes his head yes and walks past you, looking towards the mess on the floor in your kitchen.

“What happened here? Is this the crash I heard?” he asks you.

“Yeah, the bag fell and spilled everything. When I went to pick it up, I forgot and used my bad shoulder,” you gesture to your slinged arm.

Nico shakes his head at you, crouching down to pick up the camera disks all over the floor.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-“

“Well you’re sure as hell not trying to pick them up again,” Nico interrupts you, standing and placing the now full box of disks on your table.

You roll your eyes at him, walking over towards your fridge.

“So, what exactly happened? Jack told me you hurt your shoulder?” he follows you over to your fridge, watching you scan its contents, or lack thereof.

“Well, I was looking at my camera and skated right into a bunch of pucks on the floor, then was too focused on saving the equipment instead of remembering how to fall properly,” you told him, remembering his words during your first skate lesson, telling you not to catch yourself if you fall on the ice.

“See, I told you to just let yourself fall. Never try to catch yourself,” he echoes his words in your thoughts.

“Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier said than done,” you deadpan, shutting your fridge door and looking at Nico.

Your stomach growls at that exact moment, making you groan at your lack of food in your fridge, not having eaten since before your accident.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” Nico asks you, looking down at your growling stomach.

“Uhhh, breakfast?” you recall.

Nico’s eyes widen. “It’s almost midnight. Did they really not feed you at the hospital?” he asks you.

“Considering they were busy doing x-rays and scans to make sure nothing was broken or torn, no,” you walk over to your cabinets, finding them also bare.

“Alright, go sit down and I’ll order us something to eat,” Nico shoos you out of the kitchen, walking over and opening the drawer where you keep all of your takeout menus.

You wonder how he knows where your menus are, forgetting for a moment that he’s over at your apartment at least twice a week after your skating lessons. Sometimes more, the occasional movie night making its way into your weekly routine.

“What do you want? Sushi? Chinese? Burgers?” he questions, flipping through your menus.

For some reason, your brain chooses this moment to register how much you enjoy the sight of Nico in your kitchen, looking through your takeout menus and offering to order you dinner.

You think back to all the times he’s helped you make dinner, laughter filling every moment of your time together. You think about how he always wear his pjs when he comes over for a movie night, bringing a different chocolate candy to put in the popcorn each time. You think about how he somehow learned your coffee order without you ever telling him, bringing you a coffee every morning, even at away games.

You think about your mother’s words, and how you didn’t even have to ask Nico to come over tonight, or to give you skating lessons. You think about how you never have to ask Nico to do anything he does for you – which is a lot, you’re realizing – he just does it. He does it because he wants to, because he’s kind and caring and wants to spend time with you.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N, what do you want for dinner?” Nico snaps you out of your sudden revelation.

“Sorry, spaced out for a second. Must be the pain meds,” you tell him, knowing that your mind isn’t the least bit impaired right now.

“Okay, go sit down, we need to get some food in you then,” he fishes his phone out of his pocket, mumbling out “Can’t believe they pumped you full of meds on an empty stomach.”

You make your way to your couch, sitting down and taking your shoes off, making yourself as comfortable as you can.

You remove a stray piece of hair that fell onto your face, knowing how awful it must look.

When you fell on the ice, the claw clip that was holding your hair in its up-do broke, causing it to fan out over the cold, wet ice. Once you got to the hospital, you were put in and out of so many different machines, you can only imagine the tangled, matted mess it is.

You get up and go to your bathroom, finding your brush and trying to comb it out. The task proving to be difficult with only one hand. The tangles keep pulling your head back and hurting your tender scalp, but you keep trying, whimpering each time the brush gets stuck on a particularly bad tangle.

You don’t even hear Nico approach your bathroom, just a sigh and “I told you to sit down,” before the brush is taken from your hand and you see Nico’s reflection behind you in the mirror.

Without another word, he proceeds to brush your hair for you, ensuring every tangle is gone before setting the brush on your sink.

The two of you make eye contact in the mirror, neither one wanting to break the silence during the surprisingly intimate moment.

You clear your throat, looking down after the silence got too intense, causing Nico to avert his eyes as well.

“I really wish i could wash my hair, but i know that’s a no go tonight,” you chuckle, wishing your bathroom was a little bit bigger in this moment.

“I can braid your hair for you,” Nico starts, staring at you in the mirror, watching your eyes snap up to meet his. “I mean, only if you want,” he stutters out.

“Really?” you ask him, a little stunned.

“Yeah. I used to help Nina with hers all the time when I was younger,” Nico mentions his older sister, grabbing your hair lightly and starting to section it off. “Anytime she would have a sleep over I would always weasel my way into the party. So one day, she made me sit in a braiding chain and learn how to braid her hair.”

You let out a giggle, picturing a smaller version of Nico sitting at the end of a line of girls, braiding their long hair.

“Then, Nina claimed I got so good at it she always wanted me to braid her hair before her volleyball matches, then her friends all started wanting me to do theirs, too,” he continues talking, nearly lulling you to sleep with the soft movements of his hands as you listen to him speak.

“I think that’s adorable,” you quietly speak, closing your eyes.

“What can I say? When a pretty girl needs her hair braided, who am I to keep my skills to myself?” he jokes, making you wonder if he meant you or his sister’s friends.

“I’m sure it’s any little boy’s dream to have an entire volleyball team at his mercy, all those pretty volleyball players begging him to play with their hair,” you tease him, handing him the hair tie that you always keep on your wrist.

“I don’t know, I think playing with a pretty photographer’s hair is better, if you ask me,” he ties the hair tie around the bottom of the braid, reaching up to pull the braid loose, making sure it’s not too tight.

You keep your eyes closed, knowing he can likely see the redness on your cheeks at his words.

“Alright, eyes open. Need to make sure you like my work,” he places his hands on your biceps, making sure to keep his touch feather light on your bad arm.

He turns you around so you’re facing him, holding a handheld mirror that was laying on your sink in front of your face, allowing you to see the reflection of the braid.

You’re shocked to see the flawless Dutch braid that cascades down your back.

“Nico, you’re like…really good at this,” you reach your good hand to the back of your head, running it down the braid.

“Told you, I had a lot of practice,” he shrugs, setting the mirror down.

You yawn, the relaxing nature of having your hair braided allowing you to realize how tired you are from the day’s events.

“Nuh-uh, gotta keep you awake until we get some food in you,” he tuts, taking his hands and patting your cheeks.

You groan, leaning into his palms that stay resting on your face.

“C’mon, let’s get you changed and on the couch,” he motions for you to leave the bathroom.

You walk to your room, Nico helping you carefully remove your sling before leaving and giving you some privacy.

You change into your pajamas, somehow managing to get your arm into an oversized Devils shirt you found at the bottom of your drawer.

Nico is standing outside of your door when you open it, helping you back into your sling.

He stands in front of you, staring at you with a look that you can’t decipher.

“Is…everything okay?” you question him, noticing his stare after adjusting your sling.

His eyes snap up to you, seemingly unaware that he was even staring at you in the first place.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I just- is that my shirt?” he asks you, pointing to your pj shirt.

You look down at the oversized shirt, trying to think of where you got it.

It had just showed up in your laundry basket one day, assuming it was one they gave you when you got your job, but Nico’s question makes you think harder.

You realize, suddenly, you do remember where you got it.

During one of your post lesson dinners, Nico had spilled his drink all over his shirt. You offered to wash it for him after he changed to a shirt in his duffel.

You meant to take it back to him after you washed it, but forgot about it entirely, packing it away in your pajama drawer.

“Oh, crap, it is. Do you want it back, I can go change?” you ask him, worried he’s upset that you forgot to give it back.

“No…no it’s fine. Keep it. I have plenty,” he shakes his head, glancing down at it once more.

The two of you make your way to your couch, finding something to watch on tv when there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of your food.

You start to stand to go get it, but Nico sternly tells you to stay put.

Rolling your eyes you sit back down, grabbing the remote and continuing to channel surf.

Nico’s gone for longer than you expect, causing you to sit up and turn back towards your kitchen, wondering what’s taking him so long.

You see him walking over to you, a tray full of food in his hands.

He had ordered from your favorite sushi place, figuring it would be the easiest for you to eat one handed.

As he sat down the tray on the coffee table in front of you, you realized what took him so long.

Nico had put a toothpick in each piece of your sushi, knowing using chopsticks with your non dominant hand would have been hard for you. He poured soy sauce into a small container, allowing you to simply pick up each toothpick and dip it in the sauce before popping it in your mouth.

He had also ordered you a bottle of cherry coke, which he knew was your favorite, and placed it on the tray with the lid unscrewed and a straw peeking out of the bottle next to a glass of ice, just incase you wanted it that way instead.

You looked up at him, feeling that funny feeling in your chest like you did earlier in your kitchen, blown away at how he always seems to think of everything he can to help you out, even when you’re not injured.

You must’ve been looking for longer than you realized, because he cocks his head at you, confusion present on his face.

“What?” he asks, not understanding what’s wrong. “Did you not want sushi? I thought you said it was always the one thing that could cheer you up?”

You shake your head at him. “No, sushi is perfect,” you tell him, a small smile on your face as you look up at him.

He smiles back for a few moments, then started scooting the coffee table towards you so you don’t have to reach to grab your food. He moves around the table to sit beside of you, the size of the small table causing him to sit so close to you that you can feel the warmness of his large thigh against yours.

You once again think about all of the things he’s done for you without you even having to ask. Now including coming over after a game—no doubt exhausted and sore—and taking care of you without even thinking twice. Braiding your hair and calling you pretty. Staring at you unintentionally wearing his t-shirt. Modifying your food so it’s easier for you to eat with one hand.

You sit there, staring at the man you fear you’re falling in love with, already planning out the apology text you’re going to have to send your mom.

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temiizpalace · 4 months ago

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☆┊I SWEAR I ONLY FELL FOR YOU ON ACCIDENT..

SUMMARY: he never meant to develop feelings for you, and seven are these overwhelming feelings doing things to him.

CHARACTERS: leona, jade, jamil

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: cursing, CRINGE, spoilers for book 3!!!

ROMANTIC, PINING

NOTES: (kind of) based off this song + flustering boys who pretend to not be flustered ever + lyrics in fic not in order

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

🦁┊LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

“one time you crossed my mind and i promised id be careful”

he would have never expect his feelings to be like this after your first encounter.

the hostility he held towards you, he should’ve warded you away. yet you kept coming back. talking to him all buddy buddy.. it was admirable from the eyes of others. if he would’ve known better he would think you saw him as a large house cat (you do). well guess what, he ain’t.

at the start, he thought of you as nothing but a huge nuisance and thorn in his side in this already bothersome school. but after seeing your courageous news during azul’s overblot, he’s got a newfound respect for ya.

everything was fine from then. you’d bother him occasionally, and he’d allow you to bask in his presence. what? did you expect something else? well you’re wrong. but these moments have kickstarted some brand new fantasies for our beloved prince to indulge in.

it started off normally, he’s napping peacefully as you read a book next to him, giving him an occasional glance or two before focusing on the piece of literature in your hands. as we know, dreams can range in a wide variety of things. some can be absolutely blissful, some are really random, and others are just straight up nightmares!!

now, leona had no idea where to classify this one.

he walks into his room after finishing some duties concerning the kingdoms wellbeing.. being king is no easy task. “back already? that was quick.” your voice rang in his ears as he tossed the choking royal garbs to the side, making way to curl up in your lap. “can’t stand these people..” he murmured into your stomach, making you smile. you play with his hair, making an occasional braid or two before pausing. “hmph, why’d ya stop?” you lift his chin, looking him in the eyes. “i’m helping you de-stress.” suddenly, he feels pulled closer to your face, your lips barely ghosting each other til finally—

leona sits up quickly in a sweat, startling you as he emerged from the ground. what the fuuuucckkkk was that????? “ah, leona? are you okay?” you ask, concerned as to how quick he was to wake up. usually it’d take 10 minutes to get him out of a daze! “fine.” he grunts, getting up and walking towards the mirror hall.

“uhh, where ya going?” no response. he seemed grumpy, but you had no idea why. did you do something? nahhh, probably just typical leona. ..right?

you’ve noticed he’s been avoiding you a lot more lately. he will not respond when you say hi to him in the halls, will just up and leave if you see him in the botanical gardens, and will walk in the opposite direction of you just so you don’t have to cross paths.

now you’re concerned. was he mad at you? to put it simply, yes and no. yes because why are you occurring in his dreams???? are you crazy???? smh. get out. he’s the one dreaming but ok

yet no because, he’s no fool. he knows when he’s in love and unfortunately for him, this is love. you don’t understand how much he’s tossing and turning in his room because literally every gap in his head is filled up with thoughts of you, how much this aggravates him because he can’t get adequate amounts of sleep anymore. your fault!!!

he wanted to avoid you like the plague for at least a month to let these feelings wash over, but to no avail. someone just kill him and bury the body he’s hopeless. he cannot wait to be found six feet underground because feeling like this for a magicless human was the last thing he wanted.

that’s it, he’s never gonna tell ya. ever. just him and his thoughts. yep. mhm. yeah.. you’d look really nice in formal attire—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

he wants to scream but the best he can do is make a cringing face. how the hell do you make him so sappy??? this love stuff stinks… how could you do this to him?

🐬┊JADE LEECH

“one spark, you jump my heart and i feel it beating faster. yeah, it’s too late, im not ashamed.”

ah, love. something jade believed he’d never experience.

from the moment his eyes met yours, he’s always felt a twisting feeling in his chest. how peculiar.. to be fair, from afar you were quite bland to him. just another pawn and source of intel.

but then word began to get out you stopped two overblots, catching his interest. really? a magicless human? now he’s just dying to meet you.. and thank the seven he did. you had him the moment you spoke, your voice causing his heartbeat to speed up rapidly.

after azul’s overblot, though? jade is nothing but head over heels for you. without shame. he’s practically glued to your side, walking you to and from classes almost every day without fail, somehow always being your waiter whenever you ate at the mostro lounge, always having a hand on your back or shoulder.. huh.

it’s clear to anyone with half a brain that the leech twin definitely saw you more than merchandise, making them even more afraid to speak with you! whenever you were jade was like 2 feet behind.

only recently have you started to notice this. so, you’ll do what any normal person would do. ask him about it!

