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fairyysoup · 5 months

Text

it will come back

part two

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: As May Day approaches, you find yourself running into Eddie, and succumbing to his charms, more and more.

cw: smut, heavy petting, fingering, frottage, denied orgasm, public sex, getting caught, alcohol consumption (both eddie and reader), a bit of humiliation, teasing, tons of flirting, eddie munson's Big Meaty Claws, jealousy (by reader), eddie being a flirtatious shit all around, slight enemies to lovers beat here, some kind of historical fantasy period, fairytale au, descriptions of scars, mentions of abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master

a/n: Happy May! I wrote this in a complete stupor and woke up and it was almost 8.0k words, so there will be a part three. I also wanted to get this done yesterday, but that's not how the cookie crumbles. Alas.

The lyrics that Eddie sings in this are from a traditional English folk song, commonly called "As I Walked Through the Meadow." There are variations on the lyrics, but this is the version I used here.

MY WORKS ARE ALL 18+ MINORS DNI

The man from the creek is being thrown out of the tavern in the center of town.

You know because you’ve been watching since he went inside. Except, if anyone were to ask, you’d say you’re simply watching the ripples on the mud puddles on the dirt road in front of the building. They’re fascinating, you’d insist. They say you can see your future in them.

You’d noticed him going in as you were stepping out of the haberdashers. You knew it was him from the wine red of his blouse– it’s a rich color, like you’ve never seen on a garment worn by anyone in town, and certainly not by someone claiming to come from the woods. The last time you saw him, nearly a month ago now, you forgot to ask him where he got something so richly woven and colored, in such seemingly good repair. You contented yourself with a single lie: you didn’t want to know.

You also figured that you would likely never see him again. That this so-called Eddie Munson was probably better off disappearing back into the woods and staying there. You’d never seen him in town before, and you certainly didn’t expect to see him there any time soon. He doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the townsfolk; people who work the land, who own it, who sow it. His rich red wine doesn’t fit into the bland suedes and dull grays of your neighbors.

No– no, with his wild, curly hair and bright, rosy cheeks, he definitely doesn’t look like anyone who belongs in Havensfield. He belongs in a storybook. He belongs in a fairytale you tell to little children, to send them to sleep with something larger than life in their minds. Just like you haven’t been able to sleep a wink without thinking about him and his troublesome smile and sparkling eyes first.

It’s as if he has you under some sort of spell, unable to move on but remaining steadfastly in place with your mind only revolving around him. You figured it was probably best to spend the coin he gave you and get it out of your system, so maybe you can get rid of the one physical thing that reminded you of his existence.

But here he is, in the flesh and very alive, and being tossed into the mud puddle you had been gazing into, spraying droplets of dirty water off in every direction. A cacophony of laughter rings out from the open door of the tavern– a barkeep angrily wipes his hands on his apron, snarls something at Eddie, and disappears back into the building, the door slamming shut behind him.

The town has erected a maypole in the square for the May Day celebration in just a few days. The marketplace is normally hectic during the festival. Shopkeepers will set up their stalls, the place will be decorated with garlands of flowers, and for days at a stretch one can hardly get their errands done for the amount of chaos going on in the place. That’s why you did your shopping today, rather than waiting for the festivities to begin.

You didn’t expect this.

You haven’t moved from your spot in front of the haberdasher’s. You don’t know if you should– you look this way and that, wondering if anyone is going to approach him, or if everyone else instinctively gives him a wide berth. The people on the street continue about their business like they haven’t seen him, like he isn’t there. You wonder if it’s some unseen force of nature that keeps them away. Does some magic spell exist to make him undetectable to anyone but you? Or are you just the only one stupid enough to get close?

He just sort of lays there in the mud, staring up at the sky. You assume he’s drunk. Why else would he have been thrown out of the tavern? Drinking them dry, getting unruly, starting fights… Yes, you should go on about your business.

Your hand fists in your skirt, the color of barleycorn. Such a drab color when compared to his deep red, like the flow of blood from a wound. Just as you had feared, it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You lift your skirts and step carefully across the muddy town square, until your feet toe the edge of the puddle he lays in.

“Do you… need help?” you ask when you peer down at him. From this angle, his eyelashes fan across his cheekbones in long arches, fluttering like fairy wings.

“My Lovely Lady of the Creek!” He croons wistfully up at you when you pass into his field of vision. “We must stop meeting this way.”

“Which way is that?”

“With me on my back in a bunch of water.” He smiles at you treacherously, in that way he does. Like he’s privy to a joke that you’re completely unaware of.

“Well, are you just going to lay there like a dead man in the road? Or would you like help?” Your hands are on your hips, the small basket for your purchases wiggling precariously on your wrist.

“You really should be more discerning about who you offer to help,” he lectures as he heaves himself up to sit. Muddy water sloshes up towards your shoes, and you scamper back before they can get wet. “Lest I begin to get the wrong impression.”

“I don’t recall ever offering you help before,” you point out.

“Right,” Eddie says after a moment, his eyes sweeping along the road. He looks unsure, as if he doesn’t know what to ask for, if he wants anything at all. “You… could help me over to the well?”

Your eyes follow his to the well in the center of the square. You shrug, and then brandish your hand at him.

Eddie looks at it thoughtfully for a moment before placing his hand into yours. His hand engulfs yours in warmth, his long fingers stretching up and around your wrist. A flush bursts beneath your skin from where his touch hits, spreading up your arm and into your chest.

You’re going to catch fire, you’re sure of it.

Instead, you just help him to his feet, trying not to slip in the mud, yourself. Eddie staggers, sways back towards the porch of the tavern. You lunge forward to catch him before he can fall over again, and you snatch him around the waist without much thought. His arm plops down onto your shoulder, and your basket bats against his hip, the contents shifting inside.

You’re so close now. He smells like pine and whiskey, and his body is warm. So warm that you’re surprised he isn’t sick in bed.

“How much did you drink?” you ask him, your voice choked as you heave him towards the well. You don’t want to think about his body pressed against yours, his arm hot around your shoulders. He’s looking down at you with an impassioned gaze that you don’t want to match. You fear that if you look up into his face, you will.

“No more than usual,” he murmurs. His hand reaches out and grabs the stone ring of the well once you get him to it. He kneels on the step of it, starting to look a little green in the face.

“You smell like the tavern floor,” you tell him frankly, raising your hand to push his hair away from his face.

“Well, I was just laying in a bunch of piss and shit, so.” Eddie raises his head and gazes up at you, wide-eyed, when you press your hand to his forehead.

“And you’re much too hot,” you assess, watching his eyes flutter at your appraisal. “Don’t you dare get sick in the well. I have to drink out of that.”

“I need water,” he grumbles, and pulls away from your hand. He tries to stand, and fails.

“Stay,” you tell him firmly, planting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie pouts, watching as you place your basket beside him and step up to the well to fetch him the bucket yourself.

Like a child who’s just been given a present, Eddie’s eyes fall to your basket. “What’s this?”

“My shopping,” you grunt with the effort of cranking the wheel to lift the bucket from the well.

“Ooh– stockings?”

You turn to glance at him, and see that he’s lifted the cloth from the basket to peek at the contents inside. He’s pinching your new stockings between his two fingers, pulling them out with a gleeful expression on his face.

You could kill him. “Put those back,” you hiss, letting go of the handle of the wheel. The crank spins backward, and down in the well, the bucket hits the water again with a loud, wet splash.

“Silk stockings, no less,” Eddie continues, ducking away from your swiping hand as he begins running the smooth hosiery over his knuckles. He seems to have gotten his second wind– no longer staggering, nor looking green in the face, he scampers around the well while you chase him. “Now how could a milkmaid afford such finery? It couldn’t be… no, I shant say–”

“Give it to me now,” you snarl at him, rounding the well after him. You hadn’t wanted him to see them– hadn’t wanted anyone to see them. It’s not something that you could have gotten yourself, on your own pay. The Master or Mistress would assume that you’d stolen the money, and punish you for it. Obviously, any stranger seeing them would be improper.

And Eddie… Well, he knows exactly how you got your hands on them.

“Could it be… a silver coin?” He giggles like an impish little sprite, his feet working faster than his mind. “Given to you by a handsome, charming, mysterious stranger?”

Eddie turns to look at you, holding the silken fabric up to his cheek to feel its softness. The sight of the gesture, him pressing his cheek against your undergarment, makes you see red.

“You little demon–” You lunge for him, but he jerks away, barrel rolling across the opening of the well somehow without managing to fall in. He lands on the other side with a noisy plop, laughing hysterically, and you continue rounding the well to get to him. “Your hair is unsightly and you smell like dirt and you’re as vain as you are vexing and I would rather try to climb the maypole than call you charming!”

“Well, you’re correct on most accounts,” he tells you, still trying to slow his laughter. Eddie lifts the cloth on your basket, still containing a bread roll and a new wooden comb, and begins carefully folding the silk stockings into a neat bundle. He tucks them back into the basket primly, while continuing, “But I would love to see you try to climb a maypole. Mine has been known to be good for such uses–”

“You’re despicable.” You snatch the basket away from him and step away from the well, turning your back to him without a goodbye.

“Maybe so,” Eddie replies from behind you. “But you’re still curious, aren’t you?”

You stop. You shouldn’t, but you do, and you know it’s a mistake the minute you turn and see him already standing, not swaying in the slightest, and beginning to crank the wheel of the well to fetch his own water.

With a scowl, you watch his arm work the wheel until the bucket rears up over the lip of the well, and he lifts it onto the edge. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he expected you to have walked away, and he smirks. “Ohhhh, she’s curious. You know what they say about curiosity.”

Your skin prickles as you’re uncomfortably reminded of your last meeting with Eddie. “You’re much too fond of your idioms.”

“They’re idioms for a reason,” he replies frankly. With the water bucket steady on the edge of the well, he pinchest the front of his blouse and begins untucking the tails from his trousers.

“What are you doing?” you snap, appalled, as he lifts the hem of his blouse to expose his belly.

He pauses, looking at you dubiously. “I have to wash my shirt.”

You bluster, “In front of the whole town?”

“Who’s looking?”

Who, indeed? You finally think to take in your surroundings, and you notice that the town square has cleared since Eddie was thrown out of the tavern. Aside from the occasional passerby, no one is lingering, and certainly no one is watching Eddie as he peels the muddy fabric from his skin.

“You’re the only person in this town who deigns to speak to me. I thank you for that,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “But you should know that it makes you a rose among thorns. That isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“How is that not a good thing?” you ask, feeling his eyes rake over you just before he pulls his shirt over his head. You see a flash of pale skin, and avert your eyes so swiftly it nearly makes you dizzy.

“Roses tend to be picked,” he tells you simply, as if it’s obvious. “Careful who you show your colors to.”

Your face heats against your will, while your eyes remain locked on the building across the way and not on him. At least, not until your curiosity wins out, and you steal a glance at him.

Eddie dunks his dirty blouse in the bucket, splashing water down onto the stone step at the base of the well. The muscles of his arms flex with the work, and his hair spills over pale shoulders, rosy at the collarbones. He has pictures drawn on his skin with black ink– mythical creatures you learned about as a child, which denote power and magic. Surrounding the images on his skin are scars, old enough that they’ve gone pale, but their raised appearance indicates that he’s seen his fair share of danger. Hair trails down his chest and to the curve of his stomach, then disappears beneath the line of his trousers. Your eyes trace the trail of it, lingering on his waistband as you wonder how far down it goes.

He must feel your eyes on him, because he glances up at you. You immediately rip your eyes away, but it’s too late. He’s already seen you looking– seen you staring.

Eddie grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If it pleases you to look, then look.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking,” you say, with more than a hint of pride, turning your nose up a bit for good measure.

“Of course,” Eddie muses, a wicked smirk still on his face. “And neither was I.”

He meets your eye with a heated gaze that makes goosebumps break out across your skin. His eyes are two black coals, burning at you from just a few feet away. They slowly move up and down your body, until he sets his jaw and turns back to the bucket. He lifts the red blouse from the water and wrings it out, casting droplets of water down his forearms.

You watch them travel along his pale skin, your eyes tracing the blue veins and sinewy muscles of his arms. And that’s when you notice it– the cloth tied around his wrist.

It’s pale pink. It has a slight brocade pattern to the weave. It’s one that your Mistress had no use of, and when she decided she didn’t want the cloth for anything, you took and dyed it yourself with rose petals, and turned it into a blanket for your bed.

It’s the same cloth that you tied to the injured leg of the wolf in your dream, all those weeks ago. But it wasn’t a dream, or it couldn’t have been– the end of that very same pink blanket is still frayed from the tear of the fabric.

“Where did you get that?” you ask him sharply, marching forward. He startles, drawing back just a bit, his eyes glancing you up and down in alarm.

“Get what?” he says coolly, though his manner doesn’t reflect his tone. He’s backing away from you, holding up his hands like you mean to attack.

“This.” Far too bold for your own good, you snatch his wrist in your hand. Eddie gazes down his nose at you as you yank his wrist up near your face, twisting until the pink brocade glints in the overcast light of late April. “Where did you get this cloth?”

“In the woods,” he says simply.

“This is from my bed,” you hiss at him, your eyes narrowing as your hand tightens on his arm. Beneath his overheated skin, his pulse pounds against your fingers. You feel it like the beating of a thousand drums. “I don’t believe you. Where did you get it?”

“I told you,” Eddie repeats slowly. “I found it hanging from a tree. Thought it was pretty, so I kept it.” His face betrays no emotion now, almost strategically so. Where alarm once was, there is nothing. No hint of hesitance, or mischief, or cunning. Just a blank slate that you have no way of reading.

Your eyes flick between his face and his arm, trying to connect the dots. That’s when you notice the mark as well– among the otherwise pale, older scars that riddle his torso and arms is a long, jagged gash on his bicep. It arcs across his skin and appears to have been from a deep wound. It’s raised over and scarred, but still bright in color. New.

You’re wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s improbable that the scar on his arm is the one you patched on the wolf a month ago. You refuse to believe such things; you don’t believe in wolf-men, in fairytales, in silly superstitions.

You release his arm. You still don’t believe him– not when he so quickly went from being startled, to suddenly showing no emotion at all. You don’t trust him in the slightest. It seems to you like he’s hiding something, but you don’t know what. You don’t believe he’s anything other than a man. You can’t honestly say that you believe he’s evil, or that he means you harm, but you still wouldn’t lay your life down to fend for his honor.