“hey, jade.” the eel-mer looks at you, an eyebrow raised with a polite smile. “is something the matter, prefect?” he asks, his demeanor the same as ever. “just wondering, but why’re you always around me? im not annoyed or anything! just.. just curious.” you stated quite bluntly, catching the boy off guard.

you could’ve sworn you saw him freeze with eyes wide, but the ability he has to rebuild his facade was impeccable. he pretends to think about it holding his chin before chuckling. “i suppose.. i just enjoy your company.” he smiles as you suddenly feel like an arrow was shot riiigghhttt through your heart.

“haha, really?” you laugh nervously, feeling the heat in your face flush to your cheeks as he stared you down with glee. before jade was able to respond, he was cut off by the sudden sincerity in your voice. “i enjoy your company too, jade.” you smile back at him, a sudden awkward silence falling before you.

“a-anyway, this is my class! gotta go! bye!” running inside the classroom, you try to hide the very obvious warmth in your face with your hands. THAT WAS SO CRINGE. IM FUCKED IM FUCKED IM FUCKED IM FUCKED. AAAGAGAGBABABAHAHAHAHAHA

this moment is going to haunt you for the rest of your life, you just know it. while you were dealing with the repercussions of the exchange, jade was in absolute heaven right now. his heartbeat was at an all time high, feeling nothing but sheer joy. falling for you was never his intention, but thank the seven he did.

the day passes by swiftly, nothing too out of the ordinary. as jade walks back to his dorm room, he flops onto his mattress face first into the pillows. an annoyed floyd looks at him with a disgusted expression, wishing this didn’t happen almost every day.

“yer so sappy, yknow that jade?” he grumbles, tossing a pillow at him with force. jade didnt care. it was worth it. all of it was worth it. falling in love with you was the best accident he’s ever made.

🐍┊JAMIL VIPER

“i’ll never see it coming but i know we’ll crash, cause when we’re with each other, yeah, we move too fast.”

kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill hi

those were the thoughts racing through jamil’s mind as you somehow convinced him to ride the magic carpet with you. what was he thinking??? he knows something is going to go terribly wrong whenever he’s with you.

not because of you (he hopes), but because of him! he’s a man who’s very meticulous about his work, making sure it’s done to absolute perfection. now, add you into the mix. it throws him horribly off.

when jamil first met you, he didn’t think much of it. you were a magicless human from another world. impressive that may be, that’s all you are. no major threat to kalim, so he’ll leave you be. then came the overblots.. you seemed more valuable than he originally thought.

then came his overblot. in all honesty, he hated you after that. or he thought he did. he always felt this burning sensation in his chest and this inexplainable image of you in his head nagging at him at any free chance he got! then came the scenarios.. domestic moments like brushing his hair, waking up next to each other, cooking meals for each other..

then he realized he fell into the deep end and fell in love with you. shit.

you treated him with such kindness! how didn’t he fall in love with you?? everything’s making his head hurt. the world must be upside down.

hearing kalim sing constant praise was nothing out of the ordinary, something he’s already grown used to and learned to despise. you on the other hand, your compliments send him to different universes. he swear fireworks get lit whenever you open your mouth and just explode all around him.

jamil’s behavior around you was a fairly noticeable difference to those close with him. he stuttered over his words, was a bit more expressive, and had a specific tone in his voice that seemed to be reserved for you. however, the most notable difference that almost anyone can see was the fact that THE jamil viper made a lot more accidents.

he seemed to embarrass himself every time he’s with you, but thank god you just shrug it off like nothing. screwing up was not something jamil EVER did before.. why must you ruin him like this? and these moments seem to just speed by, making it all seem like one huge fever dream that he just happens to remember. he hates it!

now, back to the present moment. he watches you sit onto the magic carpet, feeling the cold breeze in your hair due to the fact scarabia is much chillier during the night. he stares at you from the balcony, seeing as you turned back to smile at him. “you coming” you ask, watching him hesitate. “m-maybe i shouldn’t.. i must tend to kalim and—“

“do you trust me?” you ask, holding your hand out to him. he looks at you, taken aback by your sudden question. “what?” “do you trust me?” you repeat, a stern tone in your voice as you looked down at him with a certain gleam in your eyes that he just cannot resist. “..yes?”

jamil grabs your hand, pulling himself onto the carpet. the warmth from his palms spread throughout your entire body, suddenly regulating the your internal temperature. as you both kneeled on the carpet, your eyes met, staring into each other intensely. his hand subconsciously squeezes yours, holding to them for dear life, not wanting to let go.

while this was insanely romantic to you both, from outside perspective, it just looks like this 🧍‍♂️🧍

“ah, jamil, you’re squeezing my hand.” you laugh nervously, watching as the heat rises to his cheeks. “s-sorry. now then, shall we?” he clears his throat, sitting down properly before looking at you with a small smile. you can’t help but reciprocate, flashing him a grin before taking his hand again. “of course.”

before the carpet can take off into the clouds, cheering can be heard from inside scarabia halls.

it seemed kalim had a little.. arrangement for the both of you. jamil pulls his hood over his face in embarrassment as the carpet flies towards the glittering sky of stars, something both you and jamil can enjoy together.

A/N: jamil bias is EVIDENT (I kinda sorta didn’t go with the song that much and got carried away oopsies)

date published: 7/28/24

734 notes · View notes

macfrog · 11 months ago

Text

sweet child o' mine | pt. ii

hi. this is max's lawyer speaking. please don't get mad at her for this part. she asked me to let you know that she loves you all and hopes that you trust her. sincerely, jimmy mcgill

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're pregnant with joel miller's kid. he's dating someone else. you deal with it.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy stuff like nausea (none of the v word, y'all are safe with me), ultrasound scene set in a hospital, anxiety and guilt surrounding pregnancy, description of body change/growth, brief and i mean brief discussion of abortion, joel is dating someone who isn't reader, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), reader has no physical description save for hair, cursing, genderless use of buddy when referring to baby, joel kisses someone who is not his partner, mention of alcohol, disturbing & semi-graphic nightmare about being involved in car accident, reader has a panic attack, discussion of dead parents, fluff and the beginnings of angst DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there's ever anything you feel i've missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 9.2k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

“I know, I know,” Joel holds a palm up, “it’s nine thirty. I know. But I had to lug all this wood over here, and it – You okay?”

You realize when he pauses that you’re gaping at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place behind your front door. Your jaw hinges shut, a gulp like carpet burn down your throat. You didn’t hear a word he just said.

How does he know? He can’t possibly. Did he sense it, from two lawns away? Dream about the binding of cells, the furnace left lit in your body from that night? The embers still floating, just waiting to catch to life again?

Did he do the fucking math, the way you probably should’ve? How does he fucking know?

The minute the question leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Joel’s eyebrows drop. “How did I know what, kid? That you need new closets? Like you ain’t been nipping my ear about ‘em for weeks?”

Your eyes unlock from his and shift to the slats of wood leaning against the balustrade. The toolbox hanging from his fist. The worn jeans and the white dust marks on his thighs. He doesn’t fucking know, you idiot.

Joel steps forward. Takes your wrist. One grounding, steady hand around your thrashing pulse. “You’re freaking me out. What the hell’s –?”

“Nothing,” you chirp, remembering. The closet. The deal. The fucking – the deal. You withdraw your arm. Hidden up your sleeve, quickly slipping out of his grasp, is the news that his life is about to change forever.

Maybe. You don’t fucking know.

“No,” you continue, blinking the burn of sunlight from your vision, “I just – I forgot. Sorry. Come in. Sorry.”

“Quit sayin’ sorry,” he mutters, eyeing you suspiciously. He lifts a foot and hovers it over the threshold, hesitating. Like the first step across a minefield; instinct telling him to tread carefully.

And you swear an oath to yourself, swear it on your own life: if he doesn’t put the heel of his boot in your hallway, if he turns around right now whether because his instinct is razor sharp, or because he forgot his lucky screwdriver, or purely because he needs to take a fucking leak before he gets started – you will never tell him. He will never know.

If his intuition is that good, he’ll turn around and never show up on your porch again. If he has any sense, he’ll forget any of this ever happened. Deal off.

“How’s the stomach?” Joel asks, sole still three inches from wood.

“What?” you bleat, your heel knocking against the bottom stair. It’s a little more panicked than you intended.

“Yesterday,” a crease forms between his brows, “you said you had a weird stomach. That any better?”

Oh, you think, and as you open your mouth to reply, his foot hits the ground. No answer needed. He was coming in whether you tried to deter him or not.

“Oh, yeah. It’s – Well, it’s better than it was. I think I worked it out,” you grimace, tongue curling under the tinge of anxiety and – well. “Thanks,” you add, noticing the brisk cut of your replies.

The heavy thud of his footsteps follows you upstairs, blunt on the carpet as you lead him up. Joel sets the toolbox down and casts your room a quick glance, snapping back to you as soon as you notice him.

You tug on the corner of the bedsheets, a heat bubbling beneath your cheeks. Something shy and self-conscious, all of a sudden. The reality that you don’t feel close enough to this man to share the anatomy of your room with him, mixed with the knowledge that the two of you are, now and forever, bound by the anatomy of something a little more significant than dirty laundry and dusty wardrobes.

A little closer than most humans get, let’s say.

“You want a coffee or something?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning back against the window sill.

“You havin’ one?”

“Sure. Wait – actually –” Can you have coffee whilst pregnant? A woman at work quit it altogether when she fell pregnant with her son. Fuck. “I’m – No. I’m good. But let me go make you one.”

Joel shakes his head, amused. Screwdriver burrowing into a door hinge already. He flashes you a tickled grin. “I’m good just now, kid. Wait until you’re makin’ one. Thanks.”

You lift a shoulder. “Welcome.”

His eyes flit from the twist of silver to your hunched shoulders, your arms crossed protectively over your chest. “You gonna stand there ‘n watch me all day? You my foreman now?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he laughs. You sniff, twisting your foot into the carpet. The plastic test itches against your skin; you can feel the two lines ripping into your wrist like tiny burns. “I can go, if you want.”

His lip turns, musing. A quick flick of his jaw. “You’re good company, all in all.”

Metal clanking against metal; fingers knuckle-deep in the toolbox. You can hear the harsh sound across your body, like the point of screws and bite of rust are actually scoring your skin. The groan of a near-fifty-year-old man rising to rip a decades-old door from its home. The creak of wood as it splits.

Everything so heightened that it’s actually painful.

Joel straightens up and pauses, turning his screwdriver between his fingers. “Are we –? We’re good, right?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You’d tell me if things were weird?”

“Why would things be weird?”

His answer scrawls itself across his face. Your response scoffs from your lips.

“I just,” Joel sighs, “I feel like something might be off with ya. Maybe you just ain’t feelin’ too hot. But you’re quiet.”

“Quiet,” you whisper, palms locking heavily against your biceps. More defensive than convincing.

“Yeah. You usually annoy the hell outta me.”

Over your shoulder, Alice Brown waddles down her driveway, eyeing her flowerbeds. She pauses when Diane’s station wagon pulls up across the street; stands motionless as she watches the round figure climb out and totter to her own front door.

“Just – not in a very annoying mood, I guess,” you offer, staring at the white head of hair fluttering in the breeze. The glint of a trowel in her hand.

Joel’s chin lifts. He studies you, tongue tracing the ridges of his teeth. And then he’s nearing you, turning until you’re shoulder to shoulder, two silhouettes stood against the bright square of blue sky inside your window frame. His arms crossed; his stare fixed.

The words begin to boil in your stomach. Violent bubbles against the wall of your midriff. Rising like steam, fading into nothingness over your tongue, the sting of heat where your voice won’t collect them.

Joel moves from foot to foot. It feels like some kind of merry dance, some choreographed moment between you – like a skit in a comedy show. I know something you don’t know.

“What happened – at the wedding,” he murmurs, addressing the polished gold of your bedframe.

Some small sound passes your lips. An affirmative. You’re on the same page.

“We didn’t use – you know. And with you not feelin’ well, it’s…” A deep breath. Chest full of a ghostly bravery. And then he asks, “Are you –?”

Silence swallows the end of his question whole. You didn’t need it, anyway. The stiffness of his frame, his stare shooting straight ahead. The lack of oxygen between you – both holding your breath for fear that something might tear loose from your lungs. He knows. He knows he knows he knows.

You gulp. “…If I was?”

His head cranes upwards, focusing on the cracked plaster of your ceiling. The realization slowly trickling down over his skin. It hasn’t seeped through, hasn’t bled into his brain yet. “Then,” another breath, “then it’d be a conversation…” His voice is halved, split somewhere between knowing and – what is it? Hoping?

Your eyes slip over to the worn sleeve of his T-shirt, stretched around the swell of his bicep; scaling up to his shoulder, the tight set of his jaw. He’s so much taller, he’s so much older. There’s so much life lived and so many lessons learned behind his eyes that you wonder how much the news I’m pregnant would actually crack him.

Your eyes meet. You whisper, “Then – talk,” and his expression softens.

He blinks away whatever’s left of his trying, his polite attempts to skirt around it. He sheds probably a good three decades – turns back into some doe-eyed boy, wonderstruck and terrified. His voice is quiet, and at the same time, the heaviest with emotion you’ve ever heard it. “Are you?” he asks, and immediately, he blurs behind a wall of tears.

Your sentence gets caught in your teeth. It made no sense to begin with. Tangled between your molars, latching at the back of your tongue. Your hand slowly pulls free from your sleeve, the little white test between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes instantly drop, staring at the pale stick with a fraught expression you understand to mean the message has finally reached his brain. The same words now ringing between his ears: She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. I got her pregnant.

You hold the test out, quivering in the daylight. He takes it in his thumbs, instantly soothing its tremble. Everything muted, every movement steady and considered. And suddenly the sight of that positive test feels less scary, in his hands. Feels like a smaller problem, if that were ever possible.

And he says nothing, and it’s almost unbearable to watch the shape of his lips thin, the shadow beneath his brows darken. Agonizing to stand here and wonder what the next words over his tongue will be.

He stares at it a moment longer. You count the beats of your pulse in your throat. You wrap your arms tighter around your body, holding your skeleton together.

Joel’s lips part. Your breath freezes. Whatever he says, you don’t want to miss a syllable.

“Are you –” he blinks, “– are you feelin’ okay?”

You stare blankly. His eyes finally lift.

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Your head jerks. “I’m – I’m fine. I mean, I’m fucking shocked.”

He nods. “How long have you known?”

“Took that right before you showed up,” you say, eyes diving to his hands. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

He’s still switching between you and the test. Checking those two lines are still there, as if they might fade to nothing, and then checking you’re still there – as if you might, too. Might be swept off if he’s not keeping an eye on you.

His face pales. He sinks back against the window ledge. “Jesus,” he breathes, a hand down the scruff of his chin.