And that cloth. You would bet your life that the fabric wrapped around his wrist came from your bed, dyed by your own hand, tied around the wounded leg of a wolf on the last full moon. But you can’t dispute that what he says is true. So you step back, and you fix him with a steely-eyed gaze that you know would make even the roughest of men shake in their boots.

“Good day, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he looks surprised that you even remembered his name. “I hope that I never see you again.”

“Making a wish like that is unwise,” he replies mildly, turning back to the bucket that he has perched on the rim of the well. “Unless you have a coin to toss in the well for it. Silver, maybe?”

Your cheeks burn hot, and you turn away from him. He infuriates you so much. You can’t recall a time when a man affected you so badly.

“Right. Because you spent it,” he observes, taking your silence as a quiet relent. “I’ll sleep well knowing that my coin was spent on a pair of beautiful stockings. Excellent craftsmanship, by the way. The weave is immaculate. Feels like spun gold.”

“Go to Hell,” you mutter, finally turning away from him, for good this time.

“As long as I know you’ll think of me when you wear them,” he tells you as you walk away, “I’ll die a happy man.”

You pause. For a moment, you think of turning back to him, telling him to shove that exact thought down his stupidly pretty gullet. But you don’t. Thankfully, you have the reserve and the self respect to set your shoulders and leave him there, rinsing his soiled blouse there on the edge of the well.

You still didn’t ask him how he got a blouse so fine. You doubt that he would tell you the truth even if you did. All you know is that he stays with you, haunting you, rolling through your mind the way he rolled across the mouth of the well, until your hand lands on the gate to your Master’s property.

You can’t afford to have him occupying your thoughts. You can’t afford to be so distracted– you don’t even want to think about what may happen if the Master learns that you’re on your way to being smitten with someone. Someone young and beautiful and, from what you can tell, not running a farm with indentured servants on it.

And when exactly did you go from wanting him to disappear into the woods, to being smitten with him?

On May Eve, you get just enough of your chores done for the Mistress to not find any excuse for you not to attend the festivities. With your hands tight on a woven basket, you set off with a group of young milkmaids from down the lane, bearing torches, to collect flowers from the meadows and woods.

Bringing in the May is one of your favorite customs, mostly because it’s practiced by the young people of the town. You don’t have to worry about being watched by the town elders. There’s an air of being chosen by someone; the more popular girls in town get flowers laid on their doorsteps in abundance. You’ve never been left flowers, but each year you hold out hope that someone, anyone, will leave them for you. A gesture– you’re wanted.

There’s music in the air. Groups of young men and women laugh and dance, and the meadows are dotted with the little blooms of fire at the ends of torches as flowers are gathered. You’ve already indulged in a certain amount of floral spring wine and honey cakes, lulling you into a sweetly tipsy, giggly mood. There’s magic in the air– you can taste it in the humidity, the moonshine, the salt of sweat and earth.

“There aren’t enough flowers in the meadow this year,” one of the girls in your group complains, tromping through the high grass.

“This isn’t the only meadow in Havensfield, Victoria,” says another.

“I’ve seen more growing by the trees,” you offer, holding out your basket for one girl to toss a few measly primrose blooms in.

The other girls stop. You look around in the low torchlight at the appalled expressions on their faces.

“You can’t just… go into the woods,” the one named Victoria objects. “There’s… there’s fairies. And wolf-men.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes while the other girls balk. “You can’t honestly tell me that you believe those old wive’s tales. You know the elders only tell those stories to keep us from going into the woods to fuck.”

A few snickers rise up with the smoke from the torch. “It’s true, I saw Katherine Plack sneaking through the woods with Scotty Raker two nights ago,” says a short girl beside Victoria, nodding sagely.

“And what were you doing in the woods, Hyacinth?” the girl holding the torch says, slugging Hyacinth on the shoulder.

The girls dissolve into laughter, while you suck on your lower lip and gaze toward the trees. It can’t be that dangerous, if Eddie claims to come from in there… somewhere. You imagine a cozy little cottage in the woods with a well beside it, tucked away, hidden from town. You imagine him chopping the wood to make it, himself. You imagine his lean frame and strong hands holding an ax, the drawings on his skin highlighted in the filtered sun through the trees as he swings the blade–

“I’m going to go see,” you announce abruptly, your voice nearly cracking. You’re nodding to yourself, looking like an idiot while you fumble to pick the basket up and set it on your hip. “Yep. That’s what I'm going to do. You all can stay here if you want.”

“But, there’s no light,” Victoria insists, pulling her hair back away from her face with a condescending expression.

“Moon’s almost full, I can see just fine,” you snap back. Honestly, what does it matter to her if you go into the woods? “I’ll be back.”

Hyacinth calls something about “girding your loins” after you, but you’re too far away to really pay it any mind. The grass grows taller by the trees, and you hop over the creek into a wide bed of bright yellow marigolds. They wiggle in the slight spring breeze, lit with just enough moonshine for their color to show even in the dark.

“Beat that, Victoria,” you mumble as you set the basket on the ground. Methodically, you begin picking them, choosing the biggest blooms, the ones with the most immaculate petals. You’ll decorate your small cabin with them, and fashion garlands for the town square with the rest.

As you wander over to another bed to collect some more blooms, you hear singing, following the tune being played by the pan flute across the meadow. It’s an old folk song that most of the people in town would know, and you hum along mindlessly as you pick the flowers at your knees.

“As I was a-walking to take the fresh air, The flowers all blooming and gay, I heard a young damsel so sweetly a-singing, Her cheeks like the flowers in May.”

It’s a young man’s voice, coming from somewhere in the trees, low and rich, and quiet enough that you don’t think it’s meant to be heard by anyone else across the meadow. Tipsy, you smile to yourself, not thinking to look for the source of the voice, but just appreciating the sound as it travels on the breeze.

“Said I, ‘Pretty maiden, and how came you here, In the meadows this morning, so soon?’ The maid she replied, ‘Why, to gather some May, For the trees they are all in full bloom.’”

As your fingers stroke along soft flower petals, humming along under your breath, you glance over your shoulder towards the meadow, where flaming torches dance like woodland spirits in the night. Laughter follows the music and the raucous cheering of the other groups of May-goers, dancing and collecting their own greenery and flowers.

The rich, velvety voice filters through the trees, ever quieter, but even closer than before. You look up just in time to see the source of the voice move just beyond the treeline, and then he appears, leaning against the trunk of a great pine, close enough that you can see the deep wine red of his blouse, and the wicked smirk on his lips.

“I said, ‘Pretty maiden, shall I go with you Through the meadows to gather some May?’ ‘Oh no, sir,’ she said, ‘I would rather refuse, For I fear you would lead me astray.’”

You could swear that Eddie’s eyes glow nearly red at you in the moonlight, his teeth sharper than you’ve ever seen them as he grins at you. The lace at his collar is untied, disheveled, falling open to reveal one of the inked pictures on his skin and his dark chest hair.

“Climb any maypoles today, princess?” he asks you after a moment of your staring at him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

The question sets your skin aflame. You sit back on your heels, giving him a caustic expression, despite the way your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s the eve of May, your lurid mind thinks, tracing his outline among the trees. Anything could happen.