And it feels like relief, like a mirror sat before you, presenting the honest truth: you’re fucked, and Joel thinks so, too. It embeds the shock into the cushion of your brain, the weight of it absorbed and laid bare for every particle in your body to pay it a visit. What the fuck do we do now?

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Jesus.”

But then his arm wraps around your shoulder, reminding you you’re still solid. Still whole. He holds you to his side, and when you turn into him, he takes you in the other and pulls you flat against his chest. His lips to your hair. His breathing slowing yours.

“We’re gonna work it out,” he says into your hair. “We’re gonna – Jesus, I did not expect…We are goin’ to be fine, alright? You are goin’ to be fine.”

You’re nodding, the prickle of tears flooding across your eyes again. They’re doing nothing, his words – blunt against your skin and insignificant to the fear swelling around your heart – but it feels better to be afraid with someone. Feels better to hold onto something stronger, something bigger, while you feel yourself beginning to shrink.

“What do we do?” you ask into his shirt.

Joel loosens his grip, pulls away until you’re staring at one another. “What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t…” Your head’s shaking, lips moving quicker than your voice will offer the words over. “I don’t think I want to get rid of it.”

He nods, a hand coming up to hold your cheek. “Alright. Then you don’t have to. You don’t gotta do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with.”

“But,” you sniff, guiltily averting his gaze, “this fucks everything up. Everything’s about to change.”

Joel takes a long, slow breath. “It complicates some things, that’s for sure.” He looks out to the street; Alice Brown now hauling weeds from the edge of her lawn. In his exhale, he breathes a name.

“V…What?”

He looks down. Eyes dance around your damp cheeks. “Vanessa,” he says, clearer now.

“Vanessa?”

A nod. His nose wriggles with an awkward sniff. You push off from his chest.

“Who the hell is Vanessa?”

Joel lets you go; lets you step back. He watches as you brace yourself against the ledge. Runs a hand through his hair while he fixes the right order of words. He’s thinking. Carefully.

Too fucking carefully. He’s taking too long.

“Joel. Who’s Vanessa?”

“She’s…” He sighs. “She’s my ex. From Tommy’s wedding. Vanessa Hart.”

Your jaw slackens. The purple dress. The hair like silk, a halo around her head where the light kissed her perfectly. Her plump lips; the way her head tipped back to laugh. The amount of air you felt her take up the second you laid eyes on her, the second you saw her, arm on top of Joel’s.

“Vanessa,” you whisper, your eyes descending his frame. The memory feels menacing now: her sweet giggle a sneering cackle, and you’ve no idea why. The bulky jewels around her neck, her clawed fingers on his arm.

Joel’s hand sits inches from yours on the wooden sill. Alice is walking back inside.

“We, uh…we swapped numbers the morning after the wedding, at breakfast. I didn’t think much of it, but we’ve seen each other a couple times since.”

This isn’t the time for another it’s a date, it’s not a date argument. What the fuck does he mean by –

“Seen each other?”

“Mhm.” He owes you better than that. He reckons so, too. “Dates,” he clarifies. “We’ve been on a couple dates.”

“Oh.”

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Plummets, dragging with it your breath and your nerve and any other words you can think of. Your chest gnaws at the edges of the cavity left behind. It hurts. It stings.

Though you’ve no right for it to hurt or sting: as far as you were concerned, as far as you think Joel was concerned, that night was a one-off. It meant as little as the alcohol draining from your glasses, the vacant buzz of love and hope loose in the air. Equally as intoxicating as each other.

Cataclysmic, for the first little while. So heavily awkward that you would wait to watch Joel head out in the morning, clear of your path, before you’d set off for work. It felt like the aftermath of some natural disaster – the cleanup of debris and mistake.

But oh, it feels like a punch to the gut. Low, unexpected; a foul move by someone who never meant to hurt or not hurt you. Someone ignorant to every move he made, right up to this moment.

Your arms wrap around your body again, as though tending to the bruise left by the sucker punch shaped something like that tall woman named Vanessa.

Joel scratches the back of his neck. “We were…we were seein’ about starting things up again. Me ‘n her.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got you. That’s – I mean, I’m – I’m sorry, Joel, I –”

“Woah, woah,” he’s stepping forward now, “hey, no. No way. This wasn’t you. Well, shoot – it kinda was you. But it was just as much me, right?”

You smile, your face back in the safe hold of his hands. Tears roll down your cheeks, collecting in the corners of your mouth. His thumbs swipe them away.

“This was just as much me,” he repeats, voice soft and soothing.

“But, you know – if you wanted to – just ‘cause I don’t want to get – so if you didn’t wanna have to – that’d be okay, you know that, right?”

His head snaps back, brows low. It’s the first time he looks like his cool has broken all morning. It’s the first time he looks…downright offended. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, and then, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I just – I know this ain’t ideal. It’s even worse if you’re tryna make it work with Vanessa. So if you felt like it was too much, then…”

Joel shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, edged with some kind of groan. “Stop talking, right now. Stop. You gotta take a deep breath, alright? I’m here, ‘n I mean I’m here. We’re in this together. I am not running out on you.”

“Joel –”

What was a mere crack in his cool before, rips through it now like lightning spreading across the sky. He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping between his teeth. “If you think I would leave you right now, to deal with this on your own –”

“I don’t,” you tell him, his vexation powering your sudden animation. You wipe your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m just saying, it’s a fucking lot. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I’m giving you an out, man.”

“I am not interested in taking it. Enough. Conversation over.”

“And what about Vanessa?”

“What about her?” he asks, the question dripping in something akin to anger. He catches himself, draws it back in. “She’ll just – We’ll talk, I’ll explain it. The hell else can we do? One thing at a time, okay?”

“Right,” you nod, “okay. One thing at a time.”

“Let’s just build these damn wardrobes. I sure as hell didn’t lug all that timber over here to not do ‘em.”

“Okay,” you repeat, making for the door.

“Ah.” He clicks, and you turn back. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To get the timber.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, pointing to your bed. “Sit down. Relax. You ain’t getting a damn thing.”

Joel calls it a day at six o’clock.

The skeleton of the closet is up: a smooth, tan frame lining one wall of your room. Much bigger, much sturdier than its predecessor.

You’re in the same spot he left you in: lying across your bed, admiring his handiwork. He’s good at what he does. You told him twice, and the two of you almost heaved both times. Compliments aren’t something you’re used to handing one another.

He left, maybe, three hours ago. Said he had to shower; said he’d be back first thing to finish the job. You sat up to see him out, got struck by a wave of nausea so bad that you fell back to the bed with one hand on your stomach and the other over your lips, and Joel had insisted – demanded – that you stay where you were.

I’ll be back later to check on ya, he assured, setting a glass of water at your bedside. And then he told you to call him if you felt even remotely off – sick, or panicked, or had a tickle in your throat that you couldn’t clear – and that’s when the two of you realized that you don’t even have one another’s numbers.

And you laughed, the both of you; laughed at the absurdity of you carrying his child when you don’t even carry his contact details in your phone. Laughed at how quickly everything has turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the few hours since you woke up. It felt like some form of release, the only way to clear the blockage of tension in both your throats. So, you laughed, until you felt sick again, and Joel swept the hair from your shoulders to cool you down.

The attentiveness is…new. It’s interesting. It’s kind, in the same way that being told to say hi to whoever your grandma is talking to in the grocery store, is kind. Sweet, the same way that answering the door on Halloween to a bunch of kids you don’t know from a street you don’t recognize the name of, is sweet.

Whatever. It’s fucking weird, alright?

You’ve never seen this side of Joel. You didn’t know or even think, in your wildest dreams, that he existed. Let’s face it: you two have spent the entirety of your inhabitance next door to one another, antagonizing each other. Your favorite hobby has always been pissing Joel off – teasing him for having backache, seeing how far down his porch you can launch his newspaper and he’ll still go get it. Playing the same kind of music you heard him playing on his guitar that one time, full-volume from your kitchen window just to fuck with him.

And, likewise: his favorite hobby has always been…well, ignoring you. Doing everything he can not to engage. If it weren’t for that fucking cat lady and her jittery green Chevrolet, none of this would’ve ever happened. She was a catalyst where one was neither needed nor wanted. You would’ve gone about your life, pinning your underwear only slightly more carefully to your clothesline, and Joel would’ve gone about his, doing – whatever the fuck he does.

Sure, it’s weird. But it’s nice. It’s nice to have him on your side, turning to check on you rather than snap at you for something. Nice to have him talk – actual, rounded words in place of grumbles and mumbles and groans and sighs. Nice to hang out with him and watch him work and ask questions about screws and power tools and pretend to be interested just to distract from the weight of queasiness in your stomach.

Your hands trail down, cupping around your navel. Your stomach still feels like your stomach: still soft, still spongey under your touch. If not for the two more tests you’d taken this afternoon, perched on the bathroom counter waiting for Joel to unstick his gaze from his watch and announce, That’s three minutes – both also positive, by the way – you’d have no fucking clue.

You hold the bottom half of your tummy, fingers rubbing gently over the skin that will soon enough grow and swell and protect.

“Hey,” you whisper, staring at the stationary ceiling fan overhead. A pause. An awkward inhale. “…hey, little buddy. I don’t – know you very well, yet. I figure you can’t even fucking hear me, but whatever. Just wanted to say hi. I’m – Ew, no. I’m not Mom, yet. What the fuck. I don’t know who I am right now, so just…maybe go easy on me until I figure that part out. And after, too. Alright? Are we…we cool?

“You can’t tell me, I know. I just have to assume we’re cool. Okay. Well. Keep growin’. Keep…doing your thing. You’re doing great. We’re doing – we’re doing alright.

“Good job, kid. Good job.”

Joel tells Vanessa two days later. She takes it…about as well as you might hope.

He says they talked for four hours. Three cups of coffee and a drive to Taco Bell later, she agreed to meet you. Properly. Not across the cluttered dancefloor of Tommy’s wedding.

She –? Is – is that a good idea?

I don’t know, kid. It’s the best I’ve got.

Meet me? Like, come kick my ass for sleeping with her boyfriend?

Joel had sighed and deadened his eyes on yours. Not her boyfriend, he corrected, passing you a sweater folded a little slapdash for your liking, and wasn’t her boyfriend when we slept together.

You shook the sweater straight again and fixed his work, muttering to yourself that at least he’s a better builder than he is a folder.

Joel heard you, and let it go. Passed you another – unfolded – sweater to sit in your wardrobe. Let’s just see how it goes, alright?

Alright.

We’re really trying this again. It’s only been a couple weeks.

Okay.

And neither of us have had much luck in that department since we broke it off, y’know?

Joel. I said okay.

He held your gaze a moment too long. Okay.

You’re on your porch when he strolls over, wrist blocking the six o’clock sun from his eyes. Newspaper in his fist, wind licking the corners. “Forget somethin’ today?” he asks, meeting you at the top of the steps.

“Came out to get it,” you brace yourself on the railing, “felt sick. This is me workin’ up to it.”

“You want me to toss it back onto my lawn so you can go fetch me it?”

You smile, eyes screwing shut. “Was coming over to ask what time for tomorrow.”

The reminder snaps him from his happy daydream. He says, “I was comin’ to ask you the same thing. Seven work?”

“Seven’s good. Are we getting food?”

“You wanna get food? I figured maybe you wouldn’t be up for it, what with the, uh…” Joel gestures to your hunched position, your head low between your shoulders, your deep, deliberate breaths.

“Maybe just drinks,” you utter, gulping back the sharp taste of bile.

He nods. “Drinks it is. You okay? You need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks. See you guys at seven.”

Four minutes early, there’s a knock at your door. You pull it open, and there they are. Picture-perfect, like they might be posing for a holiday card. A bottle in his arm, a bunch of flowers in hers. A timid but genial smile between her cheeks, a twinkle in her eye. That same circle of shining light around her head, brunette tresses curled into bouncing waves.

“Howdy,” Joel says, stepping into the space you create. He dips his head, kisses your cheek, whispers a brief, Y’okay? in your ear. You nod quickly, gently shifting him out of the way.

Vanessa lingers for a moment in the doorway. She glances from Joel to you again, blinking in the porch light. Her pale skin lit in an ethereal glow. She’s prettier up close.

Joel addresses you, hand brushing the small of your back, “…this is Vanessa.”

“Hi,” she says, and pushes the flowers towards you – a small bouquet of gypsophila and eucalyptus. Bright, polite. Each sprig laden with the burden of appearing simpatico, but important. Meaningful, in the airiest sense of the word. “Hi,” again.

“Hi,” you echo, and then feel stupid for having nothing more to offer. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, hot on your shoulder.

But Vanessa takes the weight from your chest. “It’s nice to meet you – officially. I saw you at Tommy and Maria’s wedding. You looked so beautiful.”

“Thanks,” springs from your tongue sooner than the rest of the sentence. Your brain scrams to find more words. “You looked – you looked great, too. Do you wanna –? I mean – Sorry. Come in. Obviously.”

She clicks over the threshold, her pale dress floating into your hallway like she’s part of a dream. She’s just as beautiful in this light, relaxed form – pastel blue and the glimmer of golden jewelry – as she was in the sleeker, more dramatic form you saw her in before. An aura about her which captures and tends to your attention. Intense, captivating, but not intimidating.

You usher them to the living room, offer them a space on the couch while you take Vanessa’s flowers to the kitchen. Joel follows you through, sets the bottle on the counter.

“Nonalcoholic,” he says, unscrewing the cap.

Your eyebrows jump. “Great. Thanks.”

“She’s nervous,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I know you are, too. Y’all are similar like that.”

You slot the stems into a vase of water one by one, carefully organizing a display. “She seems sweet,” you assure him. “She shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Neither should you.”

“Is this…totally weird for you?”

Joel breathes in deep, filling three glasses. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never lifting from the sparkling peach.

“Sorry.”

He angles his jaw. “Stop sayin’ you're sorry. I’ll kick your ass.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, eyes lifting only to his elbows. “Sorry.”

He scoffs, swiping the glasses and stepping back to let you out first.

“I’m trying not to make it weird,” you offer, slipping by.

“I don’t want you to try anything.” He kicks your ankle lightly and follows you back into the living room.

Vanessa sits forward and clasps her hands around her knee when you sit back down, shifting as though to reach for you before she stops herself. “How are you feeling? Joel said you’re a little…worse for wear, right now.”

“I’ve been better,” you say, smiling. “Just morning sickness. Which lasts – all day.”

She nods sympathetically. “My sister had it rough with her first. I actually…” She twists around, reaches for her purse, fishes out an orange packet. “I brought you some ginger tea. Kate told me it helped her a lot, so.”

She holds it out in almost trembling fingers. Likewise, you steady yours to take it from her, thanking her with a shy nod of the head. “That’s so kind,” you reply quietly, eyes darting to Joel. He’s staring at the pack in your hands, watching as you turn it over to read the back.

“And – listen,” Vanessa continues, the acceptance of her offering clearly fueling her assuredness, “I don’t want anything to be weird – between you and I, between you and Joel. I know this situation is…new. It’s, um…”

“It’s kinda weird,” you say, humoring. “It’s okay. I know.”

She breathes a relieved laugh. “It is. Thank God you said it.” She glances back at Joel, who smiles at her, slips his hand onto her knee. “But I guess,” a deep breath, “I guess it is what it is. And we’re all adults, you know? We can make it work, right?”

Your head switches rapidly between nodding enthusiastically and shaking enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yes. No, absolutely. And, you know, me and Joel – there isn’t – we’re not at all…”

“Oh,” she bats the idea away, “I know. I know that. He told me everything. It’s – You know, it’s just a timing thing.”

Joel’s staring down at his hand locked around her leg. Unblinking. Unmoving. His expression doesn’t shift until the two of you settle back into your seats; until Vanessa asks if he’d mind making you a cup of ginger tea.

You barely notice his absence, the way she takes you up in conversation. Like twirling you off in some kind of dance, each sentence strung safely to the next. There are no lulls, no awkward pauses. She asks about work, asks about your family. She tells you stories about her niece, who’s three now, and compares how you’re feeling to how she remembers her sister feeling.

Then her work, and the IT guy her friend hooked up with, and her class at the gym which she’s trying to convince Joel to come along to, and Kate’s hot yoga class every Thursday night, and the new sushi place which just opened downtown and You gotta try it some day; the nigiri is divine.

And you nod along, and you laugh at her anecdotes and tell your own, and Joel tells her to tell you about the jazz band who were playing at the restaurant they visited a couple weeks ago, and you offer to top her drink up and she says she’ll do it herself and she leaves you and Joel alone for the first time all evening, and – it’s weird.

Because – behind the veil of conversation you’re doing your best to uphold, sits an image of this very night – only, in Joel’s house. In Joel’s house, on Joel’s couch, drinking nonalcoholic wine with Joel’s brother. Joel and Vanessa leant against one another on one couch, Tommy and Maria on the other.

You can’t help it – you’re wondering what Maria thinks of Vanessa. How long they knew each other, if at all, before the breakup. Whether they hung out, whether they discussed sushi and yoga, or the housing market, or their Miller boyfriends and their annoying Miller habits.

Maria would’ve liked her, you think. Would’ve found her as lovely as you do. And the idea, the image of them giggling together at family parties and being Tommy’s Maria and Joel’s Vanessa – presses a firm, bullying finger into the bruise you thought had faded some from the other day.

And once they’re gone, once you’re left alone again – lying in still silence, closed in on yourself by the thick darkness of your room, nothing but you and your thoughts and your unborn child for company – it slips out.

“Fuck her, right?” You hold your hands out, addressing your stomach. “She was so fucking nice. Did you like her? Fuck me, I liked her. I hope they break up.”

And then, realizing who you’re talking to: “No. Sorry, baby, no. I don’t hope they break up. I want your dad to be really happy. But – Goddamn. She was so sweet. I thought she was gonna slap me, and she just – she brought ginger tea! Fuck. They look good together, don’t they?”

It’s just hormones. Just the emotional trip that is being four weeks pregnant. Everybody feels like this when they fall pregnant – sensitive, vulnerable, clingy. Right? Right?

Your words sit stagnant in midair. You swear you can see them, heavy and intruding. Awkwardly lingering someplace they don’t belong. Because none of it even matters – the hormones, the emotions. The weird knot burning a hole in your chest, shaped like a clenched fist, knuckles branded by the heat of longing. It can’t matter.

You’re where you are, he’s where he is. A pillow in your arm, Vanessa in his. Feet apart, bricks and mortar and something like twenty years and two dates too late separating you.

Both staring up at the ceiling, wondering who the other’s thinking of.

“At eight weeks, your baby is roughly the size of a raspberry.”

Your knee bounces, breath coming and going in shaky ripples. The rubber sole of your shoe cries against the sterilized hospital floor. Your chest hums anxiously and your throat catches when you swallow and are the lights too bright? The room too hot? You’re sweating. Why are you sweating? Can you breathe right now?

Joel nudges your arm and your eyes roll to the pamphlet in his hand, his finger tracing the words. “C’mon,” he utters, leaning in, “how can anything the size of a raspberry be scary?”

You squint under fluorescent white. “A raspberry that grows into the size of a watermelon, can break my ribs, make me throw up, make me lose hair, and then tear my vagina apart on its way out? That’s pretty scary.”

He smirks. “Not to me it ain’t. My vagina stays perfectly intact the entire time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you reply, whacking him.

He laughs, swatting your palm away, keeping ahold of your fingers inside his own. “Speaking of – we gotta talk.” He elbows you, waiting until you’re looking again to speak. “We gotta cut the language.”

“Cut the language?”

“Uhuh. Rein it in. And by we, I mean you.”

“Uh,” you scoff, “I don’t think so. When you do the growing, then you can rein your own swearing in. Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Charming,” Joel says. “You know the baby can hear you? You want it to come out swearin’ like a trooper?”

You grin, tipping your head to him. “If it comes out and says anything, we’re rich. So – yeah. Let it.”

He opens his mouth to reply when a nurse emerges from a nearby room and calls your name.

“You’re up, kid,” Joel says, standing beside you.

You turn back, speaking before your brain settles on words. “I’m scared.”

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand. He squeezes it gently, uses the other to keep you facing him. “This is the easy part, right? We’re just going to meet them.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and wander over to meet the nurse. Joel’s hand a vice grip around yours.

She leads you into a similarly washed-out clinic room, only slightly dimmer with the lights turned out, and yanks a roll of paper across the bed. Tapping it twice, she smiles. “Hop up, darlin’.”

You settle into the crinkly paper, leaning back until you’re blinking up at the speckled ceiling. Another door opens and a woman in a white coat floats in, and you swear that if it weren’t for Joel’s Evenin’, ma’am when she greets the two of you, you’d believe she were a figment of your imagination. Another character in this fucking insane dream.

“Not often I do these past five o’clock,” she says, clicking her mouse and typing on her keyboard and fixing a hair grip back into her bun. Casual. It’s not even a thing to her, introducing parents and children. She does this all fucking day.

Joel tosses half a glance to you and then realizes you’re not currently in the room. He pinches your hand again. It grounds you for all of two seconds.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “work commitment. I couldn’t get away any earlier, so we’re havin’ to do this a little late.”

“What do you do?” she asks, staring at her screen. Her glossy brown eyes and rich, dark skin.

“I’m a contractor,” Joel replies, thumb stroking your shoulder.

Something bubbles in your stomach, something akin to jealousy, an urgency to tell her that right now, in this room, he’s mine. No more questions. Something which quickly dissipates when you remind yourself to quit being fucking ridiculous and that right now, in this room, he’s someone else’s, and the thumb on your shoulder is merely to hold you back from fleeing. Nothing more.

The sonographer nods. Her name badge reads Freya. Pretty name. Stop picturing what your kid would look like as a Freya. You are not naming them after the first sonographer you meet.

“Shouldn’t be too long, then y’all can get home for the night. You live nearby?”

“Twenty minutes’ drive. Not far, are we?” Joel asks you.

Your eyes shoot down to his. “No,” you push your cheeks up, telling Freya, “not far.”

She flattens her lips against one another, lending you a sympathetic smile. “You got nothing to worry about, honey. Promise. Gel might be a little cold, that’s about as scary as this gets. We’re just gonna make sure everything’s looking good, check your dates, check your measurements. You’re doing great.”

“You hear that?” Joel murmurs, settling down into the chair by your side. His hand hasn’t left yours. His voice is low, meant just for you, when he repeats, “You’re doin’ great.”

You huff a laugh, some nervous release from your lungs.

Freya smiles, face lit by the faint glow of the screen in front of her. “We ready?”

You roll the hem of your tee up when she motions, bunching it under the wire of your bra. She squeezes a bottle over your stomach, which tenses solid when the frozen bite of gel curls right below your belly button. Freya smiles apologetically when you wince. Told you, she murmurs, and your breath escapes in a slightly more comfortable laugh. Lighter, easier. Scariest part over.

She presses the probe to your skin and spreads the gel, coating the bottom of your tummy in a slippery slick which tickles with each inch she covers. Two buttons pressed, and a dark image appears on a screen opposite you.

A gray fan, speckled like the ceiling above your head. Dark, black shapes growing and shrinking at the turn of Freya’s wrist. She pauses, two blobs onscreen: the larger, black, round, home to a smaller, misshapen one. Flecked with white and silver and moving slowly, gently, but – right there.

“Mom, Dad,” she grins, “meet your baby.”

You and Joel move forward at the same time, drawn closer to the crunchy image as if by some kind of natural magnetism. Eyes never blinking, lips agape. The shapes flutter, the smaller dipping in and out of view.

“You see right here, right in the center?” A white cross appears over the blob’s middle. “That little movement? The kinda – pulsing?”

You each nod. Your nails dig so deep into Joel’s hand that you risk drawing blood.

“That’s the heart. Ticking away.”

“The heart?” you ask, watching the rhythmic flicker in the center of the screen.

“Yep. Perfect, too.”

She hits another key and suddenly the room is filled with a muffled thudding; a steady, energetic pulse in your ears. It matches the movements onscreen, the tiny throb of the baby’s chest, the shape of your womb moving like waves before you.

And suddenly, it's real – all of it: the screen and the room and the sonographer and you, and Joel’s hand encasing yours, holding your knuckles to his lips, and –

And the heartbeat. Right there, right in front of you. Shy, probably as nervous as you are to introduce themselves. Feeling your eyes on them, curled up somewhere safe inside you. Right there.

You turn to Joel, and his illuminated face is staring straight at the screen. Eyes soaked with tears, blinking as they form, cheeks dappled with wet. He draws his eyes from his child only to look back at you, only to mirror your stunned smile, your disbelieving laugh, more tears dripping down into his beard. He sits up, presses his damp lips firmly to your forehead.

Freya mutes the heartbeat, pauses the scan where the image is clearest, and sits back. “I’ll give you guys a moment to yourselves,” she says, wheeling back in her chair. “Take all the time you need. I’m right outside.”

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles for the both of you, sweeping hair from your face.

The door closes on your little bubble – you, Joel, and the grainy image of your baby. The evidence that – yeah, that night happened, and yeah, you’re forever changed because of it. The evidence that you’re about to become a mom, for real, no matter how much the thought makes you feel like your stomach is kicking around at your ankles.

And the evidence that, no matter how scared you might be, how unprepared and unworthy you feel – you fucking adore that little blob already.

Love it as much as Joel does, stood over you, kissing your hair and whispering words you’re only half-listening to. A quiet thank you, a shaky I can’t believe it. Something about showing his brother. And when you look up at him, blinking at one another, inches apart – he takes your jaw in his hands and lowers his lips to yours.

Different. Softer. No want laced through. No urgency. Nothing needed, nor requested, that isn’t already right here in this little bubble of yours.

He kisses you slowly, eyes closed, holding you until you pull away for breath. His nose bumps against yours and you laugh, heads together, eyes low.

“Still scared?” he whispers.

“Terrified,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he says, and kisses you again.

You lean back against the bed, relief settling your bones and soothing your heartbeat. The notion washes over you that, if you could, you’d stay in this room forever. Staring at the screen, holding Joel’s hand. Whispering fears into his mouth and letting him swallow them in a kiss.

He hands you some paper towel and helps you drag it across your stomach, your eyes still fixed on the little shape opposite. He hooks his chin over your head – the fresh, woody smell of his cologne infiltrating your lungs and throwing you under the haze of something you’re not quite sure how to define.

“Duck,” he says, voice vibrating into your skull.

“Huh?”

“Start saying duck. Make the baby think we’re saying that, then you can say –” he lowers his voice, “– fuck, all you want.”

“The hell would I have to say duck for?”

Joel stands upright and shrugs. “I don’t know. Think of somethin’. A nickname, maybe.”

“Duck?”

He nods plainly, glancing over to the screen.

The pillow beneath your head sighs as you turn from Joel back to the ultrasound. “Baby Duck,” you offer, and he smiles.

Smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile. Eyes glistening, cheeks swollen. Something innocent and earnest about it. Something pure.

He agrees. “Baby Duck it is.”

Joel insists that you spend the night at his place.

“It’s been a big day,” he reasons, fixing the bed in his guestroom. “Just – let me run around after you for a little bit.”

You fight your corner as much as you can be bothered – I gotta maintain my independence, I’m gonna be a single mom soon enough, you know – but, truthfully, you’ll take any excuse to have him rush around at your beck and call. Some days you open your mouth and he hears the wet click of saliva between your lips, and grabs a glass of water for you before you’ve even voiced the request.

He orders takeout, settles shoulder-to-shoulder with you on the couch, and lets you pick whichever movie you feel like putting him through until the food’s gone, he’s out of beer, and you’ve abandoned Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles for an argument about the best part of pizza.

You don’t like the crust?

Nope.

What fuckin’ age are you?

If it ain’t stuffed, it’s just not worth it.

At eleven, you bid him goodnight and wander upstairs, falling into a sea of navy-blue sheets to be delivered to sleep by the serene silence of Joel’s home. It takes no time for your eyes to flutter closed, the soft sheen of moonlight painted across the wall, sweeping from your view to be replaced in a whir by –

Lights. Overhead and all around and so bright and so close that you swear they’re etched on the inside of your eyelids.

You’re in the backseat, watching them soar by in blurs of white and red and amber and green, and your pulse is rattling through your veins and throbbing between your temples and you can’t focus on any one object for longer than three seconds, before your eyes roll and your head dizzies.

A word, slung from your lips in a half-wakened attempt to stop it. A word you barely recognize at first, don’t understand the meaning of. It’s been years. Why now? Mom.

You’re not sure why, or who you’re even reaching out to. There are two figures in the front seats, heads facing forward. She’s not turning around. She’s not even fucking moving, not reacting to the speed or the lights or your voice. Mom.

You scream it, the syllable ripping violently from your throat, and your tiny fingers reach for her swirls of hair. You pause, staring at the chipped polish on your stubby, kiddy nails. Mom, I’m scared.