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again, Mr. Munson,” you retort, imagining that he won’t be affected by your words in the slightest.

He isn’t. “Ah-ah, you said you hoped that you wouldn’t. But you didn’t toss a coin in the well, therefore, your wish was never going to be granted. Rules of nature, sweetheart.” He wags a finger at you. “And enough with that ‘Mr. Munson’ business. You remember my name, don’t you?”

“Eddie,” you say quietly, not sure why you feel so shy when you do. Probably because, up until now, you’ve been firm in your false belief that you’d never give him the time of day. It seems it all depends on whether or not you’ve seen him shirtless, first.

“Good girl. I knew you were paying attention.” Eddie smirks at you then, sowing the seeds of your detriment right there. He stands poised, and then bows low as he says, “So, pretty maiden, shall I go with you through the meadows to gather some May?”

You consider quoting the song right back to him, but you figure that it’s probably what he expects you to do. So instead, you sigh and shrug your shoulder at him. “As long as you promise not to crush them in your big meaty hands.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock, an impressed smile curling his mouth up at the corners. He barks a laugh. “That’s not how the song goes.”

“Well, the song ends with them kissing and then getting married in the morning,” you point out, with a roll of your eyes. “So, forgive me for not adhering to the lyrics.”

“Also, my hands are not meaty.” He smirks at you ruefully, his face half bathed in moonlight. He leans towards you, “I’ll tell you what is, though–”

“If you’re about to mention your maypole again, I’m leaving,” you snap, glaring at him in the dark. He snickers, but says nothing, instead preferring to start gathering marigolds. “Just how did you manage to find me again, anyways? There are hundreds of people wandering the meadows tonight. How is it that you keep managing to run into me and no one else?”

“Oh, I can sniff you out in a heartbeat, princess. It’s one of my many talents.” The flowers are dwarfed by his hands– his long fingers pinch the stems delicately, offset by the size of the silver rings he wears on them. You admire them, watching them glint in the moonlight, the tendons in his wrist flexing and his skin pulling tight over veins and knuckles. The heavy metal clicks as he works. You’re about to comment on them, when you watch what said fingers are doing with the flowers.

He takes one, and loops the stem around another, creating a loose knot that lets the tails sit alongside each other. He repeats the process slowly, building a chain of bright marigold blooms, while he hums idly and shoots you a heavy look from beneath his lashes. “Ah. So you’re not afraid to look, now. That’s good to know.”

You tear your eyes away. The tips of your ears burn with embarrassment at having been caught staring, yet again. “Have you any shame?”

“Not a hair of it.”

Eddie holds up a finished crown of flowers, grinning at you. He places the circlet of blooms on your head, and as he draws back, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“And I crowned her my Queen of sweet May,” he sings at you, more of a coo than truly carrying a tune. “The most beautiful one in all the land, of course.”

“From princess to queen,” you muse, trying not to show how quickly your heart is melting. “I’m sure you must think that endears you to me.”

“I’d like to think so,” Eddie admits, leaning ever closer to you. You can see the reflection of the moon in his eyes, glinting vaguely red– you can smell honeyed wine on his breath. His voice drops even lower in register, until it’s just barely above a whisper. “I hope so. Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart.”

“I think,” you murmur just as quietly, letting your eyes drop indulgently to his parted lips. They’re so plush and inviting, they’re right there. You need only let yourself bend an inch and you could kiss him. You breathe in, “I think…”

Your hand falls softly to the basket of flowers beside you.

“I think your hands are egregiously meaty.”

You lift a handful of marigolds and smash them into his mouth, making him splutter and fall backwards. You cackle, flinging yourself in the opposite direction, scrambling up to run away. You swear you got some of them in his mouth; you can hear him coughing and spitting them at the same time as he laughs.

“I’ll get you for that!” You can hear him leaping up to chase you, and the prospect makes your heart pound in your chest, your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. You’re sure that it will be easy for him to catch you– you’re hoping for it, really.

You duck between the pines and into the trees. “Come sniff me out then, if you must!”

You hear his laugh from behind you, almost sounding dark and menacing. Your hair stands on end, but your feet carry you through the trees, running even though you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightning.

His feet pound the earth behind you, his laughter dancing on the breeze and combining with the music from the meadow. Beyond the trees, your contemporaries dance and make merry with the coming of summer. Here, in the woods, you run from some indeterminate end– one that you have an inkling of, like the barest traces of a memory, but you can’t quite make it out yet.

Eddie’s hands snatch you by the waist, and you yelp. Heat bursts beneath your skin where he touches you through your bodice, whirling you around until your back hits the trunk of a tree.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding, chest heaving. Eddie is so close, and the air around you buzzes with energy and magic, as if the very trees themselves were singing.

“You little minx,” Eddie muses, his voice rumbling low like thunder. “Just need me to chase you, is that it?” His eyes truly do shine red, you don’t think you’re imagining it– each time they catch the light of the moon, or a torch burning far off in the meadow, you see a glimpse of that subtle iridescent red of a forest creature in the dark glinting back at you.

“I think you’re a spirit,” you whisper, the words light and airy in your throat as you try to regain your breath. “I think you’re one of the Fey. You can’t be real.”

Eddie has you caged in against the tree– one hand on the trunk beside your head, one on your hip. You don’t want to be anywhere else. “Oh, I’m very real, sweetheart. Shall I show you how much?”

His forefinger traces the line of your cheekbone, down the side of your face, to your jaw. You want it bad. You want him and anything he’ll give you– throw you to the ground, take you as prey, the lot of it. You won’t be married in the morning, but tonight all things are possible.

You turn your face and drag your lips across his knuckles, half-gone in your desire. You barely even register the look on his face; eyes wide, lips parted in awe, like he’s never seen anything like you before. Like you confound him as much as he confounds you. A match made in heaven.

Eddie catches your jaw in his fingertips, holding you like you’re made of glass, and he crashes down into you. He tastes of cherry wine, as rich and deep as the color of his blouse, which you fist in your hand to tug him closer.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. It falls like a sigh into his mouth, and his hand tightens on your hip momentarily before gathering your skirts. The fabric flutters as he pulls at them, tugging them up just enough to disappear beneath the hem.

Your breath quickens. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you think, Oh fuck, this is really happening.

Eddie’s finger’s pause on the breadth of your thigh, just above your knee. His forefinger strokes downward, passing over your garter strip and feeling the weave of the silk before he cracks a self-satisfied smirk at you.

“Nice stockings. Get them recently?”

Your eyes narrow with false gravity, your nose scrunching. “I’ll kill you.”

His smirk stretches into a grin, and he scoffs a little laugh that flutters across your lips. It feels like a kiss. “Dying between the legs of my beautiful Queen of May sounds like a good way to go, actually.”

His hand drags hotly up your outer thigh, and the touch nearly burns you to your core. Eddie’s thumb presses against the skin just at the juncture of your leg, and you press your lips together to bite back a moan from coming out. Everything between your legs is tense, and pulsing, and turning feverish the longer he just pets at your skin and tugs your leg up to rest against his hip.

His fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and the moan escapes you; high pitched, needy, embarrassing. You’re hot all over and you feel like you might die if he doesn’t touch you– you have a mind to tell him so, too, when Eddie dips his head and bites at your earlobe.