The distorted blast of a horn scoops the car up in one motion, hurtling over itself along the freeway. You’re thrown to the roof of the car, plummet back down to your seat; the seatbelt throttles you, rips a burn deep into the skin of your neck. Back up again; your head hits the spongey roof of the car. Your stomach somersaults.

Mom, please, you wail, swiping for her hand. It’s lying limp by her thigh, dark droplets on her wrist. Mom Mom please Mom I’m scared Mom please I’m so scared I –

“Baby.”

His voice is low, earthy. It chews apart the high-pitched squeal of brakes and screaming. The glass smashing. The metal crunching.

You lift from the bed like it’s ice water, gasping when you finally surface back on Earth. Your chest heaves, it’s not sucking in enough breath; you can’t breathe you can’t breathe you can’t fucking breathe.

Joel whips the cover from your legs and you roll from the mattress, feet planting on the floor. You bend forward to grip onto the sheets, a choking rising up your throat, closer and closer until it tugs on your tongue.

“Icantbreathe,” you pant.

Joel’s body curves around yours. “You’re alright,” he’s telling you – urging you; one hand between your shoulder blades, the other holding your wrist for fear you might collapse. “I’m here, you’re okay. You’re at my place, you’re safe, but, kid – I need you to slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

You work your breathing to the strokes of his hand up and down your spine: in out in out in and out and in and out and in, and out, and in, and…out…and in…and…out.

“That’s it. Keep doing that. You’re good, baby, I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

In – and out. In – and out again.

The room slowly desaturates back into boring, moonlit blue. Feeling sputters back into your hands, clawing at the sheets once the sharpness dissolves. The cotton pets back, smooth under your quivering touch. Your lips stop tingling, your ears stop ringing. One after another, until your blood settles back to a steady stream and you straighten up.

“Can you sit down for me?”

“No,” you whimper, and Joel nods.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’m gonna get you a drink, that okay?”

You grab his T-shirt. “No. Don’t leave me. Please. Sorry.”

He cups your frozen cheeks. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Just downstairs. You can come.”

He settles you at his kitchen table and shuffles over to the cupboards, rubbing his eyes. You feel the heat of embarrassment and guilt, watching as he settles down with a groan minutes later.

“Ginger,” he tells you, voice rounded by his mug, sliding one of your own over to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, lifting it with two hands. The smell sharp, cutting up the remnants of gasoline and smoke.

“Many times do I gotta say it?” he asks dryly. “Quit sayin’ you’re sorry.”

You gulp nervously. “You got work in the morning. You’re gonna be exhausted.”

“And if I hadn’t let you keep me up watchin’ chick flicks, I’d be rested. That’s something I can deal with later. I got you to worry about right now.”

You shake your head; the ceramic hits the table with a sharp thud. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well,” Joel sniffs, “you’re carrying my child. I’ll always worry about you.”

You sit back, the curve of the chair cradling, your heart beating lamely against the wood. Joel’s jaw rests in the cushion of his palm, staring back at you.

“What time is it?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Three. Take a sip.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sip.”

You obey, lifting the tea and swallowing harshly.

He watches every move, every shift reflected in his dark eyes, decorated by a tense, stony expression. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Never,” you say. “This never happens.”

Joel cranes his jaw, cracks his neck. “Alright,” he sighs, “that’s okay. Breathe again. You’re doing fine.”

But you don’t feel fine. The dregs of panic sizzle into something thicker, hotter. Anger. Frustration. “Why the fuck is this happening?” you hiss, fingers prodding into your eye sockets. “What the f–?”

“Easy. I don’t know. Hormones? Stress?”

“You sound like my fucking doctor.”

Joel smiles. Amusement, before concern wipes over it again. “Let’s just give it some time to pass, okay?”

You nod, hanging over your drink, the silhouette of your reflection staring back at you. The steam snakes up, seeping into your skin, bubbling under the surface. Wiping clean any memory of freeway or nail polish, like coating over a bathroom mirror. The shapes still visible behind, but blurred. Gone.

“How’s Vanessa?” you ask, an attempt to distract yourself.

Joel adjusts a little awkwardly in his chair. “She’s good. She loved the scan photo. Showed it to her sister. They’re sure it’s a boy.”

“Ha. Joel Jr.”

“Joel Jr.,” he agrees, and then attempts to distract himself. “So,” he says, “Allandale.”

“Mhm?”

“Wonder if I ever saw your mom or dad. When I was there visitin’ Sam.”

You shrug. “Doubt it. I mean, they always lived right next to the elementary school, if that helps. My mom was a first-grade teacher. The two of us used to walk there ‘n back together, every day.”

“First grade, huh? Best one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and she was the best of the best. She used to go all out for her kids; used to go to Michaels and get all this crafty stuff so they could spend all afternoon making little houses or zoos, or – whatever she could think of. And she’d always keep some aside, bring some home for me to make one, too. One time, she came home with all this blue tissue paper and little foam fish, and we made an aquarium together.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Joel says.

“Yeah,” you say again, nodding eagerly. “She was so cool. And fun, y’know? I just remember her being so much fun. I always felt safe with her, felt loved. I actually used to think she hung the sun every morning, just for me.” You take a deep breath, replacing it with a broken sigh.

“What about your dad? What was he like?”

You frown. “He was…fine. Real quiet, reserved. A little grumpy, I guess. I always got the idea he couldn’t be bothered with me, young as I was. Always wanted to be left alone. I think my mom overcompensated a lot.”

Something flashes across Joel’s face that seems to say he knows – or, at least, he understands. Almost imperceptible, a quick flicker of annoyance. “You miss her?” he asks, switching back.

“My mom?” You almost laugh, gripping onto your mug. Staring at the slow swirl of ginger. A shrug which presents more like a flinch; an animal swatting a fly away. “I miss those parts, when I think of them. The aquarium, the walking to school. Miss the memories. But I don’t think I knew her well enough or long enough to miss her.

“I’ve lived way longer without her than I ever had her. Done everything without her, like –” gesturing down, “– this. But, sometimes…sometimes, I bundle the sheets up behind my back in bed, and I pretend it’s her. Pretend I have a mom, and she’s cuddling me to sleep. I dunno. Maybe that’s what missing her feels like.”

Joel soaks in every word you say, letting the shape of each one settle on the table between you before he speaks again. Letting them be spoken into the dead of night, collected by no one, and letting them fade into silence. Secrets sweeping off into starlight. Nothing you would admit in the daytime.

“What was her name?” he asks, voice timid and gentle in the dark kitchen.

You almost choke on your tea. “Shoot – I’m sorry. That was a lot. Sorry. She, uh – Her name?”

It brings the first genuine smile to your lips; the memory of your mom now clear behind your eyes. Her round cheeks, her fluttering earrings. The deep, dark curls of her hair, thick ringlets twisting and lighting in the sun. The gap between her front teeth, the purse of her lips as she kissed your cheeks, your hands, your tummy.

Her name like a melody in your head; a safe word, a calming mantra when the world becomes too noisy, too saturated, too sharp to bear. Two syllables. Two little beats, like a piece of her still lives in the sound of her name.

“Sarah,” you tell Joel. “Her name was Sarah.”

#*hits post*#*throws laptop from bridge*#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #neighbor!joel #babydaddy!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

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luvjunie · 1 year ago

Text

— broken promises

pairing: earth 42 miles x fem!reader

summary: while earth 42 miles comes off a lot tougher than 1610’s based off his cold demeanor and his trauma induced apathy, somewhere under that hard shell, he’s still the sweet boy he used to be and wants love just like anyone else. miles is aged up to 17 in this, simply for the plot! wc: 2,640

contains: spoilers!!! angst to fluff

word bank: “mi vida” - my life, “mi amor” - my love

playing now: Wasted Love Freestyle by Jhene Aiko

You and Miles have been dating for 7 months now, and lately he hasn’t been around as much as he’d like to, for obvious reasons. Well, not obvious to you. You still don’t know that Miles is the Prowler, and he’s intent on keeping it that way.

It’s the third time he’s flaked on plans he arranged himself this month, and he can tell you’re beyond tired of it with the way you just blew his phone up.

— Miles POV —

Miles’ phone buzzes in his pocket but he decides against checking it, marking it off as something unimportant. He’s already accepted a job from his Uncle and a distraction wouldn’t do him any good right now.

8:03 PM

Mi Vida: please don’t tell me you’re doing this again bro.

Mi Vida: this is a joke, right?

Mi Vida: hello?? you were supposed to be outside thirty minutes ago.

Mi Vida: Miles Gonzalo Morales I swear to GOD if I don’t hear your motorcycle revving outside in the next five minutes so help me.

*buzz buzz*

Ignored.

*buzz buzz*

He kissed his teeth, lashes fluttering in aggravation and air puffing through his nostrils at the continuous buzzing against his leg. His shoulder fell to the side a bit as he reached down into his pocket to grab his phone while he climbed up the stairwell, following his uncle. Seeing your contact name on his lock screen, his brow raised as he read over the message, then they bunched together in the middle of his forehead incredulously, the tone of your texts causing his strides to falter.

Miles was genuinely confused for a moment, trying to think back on if he’d done anything to upset you, until the memory of him assuring you he wouldn’t do this again slapped him across the face harder than his mom did that one time he’d cursed at her on accident. The two of you had a date planned for tonight, and he swore to you he’d be there this time, fifteen minutes early at that, even though he knew there was a big chance he wouldn’t be able to make it all. It was selfish of him to promise something he couldn’t guarantee, knowing how demanding the other factors in his life were, but he was so tired of disappointing you, and how happy you looked when he told you you guys would finally get to spend some time together really had him thinking he could make it work this time.

Eyes falling shut for a beat, a heavy sigh leaves his lips, tongue darting out to dampen them as he quickly tries to think of something to respond with that won’t piss you off more than you already are.

He texts you back: sorry Mami, something came up yk how it is. i got you tomorrow tho fasho

Yeah. Real smooth.

*buzz buzz*

Mi Vida: yk what, just forget it, Miles.

Damn, she called me by my first name? I definitely fucked up this time. He thinks to himself.

Mi Vida: whoever you’re with is clearly more important to you than what we got goin on, so it’s cool. stay where you at, i’m done

Shit.

His heart beats a little faster in his chest, the sensation a semblance of something he hadn’t felt in years. Fear. He texts back as fast he can, head snapping up to see he’s fallen behind his Uncle, and he hurriedly jumps a few stairs before he comes to a stop again.

Miles: done??? the fuck you mean you done?

You don’t respond fast enough for his liking, so he double texts.

Miles: baby stop playin. you trippin it ain’t even like that at all

Mi Vida: i’m deadass. don’t call my phone.

He utters a string of curses under his breath, alerting his Uncle who had already noticed he was falling behind when he heard the inconsistency of his nephew’s footsteps. He’s ample steps above Miles, turning his head only slightly over his shoulder to address the distracted teenager.

“C’mon man, get off the phone. We got business to tend to. You in or you out?” Aaron asks. “You know I can’t have nobody holdin’ me back.” There’s a hint of something deeper playing within his words, and Miles knows he doesn’t have a choice.

He swallows hard as he looks up at the older man. Taking one last look down at his phone, his jaw clenches in contemplation before he’s shaking his head with a quiet sigh and shoving it back into his pocket. He’ll have to deal with this later.

“My fault. Yeah, I’m in.” He mumbles, doing a quick jog to catch up to the man.

His uncle’s lips quirk into a smirk, a heavy hand coming down to clap Miles’ back and squeeze his shoulder.

“My man. Aight, let’s roll.”

— Your POV —

8:05 PM

You: i’m deadass. don’t call my phone.

You watch closely as the three dots bubble at the bottom left corner of your screen, an indicator that he was typing. But instead, a quiet scoff slips from your mouth when they disappear, your shoulders slumping in disappointment at the word that appears below your last message.

Seen

You angrily toss your phone onto your bed, bottom lip quivering when you catch a glance at yourself in the mirror when you walk by. You’d gotten dressed up all nice just for him, because you knew the chance of him being free for a night to take you out was rare. You’d started your makeup early just to make sure he wouldn’t have to wait outside for you while you finished, and you’d even styled your hair the way you knew he liked. All for nothing.

You kicked your shoes off and dropped your purse to the ground, heading to your bathroom to undo all your work. You washed all the makeup off your face, the act feeling more humiliating than ever when you remembered why you’d even put it on in the first place. To feel pretty for someone who barely even showed up.

You closed your eyes and tried to calm down, hastily reaching back over to check your phone just one more time. Maybe he was thinking of what to say, and that’s why he’d left you on seen.

Seen 25 minutes ago

Maybe not.

You hated crying. And more than anything you were tired of doing it, especially when broken promises were the cause of your wasted tears. Your evening was basically wasted, and you weren’t in the mood to do anything else anyway, so you decided that you’d call it a night and head to bed early. You slipped on some comfy sleep shorts, tying your hair up for the night before grudgingly tugging a large t-shirt over your head. Your brow perked up at the scent that wafted past your nostrils, and pinching the shirt with your forefinger and thumb, you brought the fabric to your nose and immediately caught a whiff of Miles’ cologne. You then realized you’d put on a shirt you stole from him a while back, and the way your heart fluttered made you even more upset than you already were. You brushed it off to the best of your ability and crawled into bed, trying your hardest to keep your sniffling to a minimum as you pulled your blankets over your shoulder.

____

As soon as he’d gotten the job done and his Uncle gave him the okay to dip, Miles’ feet were moving at the speed of light down the stairwell. And while he had sort of rushed the plays he made with some of the city’s goons, he just had to pray that all his Uncle’s money was in the banded wad of cash he returned with, or it would be his ass.

Skipping a few steps he hopped down onto the platform before the next set, checking his phone for the time simultaneously.

10:15 PM

“Damn.” He groaned, pushing through the doors, cool wind hitting his face. Once he reached his motorcycle he shoved his helmet over his head, hopped on, and sped off with a “skrrrt”.

He sped through the streets carelessly, something you definitely would’ve scolded him for had you been riding on the back of his bike with him, with your arms tight around his waist to hold on like you always did. He bobbed and weaved through cars, lane splitting between a few of them and he may have even ran a red, but he wasn’t paying enough attention to remember. All he could focus on was that you said you were “done”, whatever the hell that meant, and he was adamant on making sure you weren’t.

____

You didn’t know when you’d dozed off, three steady knocks, a fourth one after a pause hitting against your window, resulting in your eyes snapping open at the disruption. You sat up on your mattress, the ball of your hand rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you peered across the room. Once they adjusted in the darkness and you recognized the familiar, lanky body of your boyfriend standing outside on the fire escape, the events of just two hours ago played over in your mind like a record.