He dips his finger between your folds, tracing one forefinger up the seam of your cunt, and you swear you could nearly scream. Flesh that is too hot and too sensitive bursts alive with feeling. His finger is drenched, your legs shake just from one touch. Is this what it always feels like?

“Oh, baby,” he coos as you whimper into his neck. His lips move slowly along your skin. Each move of his finger, just teasing you gently, dragging so slowly over your clit that your back arches and you keen long and high. “That’s it. This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You let out a pitiful squeak, nodding your head like you may explode rather than answer. He strokes you firmly and then gently, watching your face, studying your expressions. It’s so much and it’s not enough, not nearly enough to settle the throbbing in your core.

“Please…” It’s the only thing you can come up with, the word bubbling up out of your throat before you can make it make sense. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” Eddie tilts his head. His pale skin nearly glows in the moonlight, the red in his eyes shining for a split second. “Please… here?”

His finger circles your entrance, prodding but never quite dipping in all the way. It’s just enough to make you see stars, just enough to turn you nearly insane.

“Oh my God,” you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders and gripping at his neck.

Eddie hums, letting you feel the gentle touch for a few more seconds before it’s gone. You could cry. There are tears in your eyes– you could sob, throw a tantrum. You don’t think it would make him change his mind either way.

“My hands are too big, though, aren’t they?” Eddie shakes his head, mirroring your pout in a condescending manner that makes you want to smack him. Then he cracks a smirk, and you know he’s just being mean. “Mhm. Big and meaty. Too much for a sweet little thing like you. I wouldn’t want to break–”

You snatch his wrist through your skirts and bring his hand back between your legs. No preamble, no begging– this time he hisses, and you sigh with relief as you grind down onto not just his fingers, but his entire hand.

“You’re not disappearing on me this time, Munson,” you nearly growl at him. Your tongue lavishes his skin, his long neck providing just the right amount of area for you to indulge in.

“I would have stayed,” he gasps out when your teeth find a particularly tender spot under his jaw. “I’d have stayed if I knew you wanted me to.”

“I want you to,” you say, and you wonder if you’ll regret it in the morning. But the morning seems so far away right now, and his hand feels so good between your legs, and you don’t quite understand how you could regret anything that makes him look at you like that.

“Don’t– You can’t talk to me like that,” he whispers, and his eyes shine like rubies in the night as he gazes at you in awe. “You should know better than that.”

You do know better. But still, you tell him, “Stay,” and it’s like a dam has been broken. You know that you’ll never get rid of him now, and you don’t really want to. You want him to make a home in your chest, right against your heart. You want him to always touch you like this. You want him to always look at you with that same reverent gaze, like he’s just looked upon divinity.

Eddie crowds between your legs and his hand leaves you, but his thigh remains in its place. His leg presses tight to your core, the rough fabric of his trousers not nearly as warm as the touch of his hand, but just as erotic. You rock forward mindlessly against his thigh as he takes your face in his hands– one wet with your arousal– and kisses you breathless. His lips move over yours softly, and then passionately, until you take all that passion and feed it back into him twice over.

You lose track of time. The stroke of his tongue against yours, your hands in his hair, his firm thigh between your legs, all brings you to the edge of oblivion. You squirm against him and he chuckles against your lips. He knows what you want. He’ll give it to you, you know it, you know that he will–

And then a twig snaps. Someone calls your name just through the trees, and then, fucking Victoria breaks through the bushes just in time to see you jump and squeal, having to clutch at Eddie’s shoulders to keep from falling over when he spins around to see who intruded on your precious moment.

“OH! I’m so sorry– I thought–” Victoria fiddles with a long lock of her hair, twisting it idly before tossing it over her shoulder. You’re sure you look disheveled, with Eddie’s crown of marigolds slowly unweaving itself in your hair. It’s obvious to her what you’d been doing– Her eyes rake up and down Eddie’s frame, standing halfway in front of you like a shield, his chest heaving, a dark spot on his trousers where his thigh had been pressed between your legs. “Well, you said you were going to be back, and we thought you’d gone missing…”

“I was in the middle of doing something,” you tell her bluntly.

“Understatement,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you knock your elbow against his back.

You ignore him. “I thought you didn’t want to go into the woods?”

“Well, that was before we thought you… disappeared.” Victoria looks from you to Eddie. “Who’s this?”

“Something.” Eddie grins at her, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight breaking through the trees. “Sorry I stole her away from you. We were actually just having a fascinating conversation about when it’s appropriate to disappear– you could join us if you want?”

Eddie glances over his shoulder at you, and smirks a bit at the expression of complete and utter envy on your face. You don’t want anyone to join. You don’t want to share him. You want him all to yourself. You want to grow on him like ivy until no one can see him but you. You want to hold him close to your chest and keep him there for eternity, and then some.

“Oh, no, I–” Victoria blushes. She half-turns, like she wants to run away from the conversation entirely. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve collected all the flowers we need, so… we’re going back to town. You can stay… if you want.”

You want to throw a fit.

She ducks back into the bushes quickly. Eddie is quiet for a moment, listening to her footsteps through the grass, before he turns to you.

“You were jealous,” he teases, leaning towards you with that stupid self-aggrandizing grin.

Your face grows hot with anger and embarrassment. “You did that on purpose.” You shove him bodily, so that he stumbles a bit to the side, and he snickers. “I can’t believe you. She could have said yes to that.”

“Nah, she was too bashful. I knew she wasn’t gonna take me up on the offer. She wandered into something she wasn’t ready for.” Eddie leans up against a tree, smiling at you with a more resigned expression now. He looks you over, like he wants to burn the image of your kiss-bitten lips and rumpled dress into his memory. After a moment, he meets your eye again. “You should go. Get some sleep before the festival tomorrow.”

“But I–” You flounder. You just made so much progress, and now you’re just back where you began. You shouldn’t be proud about it now– not after he nearly took you to pieces with a single touch. Not when you can still feel the sharp edge of an orgasm pressing at your core, wanting to force its way out but with no way to get there now, and every look at him makes it press that much harder. “You know what– I don’t even know what I expected.”

You march off towards the tree line. You have to find your fucking flower basket. You have to go and make garlands and slap together some bouquets for the festival tomorrow. You have to pretend like you aren’t dying inside from the disappointment.

“Princess.” You turn to him. He isn’t smiling anymore, he just looks disappointed as well. He glances up at the moon, and then back to you. “It’s a full moon tomorrow. Best not to go near the woods, okay?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid wolf-man stories, too,” you snap, beyond aggravated.

“Just promise me,” Eddie bites back, his eyes shining dangerously in the moonlight. “Promise me that you’ll stay in town. Don’t come near the woods. Drink, be merry, have a good time.”

“And you?” You feel a bit humiliated and desperate, vying for his time and attention– but you want it. You want it, you want him, more than anything, but you have a feeling you won’t be getting what you want, yet again. “What about you?”

“I’ll find you,” he says firmly, and then lowers his eyes. Softly, he amends, “I’ll always come back to you.”