With a roll of your eyes, you huffed and swung your legs over the side of your bed, pushing yourself onto your feet. Miles watched as you sleepily trudged over to the window, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, head slightly lowered and tilted to the side, as if he were already apologizing before you’d even made it to him.

Hooking your fingers underneath the edge of your window, with a quiet grunt you pulled it up, effectively lifting the barrier between your bodies. You instantly felt your yearning for him come back full force, and wanted nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms, but you restrained. Your eyes met his, the cool night air breezing into your room, and his heart clenched. Somehow he was able to feel the coolness in your demeanor, yet the cold weather hadn’t bothered him at all.

He was the first to speak.

“Hola, Mami.” He sized you up once, taking notice of your eyes that were slightly puffy from crying.

His voice was like silk to your ears, alluring and confident, almost hypnotizing, and it aggravated you that you felt yourself gravitating towards him off two simple words.

“Why are you here, Miles?” You sighed, arms slapping at your sides in exasperation.

He looked slightly taken aback, chin lifting a bit as if you’d asked something completely outlandish.

“What you mean why I’m here? You my girl, shit, this my crib too.” He shrugged, so nonchalant, as if nothing had happened. You wondered if it had even been him texting you earlier.

“You left me on seen, remember? Stood me up, too?” Your head cocked to the side to match the attitude in your tone, brows raising at him. What excuse would he use this time?

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling heavily before he spoke up again.

“I was… busy. Look, my bad, okay? You gon’ let me in or what? Ian come all the way over here to stand outside.” He demanded with a gesture towards the opening, his hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight and thawing the ice that’d been temporarily encased around your heart. There was the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips, because he already knew the answer.

Your lips pursed and you stepped to the side, a laggard arm stretched out beside you, silently granting him access to your room.

He stepped through the window frame and you closed it after him, his hands folding around the collar then the hem of his jacket as he adjusted it and turned towards you.

“I can’t keep doing this with you, Miles. It isn’t fair.” You mumbled, hating the way your voice split your words.

His head dipped to the side a bit as he took in your solemn expression and the way your gaze was cast to the floor, as if you were trying to contain your tears. He wasn’t the best at this, he knew that, and showing affection effectively really wasn’t his strong suit. He usually made it up to you by bringing you a few hundreds he’d made from a deal, paired with some roses he’d picked up on the way to your house at the last second— but you both knew paper and flowers wouldn’t fix it this time.

“I’m sorry, I mean it.” He said, reaching for your hand to bring you close and grateful when your eyes finally lifted to lock onto his, although seeing them tear-filled wrapped him in a deep-seated emotion he didn’t even want to acknowledge.

Miles rarely said he was sorry. If ever. Did he apologize? Yes, but it was usually a ‘my bad’ or a ‘my fault’, or some other term that’d get the point across without him have to use too much emotion. Hearing the words ‘I’m sorry’ from him was an anomaly, it happened once in a blue moon, so this time you knew he really meant it. In your heart you knew he meant it, but that didn’t stop the tear you’d been trying to keep at bay from rolling down your cheek.

His thumb caught the tear almost instantly, swiping it from the soft of your skin. It didn’t belong there, and he hated to be the reason why you were crying in the first place.

“Where do you disappear to, Miles?” You sniffled.

He sighed, glancing back over at the window. He considered telling you the truth, but he knew he couldn’t.

“I’m just tryna keep you safe, ma.”

“You always say that!” You squeaked, making sure to keep your voice down, you had technically snuck him in. You ripped your hand from his grasp, turning your face away from him as another tear fell. “Do you not trust me or something? Is that it?”

“Of course I trust you,” His eyebrows knit together at your question and he stole your hand from your side again.

“So why can’t you tell me?” You pleaded, eyes big and glossy.

“I just-“ He paused. “I can’t let you get hurt. The shit I do…” You watched as he hesitated, like even speaking about the subject pained him. “It ain’t good.” He swallowed, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. “And I’ll be damned if I put you in the middle of my shit. I love you… okay?” He moved closer to you, and when you turned from him once again he brought your face right back to his, this time with both his hands. He wasn’t going to let you go, and while Miles was rough around the edges, and seemingly devoid of any emotion other than anger or resentment for the world—he always handled you with care.

“I love you, Y/n, I put that on everything. I’ll burn this whole world down for you, you hear me? Don’t think I won’t.” He stared into your eyes longingly, intent on making sure you didn’t just hear every word, but that you understood them, too.

You couldn’t help but lean into his hand, your own coming up to hold at his wrist as you inhaled shakily and gave him a bleak nod.

That wasn’t enough for him. He needed to hear you say it.

“Do you understand?” He articulated his words, bringing his head down slightly to match your height a bit more.

“I understand.” You said softly, looking up at him through your lashes before your gaze fell to his lips. He took that as his sign, leaning forward and bringing you into a kiss.

You melted into him immediately, like you always did, eyes fluttering closed as your lips moved against his, and as his hands fell to your hips to pull you in closer, like they always did.

You broke the kiss for air, your hand resting on his bicep and your lips ghosting his as you spoke, as you shared the same breath. “I love you too…” You breathed, standing on your toes.

“Good,” You felt him grin before he pulled away, his hand pinching your chin to make you look at him. “Cause you not leaving me, ever. I can’t let no one else have you, Mami, you know that.” He cooed.

You felt heat flush your cheeks, a smile you couldn’t hide finally spreading on your face.

“Yeah yeah, I know.” You answered, chewing at your bottom lip. “Can you stay?” You whispered, eyes shifting between his hopefully as you awaited his answer.

“Ah…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, piping up again before you could get disappointed. “What about your moms?”

“She sleeps in on the weekends, you just gotta be outta here by nine. Please, pa?” You whined, already reaching for his hands.

He chuckled to himself and shook his head slightly, having to look away from the adorable look on your face. He tried to remain in denial of the fact that he was so deep in love with you he could hardly think sometimes, let alone say no, but he was failing. Miserably.

“Of course I’ll stay, mi amor.”

Your expression lit up, a toothy smile brightening your features as he let you lead him to your bed.

He made sure to remove his shoes before he laid down, settling on his back. He extended his arm out to you as he tucked the other behind his head, motioning for you to join him with his fingers.

You crawled into his open embrace, getting comfortable on top of his chest and nuzzling your head under his chin. You began to feel drowsy the second he wrapped his arm around you, a yawn leading your eyes to water. His hand slowly moved from where it was resting on your back, dipping beneath the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours comforting to you. His large hand rubbed up and down the expanse of your back, the tips of his fingers drawing lines along your spine— you always fell asleep easier when he did that. You listened to the steady beating of his heart, fingers idly toying with the gold chain he kept around his neck.

“I’m really sorry I ain’t make it tonight. I know you prolly got all pretty for me n’shit… and I wish I got to see it, but that’s on me.” He grumbled. He’d beat himself up over this for a while.

“S’okay.” You say it is, but he knows it’s not. He knows better. “I missed you.” Your quiet voice murmured from below him as you scooted in impossibly closer.

His jaw tensed as he stared up at your ceiling, a deep breath from his diaphragm raising you a little bit with his chest, and lowering you as he released it. “I know.” His response was hushed, and as sleep continued creeping in, you wondered if you’d imagined it.

But when you felt a long, drawn-out kiss press to the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades, you knew it was real. The last thing you heard before you dozed off was his voice, mellow and gentle as he assured you.

“Ima do better, mama. I promise, for real this time.”

- do not copy, plagiarize, or post my works onto a different platform.

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated!

#miles morales fanfiction #42 miles morales #miles g morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #miles morales prowler #prowler miles #prowler miles fanfic #earth 42 miles fluff

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katsukistofu · 3 months ago

Text

prickle me pink

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. fluff. ⭑ katsuki finds himself taking care of the cactus you gifted him against his better judgement.

It’s in the little things he does.

The sticky notes he leaves for you in the bento box he “accidentally” made an extra of and gives to you because he “ain’t wasting perfectly good food,” telling you to drink your damn water and that he’s proud of you, or that you look cute today.

Your favorite snack and a juicebox on your desk in the morning before the bell rings, which you swear you’ve only mentioned liking once and it was when you first met.

Whenever he fusses over your jacket when it’s cold outside and insists you hold hands with him, saying it’s “more work for him if you get sick.” Yet the way he takes off his scarf to wrap you up in its warmth is devastatingly gentle, despite his coarse scoldings.

Homemade chocolates shoved into your hands the moment you arrive at school every single White Day without fail, ignoring the stares from envious onlookers as he tugs you by the hand to walk you to class. The bandaids, only the cute character ones because you’re a stubborn brat who won’t wear anything else no matter how bad you get hurt, and ointment he keeps in his school bag.

Because he knows how accident prone you can be and it drives him insane whenever he sees a new scratch or bruise come from out of nowhere when you were fine moments ago.

Katsuki’s always been meticulous about everything in his life, and that includes loving you.

So the confusion on his face is almost humorously palpable as he squints at the cactus you randomly place in front of him in class one day.

“What is this?” Your boyfriend grumbles, holding his notebooks and pencil case in his hands. “Taking up space on my desk.”

“Suki!” You pout. “That’s mean. I bought this cactus.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Because…?”

“‘Cause it reminds me of you!”

The fuck does that even mean, it reminds you of him? This short, misshapen, stubby little thing that needed to be buried in dirt to even stand up on its own? Katsuki snorts, his amusement only growing at the sight of your deepening worried frown.

As if he would ever throw away anything from you. He’d rather take one of his own explosions to the face.

“Thanks, I guess.” Is all he says, his hand coming down to give a strong pat to your head. It was kind of ugly, but whatever. Hell, it was a gift from you that you specifically got for him, and honestly that’s all that mattered. “I’ll take care of it.”

You beam up at him from under his palm, and his heart clenches. “Really?”

“Yeah. Now go sit your ass down and take out that homework I know you forgot to do last night.”

“Yessir!” You mock salute and hurry over to your seat, opening up your shoulder bag.

Denki grimaces as he passes by, pointing at the new green addition to the blond boy’s desk. “Ew Bakugo, what is that?”

“Shut up, Dunce Face.” Katsuki scowls, protectively moving the pot closer to him. “Your eyes are getting shittier than Glasses’.”

Mina laughs as Denki sulks, now in his own seat, and glances over to where he was pointing at. “Ooh, it’s actually pretty cute!”

“Damn right it is.”

Katsuki’s lips curve slightly in pride, crimson eyes flickering over to your direction where you were hunched over scribbling on paper with scrunched up eyebrows, trying to do some problems on your own while you wait for him to come over. Fuck, you’re cute, he thinks.

“That’s ‘cause my girl picked it.”

After class, Katsuki finds himself googling “how to not kill a cactus” for the first time in his life and of course it’s because of you.

His brow raises as he scans the gardening article on his phone screen.

He’s no green thumb but he’s had some experience and it was pretty easy to keep a plant alive, but just to make sure. Half of it is information he already knows, put your cactus in a good spot to get sunlight, water it once a week, yada yada.

But what catches his eye is the section labeled “Flowering Cacti.”

So they could bloom depending on the species, and only under very nit-picky conditions, like cool to warm temperature fluctuations and specific pollinators. Interesting.

Hopefully he wouldn’t have to wrangle a bat to get some flowers to grow on it, though he could probably ask that animal-talking extra to help.

“Katsuki!” Something tackles him from behind and he barely budges, already knowing it’s you. It’s muscle memory at this point, the feeling of your soft body against his, etched into the molecules of his skin from all those times you’d sneak into his dorm past curfew to cuddle and how you always fell asleep on him during class field trips, not to mention plane rides.

You peer over his broad shoulder like a hamster peeking out of their hidey hole. “What are you looking at?”

“Nosy.” Katsuki snorts, holding up his phone to your face. Deliberately only showing the guide on how to care for cacti indoors, and not the flowering one. He doesn’t want you to see it, not yet.

─────────

You’re in your boyfriend’s dorm room several days later, finally finishing the last problem on the new sheet of homework you got from Ectoplasm’s class. Bakugo hovers over you to scan your equations, finally giving a satisfied nod.

A jolt of pride courses through him. You got all of them right, just like how he taught you.

“Good job.” Katsuki pats your head and your heart soars. You tilt your head up to give a little smooch to his palm and he blushes, jerking his hand back.

“The fuck?” He laughs, grabbing your wrist and pinning it to his mouth in retaliation, pressing a painstakingly soft kiss there, then to your palm too. Katsuki smirks at the way he makes you shakily exhale at his touch. “What was that for?”

“Nothing.” An almost drowsy, content smile spreads across your lips. “Just love you so much.”

"Stop trying to one up me,” Katsuki rasps in your ear. You yelp as his hands squeeze your hips hard, holding onto his toned arms to steady yourself.

“Not trying to! Just telling the truth.” You keep looking at him with a cute, dumb grin on your face, and his breath catches.

Your eyes widen as you sneak a glance at his desk.

“Woah! Katsuki Jr. got taller.”

He snorts, turning his head to also look at the cactus that’s been sitting under his lamp for the past week. “Katsuki Jr.?”

“Yeah because you guys have the same hair.” You exaggerate a dreamy sigh, reaching up to caress his cheek. “He really takes after you, Katsuki Sr.”

“Shut up, dumbass.” He nudges your cheek with his nose, drinking up the delicious sounds of your giggles.

“Can I sit in your lap now?” You ask shyly.

With an eye roll, Katsuki holds his arms out for you to claim the reward he proposed earlier for this study session. “Get over here already.”

His arms wrap comfortably around your waist as you settle in your usual spot between his firm thighs, and he drops his head down and brushes a soft kiss against the crook of your neck.

“I love you too.” The pink blossoming across his cheeks contradicts his gruff tone, but you’ve known him too long to not know better.

Katsuki Bakugo is meticulous in loving you, and that means he never says anything he doesn't mean.

─────────

The vibrations in the pocket of his slacks are becoming so incessant that he can’t ignore them anymore and Katsuki sighs under his breath as he slips it out while Aizawa’s turned to the board to write something.

ass gremlin

sukiiiii

ass gremlin

katsudonnnnn

ass gremlin

kitkattttt

katsu curry

What

ass gremlin

send me pics of our baby pls i wanna see how tall he is now

katsu curry

That cactus you bought me two weeks ago

ass gremlin

duh!!!

katsu curry

Later

In my room before we go out

ass gremlin

YAYYAYAY

can u help me pick my outfit too

katsu curry

Duh

We’re matching dumbass

Katsuki’s behind you with a firm hand on your waist to hold you in place when you smirk at the window sill, and he looks up to see that you’re admiring Katsuki Jr.