#i'm inordinately proud of this one uhh #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #werewolf!eddie munson #werewolf!eddie #werewolf!eddie munson x reader #stranger things #roses*

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thebiggerbear · 6 months

Text

i need your hand but i don't want to burn it - One - She's Gone

A/N: Not going to lie, this past month has been a tough one for me. I recently lost someone and it just sucked all of the energy out of me for writing or anything else. I started this back on Feb 16th, within hours of receiving the news, because I was trying to process it as well as my feelings on it all. Beau was in my mind from the very beginning because like I mentioned before, I literally had the thought "Man, I could go for a Beau hug right about now." So this took form and even though I was blocked on everything else, this became a sort of tool of processing for me. I was going to keep this just for myself because I found it to be deeply personal, but then I thought, well, what if someone out there is also currently grieving someone they lost and a little Beau comfort might make them feel better, too? Even in this scenario? So that's why I'm sharing it.

While it is personal what I go into, I changed up things to keep it fictional and sort of tell a story. So the characters and dynamics are fictional, just not the feelings of the reader and the emotional journey/grieving process she goes through if that makes sense.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. I attempted the graphics.

Song that randomly came out of nowhere and strangely worked was "broken" by Jonah Kagen. The lyrics just really hit home for me.

Warnings: mention of death; death notification

Word Count: 8587

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Beau Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @illicithallways; @muhahaha303

This part was recc'ed by @winchestergirl2 here.

It was a bright, sunny day when you got the news. The sky was this unimaginable shade of blue, not a cloud in the sky, and the temperature was a comfortable one. You were on the job and the slight breeze ruffled through your hair when you saw that your aunt was calling you. A knot immediately formed in your stomach; if she was calling you, that couldn’t be good. And sure enough, it wasn’t.

“She’s gone,” she informed you matter-of-factly.

It took a moment for your brain to catch up to what she was telling you. “What?”

“She’s gone, Y/N. Happened this morning.” Again, her tone was bland, as if she was simply telling you a package had been delivered to your home.

“How?” Your mind felt as if it was running in circles but also slowing down at the same time.

Poppernak’s head snapped in your direction but you immediately walked away from the scene. You didn’t notice the deputy watch after you and then head in Hoyt’s direction.

“Stroke.” Your aunt was only willing to give you one word but that one word changed your entire world. It altered the landscape of your universe in a big way.

You nodded, forgetting that the woman couldn’t see you, and you felt a lump start to form in your throat. You forced your gaze onto some trees ahead and mentally told yourself that you would not cry. “Oh,” you choked out. So much for not allowing any emotion to bleed through.

“Yep.”

Once again, very bland, almost dry. You weren’t surprised, though. It had always been like this between you. “Um…did they say when the services will—”

“Nothing’s set in stone yet but the information will be on the obituary online. It’ll probably tell people who can’t make it where to send flowers.” And just like that, the digs began.

You ignored her attitude and quietly cleared your throat. “Okay,” you attempted to smooth over. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Ida. If there’s anything you need, please call m—”

“Oh, I’ll call you, don’t you worry. But right now, as it stands, we’re good. I have to get going. I still have to get to the funeral home and make all the arrangements. I’ll be talking to you soon.” Before you could say goodbye, she hung up.

You let out a heavy sigh before lowering your phone from your ear. You focused on the trees once more, pushing any thoughts away and stuffing your emotions back down. When you felt confident enough that you wouldn’t break, you turned to find Hoyt and Poppernak watching you worriedly from near the crime scene tape. You sighed once more and then began your walk over to answer the burning questions they appeared to have.

You were driving back home on autopilot, lost in a sea of memories that forced a single tear out onto your cheek every now and then, prompting you to wipe each one away quickly. Your phone began to ring and as you expected, Beau’s name popped up. Well, that had to be some kind of record for Hoyt. Though, you supposed in these circumstances, you couldn’t blame her and you could appreciate her difficult position. She was only supposed to call Beau if there was an emergency but if she didn’t let him know that she sent you home for the rest of the day after receiving the news of a loved one’s passing, then she’d most likely be in hot water. In trouble with you or in trouble with Beau? It wasn’t hard to see why she made the choice she did.

Beau was on vacation and you hated for that to be interrupted, especially due to this. He worked his ass off every single day and he deserved this time. He had offered to take Cassie and Kai fishing and camping, after the date passed that the two were supposed to have gone with her dad who had been killed. Kai was excited and Cassie was grateful when Beau made the offer. You and Hoyt were happy for them. Beau had even tried to entice Emily to fly up for a visit and go with them, but Carla put a quick stop to that with the mention of school and it being Emily’s senior year. To say Beau had been disappointed was a massive understatement.

And now, he was most likely spending his time worrying about you alongside teaching Kai how to catch trout and attempting to keep Cassie laughing and her spirits high. You almost didn’t answer, because you didn’t want to be one more thing he had to worry about and also because you didn’t feel like talking, but in the end you did. To reassure him if for nothing else.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he greeted back, sounding worried just like you had predicted. “You okay?”

You briefly closed your eyes in annoyance at Hoyt. Despite your initial understanding, this really wasn’t something she needed to call him about. Someone else, yes, but for you, no. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you reassured him. “Hoyt just thought it best that I take the rest of the day, clear my head, and come back fresh tomorrow. That’s all.”

A moment of quiet passed between you as he likely mulled over your answer. Accepting it, he then offered, “Do you need anything?”

You cleared your throat to keep the lump at bay. “Nope. Thanks, though.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, who passed?”

You pressed your lips together, not really wanting to answer, but he’d find out eventually. “My grandmother.”

Sure enough, his tone softened. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He knew how deeply this one would cut.

You swallowed past the lump again and forced out quietly, “Thanks, but it’s fine. It was expected at some point, you know?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t make it any easier though, does it?” Beau lost his parents back when you had worked together in Houston. His dad had passed unexpectedly due to a heart attack. Everyone had been shocked, of course, but it hit Beau’s mom the hardest. It wasn’t too long after that when she started developing her own health issues and began declining. Beau’s father had only been gone for a year and a half when he lost his mom as well. You and your unit were there for him, giving him your unending support, and half of the department had showed up to the funeral, just as they had the senior Mr. Arlen’s. Not only was Beau well liked and respected but his family were no strangers to law enforcement; his dad had served on the force for decades before he finally retired.

What you were feeling now in no way rivaled the loss he had endured back then. He not only had lost a parent, but he lost both in a short time frame. You couldn’t imagine how you would be feeling had that been you. You doubted you would be able to stand up much less continue to function day to day like he had. You wished you could borrow some of his strength, something you could use right about now.

“True.”

Another moment of quiet filled the car tainted by uncertainty and an almost alien awkwardness. That wasn’t the norm for the two of you but this situation also wasn’t the norm. Being your best friend and having known you for a long time, Beau knew some of your history but not all of it. What little you had told him had been enough for him to know this wasn’t a topic you liked to revisit and he needed to leave well enough alone. So he’d happily compensate and regale you with funny stories of the hijinks he and his brother used to get up to when they were younger instead. He didn’t push for more than you were willing to give and that was something you deeply appreciated about him.