The cactus was an even more vibrant shade of green than when you first gave it to him, and small, delicate pink flowers were starting to bloom on its fuzzy head.

It took a lot of effort to get those to start growing, but it was all worth it to see the delighted expression on your face right now.

“So you really have been taking care of him like he’s your kid, huh?”

“Our kid.” He corrects you with a grumble against your neck, easily zipping up the back of your dress in one smooth motion. “Told you I would, didn't I? Thing was a pain in the ass to find high potassium fertilizer for.

“Aw, really?” You turn around to face him and he brings you closer as your arms rest on his broad shoulders. “Well… you know how it’s better to have two cats than one, since just one kitty can make them feel lonely?”

He knows that look. Katsuki scowls, roughly poking a dent into your cheek to discourage the mischievous grin that's starting to spread across your face.

“You’ll never guess what I got you for our anniversary.”

“No.”

“But Katsuki Jr.!”

“I raised that little shit, he’ll tough it out.”

“I just thought maybe we could get him a sibling—“

“No.”

ur contact name is ass gremlin bc u have bad habit of smacking his butt when he walks by lol

#official team up mission bakugo art from sakiyo jump 2024 ed #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo fluff #bnha fluff #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo oneshot #bakugou x reader

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 2 months ago

Text

Daryl could see Judith glancing over to stare at the lilt in your walk, the couple inches of prosthetic visible below your pant leg, and he wondered how he could chastise her for staring without you hearing (he couldn't).

You didn't seem to notice though, and only looked over at her and smiled when the little girl couldn't hold it in any longer and asked, "How did you lose your leg?"

"Jude," Daryl sighed, "it ain't polite to—"

But you cut him off. "It's okay. She's just curious," you said gently. "I stubbed my toe and just decided to get rid of the whole thing," you said with light-hearted smirk.

Jude screwed up her face in suspicion and it drew a laugh from you. Daryl's heart jumped at the sound and the way your eyes crinkled at the corners as they closed. "I knew that wasn't it!" she giggled finally.

"You're too smart for me," you cooed. "I actually lost it before the world fell apart, if you can believe it. In a car accident."

Jude nodded thoughtfully. "Were you scared? When it happened?"

You nodded and your face grew more serious. "Yes. I was. Everyone gets scared sometimes, and that's okay. But even though I was scared, I did my best to be brave and made sure that I did everything I needed to do to live life how I wanted and squeeze as much good out of it as I could... just—one limb down," you said.

Daryl was looking at you with an expression that made your stomach flip and your face flush. "What?" you asked in an undertone, laughing nervously.

He shook his head. "Nothin'," he said, but his voice was so soft it made you weak at the knees.

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

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zirconika · 3 months ago

Note

if you're up for it, would love to see a mildly angsty fluff daryl x reader piece where reader is one of the people at the prison who gets hit with the flu and while daryl is explaining the plan to go get the meds, reader jokingly asks if he can bring back a treat if she promises to be a good patient. cut to the aftermath of the prison fall and reader ends up getting out with help from michonne before they run into rick and carl and eventually reunite with daryl during the stand off with the claimers. the next morning daryl and reader finally get a moment to themselves to just breathe for a second and daryl pulls out a lollipop he had found back at the gas station when they were on the medicine run and shyly hands it over to reader

five seconds

⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader WORDS: 5.3k SUMMARY: Guilty for arguing with you right before you fell ill, Daryl’s determined to make it up to you by fulfilling your request. His goal to deliver it to you is interrupted by the fall of the prison and the intrusion of the Claimers. WARNINGS: angst to fluff. nose bleeding. expect mean daryl, i got mean daryl fever from crush by @ghostboneswrites2. attempted sexual assault during the claimers scene, basically the violence that took place during that particular scene. A/N: yes i am up for it i love love love this idea!!! i added my own twist to it too :)) so sorry it took three days i had no idea how to start it hsejkrkwa also it ended up being longer than i intended for it to be. hope u like it nonnie ! reblogs are appreciated!

Friends do things for each other, that’s just the way it is. Rick Grimes hands you a gun? Friends. Carol Peletier offers you a bowl of soup? Friends. Daryl Dixon looks at you for five long seconds before going to sleep? That’s… That’s classified.

Okay, friends. You might have been reading into it.

Friends—It’s what you tell yourself what you are with the archer whenever you volunteer to earn your keep alongside him who, for some reason, seemed to be blatantly avoiding you ever since that damned staring session.

It wasn’t the length of the stare. It was how he looked at you and how you felt yourself looking at him. The two of you were just returning to your respective cells, expecting the other to say goodnight only to end up staring at each other. The worst part is how it ended.

It was so quick that you could have missed it, but Daryl Dixon’s eyes fell to your lips for a split second before he turned away to hurriedly retreat to his cell. You tried not to think about it too much, but Daryl deliberately and very obviously dodging you made it hard to forget.

When you went out to hunt together as per routine, you expected to hold at least a conversation half a minute long. You missed talking to the archer, you had to admit it to yourself at least. Which is why it pissed you to the bone that the next time you ever talked again was the next accident.

“I had it under control!” you yelled at the archer, who didn’t seem to be too interested in your defenses. At your feet lay a walker whose head had served as a target for a bolt you knew all too well.

You watched as Daryl made his way over to you, fury evident in each step. “Hell ya mean under control? Ya ain’t cut out for huntin’! Ya should’ve sensed that walker from a mile away.”

“Woah, woah,” you humorlessly exclaimed, “I’ve been hunting with you since like, ever. The fuck you mean ‘I ain’t cut out for huntin’?”

“‘Cause ya aint! Could’ve gotten yerself killed, woman.” What was he so mean about?

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right to some degree. If he hadn’t arrived in time, you would’ve been dealing with the aftermath of a walker bite by now. But it did not give him the right to speak to you like that. “Oh, you are not talking to me like that.”

“Just did,” he spat. “Now ya listen to me. Yer gonna return to camp and yer gonna—”

“Sit around and do nothing?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You want me to knit you some sweaters, too? Make you holiday cookies?”

“Guard the damn fences,” he said. Daryl stepped forward to grab you by your arm. You dodge him before he could get a hold of you, glaring at him as you did so.

“I can walk by myself, thanks.” Before disappearing into the woods to return back to the prison, you flipped the guy off. What was up with him? You angrily mumbled to yourself, “It was just a walker.”

It’s been a while since that happened, and this time, it was you who didn’t dare to speak to him. You didn’t want to be the first one to approach him. After all, you did nothing wrong. And yet he had the audacity to avoid you again.

But it wasn’t that there were zero interactions, though. There were a handful, however blood boiling they were. You exchanged a couple glares whenever your eyes landed on one another.

The worst one was when Patrick extended his hand to Daryl in front of you while he thanked the archer for his contribution. After Daryl shook his hand, you had to butt in, standing up while eating a bowl of oatmeal instead of the cooked meat.

“Well, that’s Daryl! Isn’t he just great, Carol? Such an amazing huntsman!” you mused sarcastically, giving the three of them the brightest smile you could. Daryl could only watch as you walked away from the scene, his eyes drilling a hole at the back of your head as you kept going on and on: “I don’t know how I could ever compete!”

It didn’t take long for the group to catch on the heat.

You didn’t mind that part. What you did mind, though, was Daryl’s snide remarks whenever you’d mess up as a retort to what you’d said in front of Patrick.

Dropped a spoon? “S’why ya can’t be outside, can’t even hold a damn spoon righ’.”

But you weren’t gonna let that slide. Whenever he’d say something to the group, you had something up your sleeve, too.

He found an old warehouse west of the prison? “Oh, how splendid. Daryl and his plans. Everyone say ‘Thank you, Daryl’!”

The last rebuttal you could recall was after you finished your task digging a grave for the recent casualties. You were taking a quick break by yourself, setting your shovel aside. From a distance, you watched Glenn and Maggie continue to dig. You shuddered at the thought of turning with no warning of a bite.

Your body was sore all over from all the digging, your throat on the precipice of getting sore, and you felt the world beneath you sway uninterrupted.

The moment you made to leave the shovel against the wall, the world swayed even worse, sending you to Daryl’s grasp. “Damn it, woman, watch ya step. Ya ain’t gonna last long bein’ such a damn klutz.”

“Get off my back,” you said. You jumped out of his arms, glaring at him with the default face you’d grown used to using around him. You angrily grabbed your shovel again, dismissing that you weren’t even able to have a minute. You let adrenaline overtake your need for a break.

You’d be lying if you said you hated it. You did at first, but it kind of grew on you.

That was until a portion of the prison fell ill from the rampant spread of the flu. You decided Daryl wasn’t worth your time for the time being, dedicating your focus on doing what you can for the prison. You did find yourself looking out for him every once in a while, though. Just to make sure he was still healthy.

Not that it mattered or anything.

But you watched in horror as Tyreese held Daryl by his vest. You found yourself stepping forward, wanting to intrude but Daryl held his hand out to Rick, a way of saying ‘I got it.’

It bothered you that you felt a sort of responsibility towards the guy, however much of an asshole he was towards you. To be fair, you were just as bad to him. But you weren’t gonna admit defeat just like that.

“We’re on the same side, man,” he told the furious Tyreese. And after that, it was all a blur. You watched the fight unfold. You wanted to stop Rick, to hold him off Tyreese, tell him it was over, but you remained rooted to the floor, frozen.

You could’ve sworn you felt Daryl’s gaze on you before he managed to get Rick to stop until he did. Daryl stumbled backwards, bumping into you. Shivers went down your spine when he touched you by the waist to ask you, “Y’alrigh’?”

You looked back at him. That same look again.

One.

Two.

Three.

You turned away to wipe at your nose, sniffling. Unsure of what to do, you hurriedly left the scene. Once you were far enough, you wiped at your nose again. Then came a metallic scent you just could not ignore no matter how hard you tried. You thought it was just the rust of the metal bars infiltrating your senses.

But when you looked down at your hand upon the third wipe, you were met by the sight of blood.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

After settling the dispute out, Daryl made it his mission to search for you before the council meeting. To his surprise, you were not in your cell, not outside, at least not anywhere he could find in three minutes. Deciding—hoping—you were probably busy somewhere, Daryl got back to the council’s table.

Though he gave a fair share of ideas and listened intently, having even agreed to go on the run, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Before leaving, Daryl pulled Glenn aside, knowing he dug graves with you just a while ago.

He didn’t even know why he had the urge to ask the guy, because how could he possibly have any clue of your whereabouts? But he had to ask something. “[Y/N] ever said anythin’ ‘bout stuff she had to do or somethin’?”

“I don’t think so,” said Glenn, getting ready to seclude himself as well. “She’s probably isolated herself by now, too.”

“Isolate herself for what?” Daryl scoffed in a poor attempt to disguise his concern. Glenn watched him as if he were a madman.

“You didn’t see her this morning?” he asked the archer, who then said he did. The longer Glenn paused, the more Daryl followed. “She’s caught it, too.”

At that moment, Daryl understood his routinely misdirected anger—why he felt his heart practically burn a hole through his chest at the sight of that walker almost getting you, why he could no longer stomach bringing you along with him on runs and hunts, and why he let his stares linger.

Daryl Dixon understood why he kept his distance in fear of letting whatever it was he felt fester, burying it deep within himself where even he could not find it. Until he discovered that he had a bigger fear—a phobia, even.

The thought of losing you. And it was all the more clear to him now as he peeked through the small window to find you gripping one of the bars of a cell, keeping steady. You’d gotten weak since the last time he saw you, and he thought back to when you furiously went back to work after he’d interrupted.

He felt a guilt like never before, feeling responsible for your condition.

You caught sight of him from afar, and your eyes locked.

One.

Two.

You gestured to the visitation room. He nodded.

Finding yourself face to face with Daryl Dixon afterwards divided by a glass partition was something you didn’t expect you’d ever have to experience. You didn’t even think he’d care enough to take the time to do so.

Ever since you shared that long second stare, you’ve been wondering when you’d ever have the luxury of sharing it again. But even you couldn’t hold it for that long.

One.

Two.

Three.

“Go on, lay it on me,” you said.

You longed to hear his typical insults, the ones you were used to hearing by routine. Instead, Daryl, took a deep breath and told you, “M’sorry. ‘Bout everythin’.”

Safe to say that you were taken aback. You opened your mouth to tease him about it, but you had to look away as you felt the itch in your throat begging to be scratched inside. You coughed out loud, and Daryl couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of you.

“What, no ‘yer hideous,’ ‘serves ya righ,’ or even ‘fuckin’ idiot’?” you asked jokingly, attempting to make an impression of the way he talked.

“S’why I didn’t want ya out there,” he said, ignoring your attempt at triggering that part of him. It went out the minute he realized you were on borrowed time. “Didn’t want ya to risk yer life for some pig meat.”

You realized he’d gotten serious. You took your seat across from him, scrutinizing the way he looked at you. “Oh, and you’re allowed to?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, ‘cause I ain’t an idiot like you.”

“There it is,” you chuckled. Daryl laughed along with you, and it was the first time in a long time that you’ve laughed together. And when the moment passed came that damned stare again.

One.

You couldn’t hold it. “I don’t know how much time I have left so… Thanks for coming.”

Daryl snorted. Though he laughed, he was just as scared as you are. Maybe even more scared. “Ya ain’t gonna turn. We’re gonna head out ‘n get some meds. There’s a vet college some ways away from here, and I’m gonna make sure stupidity ain’t gon’ be the reason ya die. Ya ain’t dyin’, that’s final.”

“They got everythin’ there?” you asked.

“I dunno, Hershel gave us a list. Said it should have ‘em.”

“You know how things are, right? How everything usually doesn’t end up going the way you want it to. So…” You didn’t know what to say anymore. “On the off-chance it’s limited, I don’t want to hog any of it.”

“Whaddya mean?” the archer asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. He didn’t like where this was going.

“I mean that if there’s a shortage, I’m fine not getting it. I’ve been with these people for half an hour and… Daryl, they deserve a second chance. They want to survive.”

“And ya don’t?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed, sniffling. You weren’t crying, but your stuffy nose made it hard to breathe just as badly. Daryl’s heart sank. His guilt just kept growing knowing he’d been unreasonably rude to you just this morning and every morning that came before. “It gets tiring at times, but it does get fun when you spend it with the right people. But then again, who knows how long you’ll be having any of those, too?”

Daryl opened his mouth to say something only to take it back the instant he thought of it. I’m not gonna let ya die. He stuck to his stubborn script instead. This is what Daryl was avoiding; the burden of caring. “Yer gonna take the meds whether ya like it or not.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his stubborn drive. It was one of the many things you admired about him. “What, you’re gonna be all mean to me again if I don’t follow your instructions, Doctor Dixon?”

“Doctor wha—?” He stifled a laugh to no avail. It was through that moment that you found out that Daryl’s laugh was music to your ears. “Nah, we’re way past that. M’gonna start a new method. Ya do somethin’ good, ya get somethin’ good instead of gettin’ somethin’ bad when ya do somethin’ bad.”

“So reward punishment,” you suggested with a smile.

“Exactly.”

“So,” you began, “if I promise to be a good patient…”

“Uhuh,” he nodded.

“If I take the meds…”

“Mhm.”

“You’re gonna give me a treat?” You resisted the urge to joke about a kiss. It felt too early, and you worried it would spook Daryl away and ruin the moment.

“Yep.”

“Really?” you asked, grinning wider that it almost seemed as if you never even caught the flu. “Like, one of those lollipops they give out after a vaccine just so you stop crying?”

Daryl had no idea what you talked about, having never experienced getting one good check-up his whole life, depending his health on whatever remedies he and his brother can fashion on their own. But you seemed to be thrilled about it, and that was enough. “Yeah, like that.”

You pretended to consider it for a while, acting like you were deep in thought. “Alright, we have a deal, you fucker.”

He smirked. “Wipe that stupid smile off yer face.”

And though you didn’t take it too seriously, Daryl was already hatching a game plan he could use to find one for you the moment you mentioned it. After all, he was a man of his word.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Daryl Dixon was one of the few people who valued solitude. This time, though, he found himself craving company long after the fall of the prison as well as when he lost Beth.

Thus, the universe sent the worst possible group to accompany him—the Claimers. Even he realized the change within him when he realized the difference in how he’d choose his company now and before.

It shook him to his core that he would have chosen this group had he not met Rick’s, had he not met you. As he and the Claimers made their way through the roads in search of the perpetrators they sought to give a piece of their mind.

Daryl decided he’d ride with the Claimers for survival, thinking to himself he’d be fine coasting with them for just a little while until he found the right opening to leave. That was, until he discovered that they’d been hunting the same group Daryl had been looking for, but with different motives.

“Hold up,” Daryl said carefully, so as to not rile the leader who had Rick dangerously at gunpoint.

“You’re stopping me on eight, Daryl,” the leader accused. You felt your heart sink from where you were, fearing how the scene would unfold. You held Carl’s hand to comfort him, but it was just as well an attempt to comfort yourself. Carl returned the sentiment.

Daryl stepped closer with caution. “Let’s hold up.”

One of the guys holding a shotgun opened his mouth. “This is the guy who killed Lou, so we got nothin’ to talk about.”

“Carl,” you whispered under your breath, not daring to move to even look at the kid. You could only hear a bit, but the silence in the car and the slightly opened windows was enough to let you hear a bit.

“The thing about nowadays is we got nothing but time,” the leader said. He kept his eyes on the archer. “Say your piece, Daryl.”

“These people,” Daryl started. “Yer gonna let them go. These are good people.”

You felt your heartbeat pick up its pace upon observation that the group’s leader was unimpressed. “Now, I—I think Lou would disagree with you on that. I, of course, would have to speak for him and all because your friend here strangled him in the bathroom.”

You whispered again, frozen in place. “Carl, I need you to get in the back. Slowly.”

“You want blood? I get it,” Daryl said. You watched as the archer dropped his crossbow and threw his arms open. The fuck is he doing? “Take it from me, man.”

Carl slowly brought his legs up to him, trying not to make a noise.

Daryl kept coming closer. “Come on.”

“This man killed our friend.” By the look on their leader’s face, you knew there was no way this would go in peace. “You say he’s good people. See now, right there is—is a lie.”

“Carl, hurry,” you whisper again. But his attempts at doing so is halted by the events that followed.

Daryl dropped his arms to his side, realizing the same as you. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to stifle your frightened yell as one of them hit Daryl with the butt of a shotgun. You could only watch in fear as two of the men dragged him to the hood of the car you and Carl were in.

As they beat him shitless, Daryl looked up to find your face staring right back at him from inside the car. For a moment, he thought he was seeing you as he approached death, but his eyes widened in terror realizing you would be involved in the scene.

A wave of relief and dread coursed through him; relief that you had gotten out of the prison and dread that he wouldn’t be able to protect you this time.

The door swung open and a man yanked Carl out before you could even reach him. “C’mere, boy.”

“Carl!” Your door swung open as well, one of the men tackling Daryl just seconds ago hauling you off your seat as you tried to put up a fight.

“You leave him be!” you heard Rick yell over the commotion.

The man pointing a gun to Michonne wasn’t afraid to make his threats and intentions clear either. “You get yours. You just wait for your turn.”

You felt the threat of a knife to your throat and you got a whiff of a mouth that reeked of booze. You felt your perpetrator’s warm breath tickle the lines of your neck, taking you in.

You were terrified of what he’d do to you, what they’d do to Carl. “Let him go!”

“Not so fast, hot stuff,” the man taunted you, toying with your hair.

“No, get off her!” Daryl exclaimed as his assailant pinned him down as another guy ruthlessly beat him up. Daryl didn’t care.

“Listen, it was just me. It was just me!” Rick admitted, desperately trying to bargain for his group’s freedom.

“See, now, that’s right! That’s not some damn lie! If we can settle this, we’re reasonable men.”

“First, we’re gonna beat Daryl to death. Then we’re gonna have the girls, then the boy. Then I’m gonna shoot you and soon we’ll be square!”

You heard Daryl yelp as they beat him. “Stop hurting him!”

The leader of the gang looked at Daryl, then at you. His fucking stare made your blood run cold. “Maybe we can keep little Daryl here for a while, give him a little show. Make him watch.” His laugh sent ripples of unease throughout your body even as you were thrown to the ground, the man getting on top of you.

“No!” you heard Daryl exclaim as he put up a harder fight to no avail, his body already weakened. More so was yours.

“Claimed!” the man yelled, his eyes already feasting on you.

Everything was… You couldn’t think anymore. You felt your legs part open, and with it your head throbbed. The lack of sleep, the hunger, the thirst, everything was coming down all at once. You could only hear the wicked cackling of their leader, Rick yelling at the man to let go of his son—

Then it was ringing in your ears at the sound of a gunshot. And yet the nightmare didn’t end. You didn’t like it. Didn’t like any of it. The sniffing and the giggling… The hands on your waist as they trailed down…

You thought of nothing. Perceived nothing until you felt the hands gripping your body start to loosen. Maybe you were gone already, maybe… This is the end.

The weight on top of you was gone altogether, and you could hear Rick’s furious grunts as he plunged a knife deep into the throat of the man who took Carl. You looked up to find Daryl tussling with the man who was just on top of you.

“Daryl…” You were slipping in and out of consciousness, and a couple steps from where you lay you saw the two other men who’d been beating Daryl just moments before splayed unconscious on the cold concrete road.

The ringing in your ears was louder as you watched your assailant fall to the ground, and Daryl shoving his foot down his head in vengeance.

You lay there among the leaves, tilting your head up to the sky, only grateful Daryl was fine. He ran to you as soon as he did what he saw he had to do.

“[Y/N],” he called, scooping you into his arms and away from the floor. You wanted to stay awake, to ask him how he was, to confess you were scared shitless and you were tired of pretending you weren’t…

The last thing you could remember was Daryl holding you as you let slumber take you away.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When you awoke, you thought you were back in the prison. For a split second, you thought you just had a horrible nightmare. As your eyes began to adjust to the sun, you realized you were in the front seat of the car with the backrest inclined for your comfort.

Michonne’s presence in the backseat told you otherwise.

“Michonne?” You looked around to find no one else. The windows were covered with different cloths, too. You looked down on her lap to find Carl fast asleep while Michonne caressed his face. “How is he? How are you?”

She looked up at you, an undeniable sorrow in her eyes. She was just as tired. “I’m fine. He’s shaken. What about you?”

The events of the night before flashed before your eyes. You had to shake your head to be rid of it. You needed air. “I’ve been better, I just need air.”

Michonne nodded, respecting your distance. “Rick’s right outside.”

“And…?”

“Daryl?” she asked, to which you nodded meekly. Michonne gave you a reassuring smile. “He stayed with you the entire time, he stepped out just now. He’s fine.”

“Oh, okay.” Fixing your hair, you returned her kind gesture with a warm smile as well. “I’ll just go get some fresh air, I think I need it.”

You swung the door open and hopped out. Once you walked forward, you jumped in shock. You didn’t expect to be in the same place from when everything happened. Just in time, Daryl popped out from the other side of the car. “You alrigh’?”

The corpses were still splayed out flat on the concrete and beside the road. You had to look away from the grotesque scene, your heart pounding. “Yeah, I’m fine—I’m okay.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” he asked. Daryl gave Rick a knowing look before patting him on the shoulder. Rick nodded, letting the archer know that he’ll be fine. Daryl moved towards you and tapped you by the shoulder. He took back his hand the moment you flinched, instinctively recoiling to physical touch.

“Sorry, I’m just—I know I don’t need to feel that way around you, it’s just—”

“I get it.” Daryl understood; he was there when it happened. But he’d make sure he’d also be there after. His hand hovered behind the small of your back. “May I?”

Daryl waited until you nodded before he let his hand rest on your back to guide you away from the mess.

“Let’s take a walk. Have some water,” he said, handing you a half empty bottle. You took big gulps religiously, craving its feel in your throat. “Thank you.”

You hand the bottle back to him only to realize that you had drunk all of its contents. “Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“Nothin’ ya gotta apologize for.”

You only nodded in response, still troubled by everything.

Daryl halted, gently touching you by your wrist. You’d never felt that sort of tender touch before, and it was easy to miss it once it ended. “Hey, I—uh, I almost forgot.”

“Hm?”

“Y’know, the terms of our agreement.” You watched as Daryl fumbled with himself, and a laugh escaped you. He seemed to be flustered with what he was about to do, but you could tell he’d been anticipating doing it by the pace he was searching. He checked his shirt pockets. When he dug into his jeans’ front pocket, he pulled out something small, then extending his hand to you. “M’sorry I only got two, I wasn’t sure what flavor ya wanted and I accidentally got them in the same flavor and there were walkers and I know it ain’t an excuse but—”

You took it. You kept eyeing the two lollipops in your hand. It was both strawberry-flavored, and it was one of those jumbo ones that were slightly bigger than the regular ones. “Daryl, that was a joke. You didn’t have to” — you snorted, a smile breaking on your face — “actually get me one.”

“Nah, I’m a man of my word.” Daryl returned your smile. “I say m’gonna get ya somethin’, then m’gonna get ya somethin’. Simple.”

“Well, then,” you said, handing him the other one. “You get the other one.”

“Nah, it’s yours.”

“No. Get it.”

“Nah,” he said.

If Daryl was stubborn, you were nothing compared to him. You stuffed the other one in his pocket. “There. And don’t even try to argue with me on it, I wanna have it with you.”

“Alright, alright.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. He really did bother. You continued walking, Daryl followed.

“Ya don’t have to open it now, we need to get ya some more water first so yer throat doesn’t get sore again.”

“Thought this was my treat?” you teased. “For being a good patient?”

“Yeah, well, doctor says you should lay off it for a bit ‘til ya get some more to drink.”

You snorted. “Oh, yeah? What doctor.”

Daryl pointed to himself. “This doctor. Doctor Dixon.”

“You like that a lot, huh?”

“Actually, I hated it but… S’kinda growin’ on me.”

After you shared a laugh. There was that goddamn lingering stare.

One.

Two.

Three.

Daryl turned around, afraid the heat in his cheeks were possibly giving away how he felt with a faint blush. “We should—Whaddya say we head back?”

“Sure, wouldn’t wanna have you going down on one knee to propose,” you joked.

“Shuddup,” he said, lightly punching your shoulder.

On the whole way back, you talked together, just like you always did whenever the two of you were out hunting. Speaking with Daryl made everything else matter a little less that you don’t even realize how far you’ve gone until it comes into your mind.

While walking the tracks with Rick, Carl, and Michonne, the two of you walked slightly behind.

“I’m just saying, if we get to this place, it’s not gonna—!” You shrieked as your feet caught on one of the sleepers of the tracks. To your relief, Daryl caught you with his hand holding yours and his other hand assisting your waist.

The three turned around to check on you both. Rick called out, “You alright back there?”

“Yeah! We’re fine!” he said back. You were worried Daryl would drop your hand. He didn’t.

When no eyes lingered on either of you anymore, the stare you’d been yearning for returned, leaving you to wonder what would break it this time before it could reach five.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

To your surprise and your relief, Daryl smiled at you. And oh, did it feel melting. It was hard not to return his smile when it was so damn contagious. You were sure your heart was doing gymnastics at this point, feeling it beat so hard against your chest.

“What’re you looking at me like that for?” you asked the archer.

“Yer still fuckin’ clumsy as fuck,” he remarked with a teasing smirk.

He’d been dying to hear you laugh again, so he’s relieved that you do. “Welcome back. Thought you said you had your whole new justice system in store?”

“Well, doctors still gotta scold their patients, especially when the patient in question is an idiot.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have any rule in your book about doctors holding their patients’ hands? Y’know, like, ‘Don’t do that’?”

Daryl looked down on your intertwined hands, pretending to scrutinize it with careful thought. “I dunno, I think if the patient’s fine with it, then the doctor’s fine with it, too.”

You did the same only to look back up at him with a grin. “Patient says it’s fine. Is the doctor fine with it?”

“Doctor Dixon says it’s recommended to keep his patient healthy.”

“Patient has a request, though,” you tell him as you use your other hand to pull out your lollipop from your pocket. “She wants Doctor Dixon to share a treat together.”

“Doctor Dixon says, ‘What the hell’.” He does the same, pulling his lollipop out. You had to let go of each other’s hands for a bit to take off the wrapper before throwing it away. Daryl was the first to take your hand, eager to hold it again. You let him.

Throughout the entire journey to Terminus, all your fears and worries were at bay, all because Daryl never let go of your hand. The two of you talked about the sweetness of what you were having, how it was a great change from what you were used to eating. And it was right then and there that he knew he wanted to be holding your hand whenever, wherever, and however long he could.

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