And right now, you appreciated him even more for not pressing you for details or trying to make small talk around the huge elephant that was currently sitting on top of you. An elephant in the form of your grandmother, an elderly woman who helped raise you who you had a…complicated relationship with to say the least. You tried to think back to one of the last times you had seen her but you really couldn’t remember. The memory was there somewhere, on the edge of your mind, just out of reach. Instead, a memory resurfaced of a younger you holding onto her hand as you crossed a busy crosswalk in the city, wearing one of your best dresses with tights, shoes, a very proper coat with gold buttons done up, and a ribbon in your long hair. You had been on your way to see a play that she managed to get tickets for and you remembered that moment of her immediately shielding you as a car nearly hit you both, ignoring the traffic light as well as all of the pedestrians crossing. You couldn’t remember the heated exchange between her and the driver of the yellow cab, but you did remember her hurrying you to safety and then kneeling down to check that you were okay. You could see the determination in her light eyes shadowed by a layer of fear as she did up the top two buttons of your fancy coat and smoothed a hand down your hair. She had protected you and basically saved your life. The memory shocked you with its reappearance; you hadn’t thought about that one in a long time. You had to have been around six years old when that happened.

Beau cleared his throat quietly. “Listen, I’m on my way back.”

That jerked you out of your reverie. “What? No, Beau, don’t. I’m fine. You’re on vacation and so is Cassie. Kai was excited to go on this trip, don’t cut it short. I appreciate it but I’d rather your plans didn’t get interrupted.”

“I already talked to Cassie and she’s in agreement. We’re heading back. She talked to Kai and he understands. We’re going to try this again next month.”

The guilt was thick inside your chest. He had been trying for a while now to get Cassie to agree to a fishing trip with him, and he’d only just convinced her. “Beau…”

“Already done,” he assured you. “We’re packing up now actually. Besides, you’re going to need some time and Hoyt’s going to need backup.”

“I told you, I’m fine and I’ll be back to work tomorrow. You don’t have to—”

“You’re going to need the time for the services. Any idea on when they might be yet?”

You pressed your lips together and glanced in your rearview mirror. “Not yet.”

He heard what you weren’t saying. “Well, it just happened. Give ‘em some time and they’ll sort it out,” he offered gently.

“Yeah,” you muttered.

“You set up a flight yet?”

You shook your head, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see you. “No.”

“I should be back later tonight. I’ll come over and help you sort all of that out.”

It hit you in that moment that Beau was going to be seeing you in a few hours’ time. A part of you was relieved but another part of you wasn’t ready to let him in just yet. Not that you didn’t trust him (he was the person you trusted most actually) and not that he didn’t know how to be there for you, but something was stopping you from letting him.

“You’re going to be back late. How about you just stop by in the morning on your way to the office?”

You didn’t need to see Beau to know he was taken aback at your suggestion. “It’s not going to be that late,” he tried again. “I was thinking, if you didn’t mind, I could just stay at your place for the night. It’d be a shorter drive for me to the station tomorrow.”

You knew it would be and you knew he was just looking out for you, being there for you should you need him, but weirdly, that was the last thing you wanted right now. “I appreciate it, but it’s going to be a long drive and you still need to drop Cassie off. I’ll look up flights when I get home. You just focus on driving and let me know when you made it back okay.”

“Y/N—”

“Someone is calling me from a New York number. It could be important. I have to go. Drive safe, alright?”

“Darlin’, just—”

“Thank you for calling, Beau. It means a lot.” You meant that last part, you really did. You quickly disconnected the call before he could speak again. There was no call from New York, of course, and you know he knew that, but you just needed a second to think. You put your phone on silent and continued the drive to the small house you had put a down payment on when Beau had convinced you to move here to join him about a year or so before.

You ran a hand through your hair and sighed, feeling majorly conflicted. You wanted nothing more than one of Beau’s comforting hugs but at the same time, you didn’t want to be touched or comforted. You didn’t want anyone’s awkward condolences like Hoyt had offered you earlier after Poppernak told her you might have received some kind of bad news. You didn’t want to talk or cry or try to distract yourself from reality in any way, shape, or form. You wanted to just be.

And considering where you would be flying to in the next twenty four hours, you needed as much time to process and compartmentalize as you could get.

There was no processing or compartmentalizing happening. Your brain was a chaotic mess at best. Your thoughts were all over the place, same with your emotions, and yet somehow you still felt numb and in shock.

Not only did memories play on a loop inside your head but you could not form one single coherent thought. You had walked past your full sink of dishes at least four times before you remembered you were going to stack them in the dishwasher. You had to remind yourself that you hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, preferring your usual coffee, and you had to eat something now that it was late afternoon so you could satiate the loudly rumbling hungry beast known as your stomach. You barely tasted the food or the beer you chose to wash it down with.

At some point, you had pulled out a shoebox you kept carefully hidden away in a closet and began to go through old photos you kept stashed alongside a few Christmas and birthday cards over the years. You studied your grandmother in each photo and whether it was a blessing or a curse, you weren’t sure which yet, you could hear her voice and even her laughter in your mind. You could hear her yelling, too, but your brain pushed those memories away, knowing you weren’t ready to deal with that just yet.

You came across one picture of the two of you. You were in high school and had just received an award. You two were standing outside of the school and neither of you were embracing or smiling too widely. One of your aunts had asked you both to take the picture, to mark the special occasion, but the truth was, you two had been arguing most of the day, practically up until the ceremony. Just one of the many arguments you both had over the years where you didn’t see eye to eye.

You dug deeper into the box until you pulled out a special group of photos in an envelope. You took a sip of beer, a deep breath, and then opened it. These were pictures of your parents, gone in a freak accident when you were barely kindergarten age. You smiled down at the photos of the two of them with a baby version of you. No matter where you were or who took the picture, all of you appeared to be happy. Sadly, you didn’t remember those times too much, the memories too hazy and existing on that fine line between reality and fantasy. You only remembered the sorrow, the pain, and the devastation their sudden absence left.

You came across a photo of you and your mother, but this time, your grandmother was also included. You must have been two years old and you were grinning widely from your mother’s lap at the older woman who smiled brightly back at you. You had even reached out your hands to her, almost as if you had been asking her to pick you up. You stared hard at the picture, almost as if trying to remember that exact moment in time so you could then remember the feeling.

Your phone ringing loudly made you jump and jerked you out of your concentration. You placed the photo down and sighed. You had put your phone back on when you arrived home a few hours ago and though he hadn’t called, Beau had sent you a few texts. It was more of him offering to come over, to be there for you, and to help with anything you needed. You had immediately swiped the notifications off of your screen; you couldn’t deal with that or anything else right now. You appreciated it but you just needed some time…some space actually. Just until you could get your head on straight.

You picked your phone up and glanced at the screen, surprised to see your cousin’s name flashing back at you.

Your brows furrowed and you immediately picked up the call. “Lucy? What’s wrong?”

“Hey,” she greeted you though her usual cheery voice lacked its usual enthusiasm. While you didn’t keep in touch with most of your family, Lucy had been the exception. You weren’t close by any means but her texts and calls didn’t always go ignored. “Aunt Ida said she called you today to tell you about Gran. How are you holding up?”

You shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess. How are you doing?” Lucy had been just as close with the grandmother you shared while growing up but she had also stayed within the family unit while you bolted. She and her husband, John, even purchased a home two blocks away from where your grandmother lived.

“Um, I’m okay,” she sighed into the phone. “It’s sad and not the way we expected but we all kind of knew it was coming.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, taking another sip of beer.

“I know it might sound horrible to say but it’s kind of a relief. For Gran, I mean. She’s no longer suffering. You know, after the past couple of years…”

You felt a familiar surge of guilt start up in your chest again, and a burning feeling began in the corners of your eyes. “Yeah,” you repeated. You both stayed quiet for a moment, each thinking back to Gran’s initial diagnosis of Alzheimer’s more than five years ago and how it had quickly progressed, especially during the pandemic years.

Lucy finally broke the silence. “So, um, I was just wondering if you were going to be flying in tomorrow.”

Your brows mashed together again. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. For the visitation the next day.”

Your head began to whirl. Perhaps it was the beer and you had misheard her. Though, you had only had two, maybe in conjunction with what you were feeling, you weren’t thinking straight. “Wait, wait. The visitation is the day after tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Luy sounded unsure why you were asking. “And the funeral will be the next morning. That’s why I was thinking you would probably be flying in tomorrow.”

“Aunt Ida told me that she had no idea when the services would be yet but she would let me know.”

“Oh.”

You could practically hear her nerves through the phone. “Lucy,” you warned. “When were the plans finalized?”

“Um…”

“Lucy.”

“Yesterday?” She nearly squeaked out.

That hit you like a gut punch. “Yesterday? I thought Gran just died this morning!”

Now you could really hear the nervousness in Lucy’s voice. “She, um, she passed on Monday morning.”

The fury working its way through your veins felt like molten fire. “Today is Wednesday!”

Lucy knew better than to answer that. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I thought Aunt Ida explained when she said she spoke to you this morning. She was dealing with a lot and—”

“--couldn’t be bothered to tell me, I get it. But why didn’t you call me?” The tears building were practically burning your pupils. Your grandmother had passed away two days ago and no one could be bothered to tell you.

“I-I wanted to, Y/N. I really did but, Aunt Ida said—”

Your jaw tensed and you nearly slammed your bottle down on the floor next to you as you got to your feet, all too certain what Aunt Ida had said. While Lucy was a kinder soul than most in your biological family, she also lacked a backbone when it came to your older female relatives.

“Forget it,” you hissed, roughly wiping away tears that had escaped down your cheeks. “I’ll be arriving tomorrow. Is the obituary up or was she bullshitting me on that one, too?”

“N-No, they just posted it today. It’s actually quite nice. I think you’ll—”

“Send me the link,” you ordered before you hung up and quickly began scanning available flights as you hurried into your bedroom to begin packing.

It was late when you landed, your flight having been slightly delayed. Not that it mattered to you; if you could have delayed the flight altogether, you would have. But that wasn’t possible and neither was you staying in Helena. As angry as you were, you refused to let it keep you from doing the right thing. Plus, when you called the station earlier to tell Hoyt you wouldn’t be back until Monday, she had insisted you take the bereavement time available to you (more like ordered you) and see to your family, wishing you well. Normally, you would have put your foot down and flat out refused, content to hole up in a corner of the office and burrow yourself into work, but you knew she was right. You had to attend the services; you owed Gran that much at least.

You nodded a thanks to the cheery but tired flight attendant as she thanked you for flying with their airlines, and ambled down the bridge towards the airport. Thankfully, due to the late hour, there weren’t many people milling about and you were unencumbered from making your way down the escalator towards Baggage Claim.

While waiting for the carousel to start up, your phone started vibrating. You glanced at the screen, sighing when you saw the name pop up that had been popping up on and off all day.

You immediately rejected the call and slipped your phone back into silent mode. But before you could hit the button, a text snuck its way through to display on your screen.

You felt bad reading the message previews and you certainly weren’t trying to ignore your best friend but you just needed some time to process all of this on your own. You had sent him one quick text earlier telling him not to come by since you wouldn’t be home. You also told him you would call him as soon as you were able. Apparently, he was ignoring that last text going by his several attempts to make contact. You weren’t trying to stonewall him, you really weren’t, but you had to go into this with a clear head. Or as clear a head as you could have in these circumstances. Wasn’t that something he always said before you two went into anything dangerous on the job?

Speaking of the job, it wasn’t that you hadn’t seen your fair share of death, mostly in ghoulish evil ways that people had come up with in order to hurt each other, and it’s not that your grandmother’s passing wasn’t expected to happen at some point like Lucy had said. But you hadn’t been prepared for how you would feel when it did and you certainly hadn’t been prepared for it to happen now.

Conflicting emotions roiled in your head and churned in your stomach. Your empty stomach from that all-too familiar discomfort you’d gotten frequently during your career. The lunch you’d eaten earlier had made a reappearance after Lucy’s phone call. You would have to get some food and soon, but where you would get that at this late hour except a greasy diner, you couldn’t even begin to imagine. Not that it mattered, either. The very thought of food made an altogether different unpleasant sensation roll in your stomach. Emptiness versus nausea…fun.

Eventually, your other suitcase made its way to you and you quickly scooped it up. You ordered a Lyft, scoffing when you noticed the wait time was a half hour, possibly more, for a pickup. How was that even possible? This was an airport! At this rate, you’d be better off taking a cab but that was bound to be pricier than the Lyft. You heaved a great sigh and plopped down on your larger suitcase, resting your chin in your hand as you waited. Eventually, you whipped out your phone and decided to mindlessly scroll through your Instagram. You weren’t a fan of the app or any social media really but Em had made an account for you one day when you had unwisely left your phone sitting on one of Beau’s deck chairs while helping him pack Pedro for a camping trip he was taking her on. You quickly got bored of any new content on your feed, since there weren't any updates from anyone you actually cared about, and swiped over to your profile.

A glimmer of a smile appeared on your face when you saw the picture Em had taken of herself and her dad, posting it for you after she saw your Houston photo and labeled it a semi-pathetic attempt at a first post. Your eyes scanned through your meager posting and the picture of Poppernak that you had taken one day near the end of your shift reminded you why you wouldn’t be working with your beloved partner the next few days. Your smile immediately disappeared and you clicked out of the app, powered down the screen, and slipped the phone into your jacket pocket.

Luckily, only a little while later, your Lyft finally arrived. After loading your suitcases into the back with the driver’s help, you were on your way to the only hotel in town. You stared out the window as the scenery passed by. Your driver, Antonio, had tried to make small talk but thankfully begged off when he noticed you weren’t too talkative, most likely chalking it up to the late flight and you being tired. Familiar landmarks came into view as he turned onto another street and memories started to flood your mind. You shut your eyes, as if to keep them out, and it miraculously held them at bay a little longer. You then settled your gaze on the back of the driver seat, refusing to look out the windows until you arrived at your destination.

You’d have time enough to wallow in memories and regret the next few days. No reason to rush it.

As soon as you checked into your hotel room, you immediately jumped in the shower. It always made you feel better after traveling and the flight had felt excruciatingly long this go around. That could have had something to do with you coming from Montana, though. The few flights you’d taken from Texas back in the day had definitely been shorter.

You wrapped yourself in a towel, your damp hair spilling down your back, and started going through one of your suitcases to find body lotion. Once you found the bottle, before you could begin lathering it up in your hands, your phone vibrated on your night stand.

You heaved a sigh and glanced over, seeing you had another missed call from Beau, and yet another text.

You nearly rolled your eyes, knowing he would make good on this threat if you didn’t check in with him at least once before you went to sleep. And that was the last thing you needed right now.

You slipped in your earbuds, hit his name, then the phone icon, and switched it over to bluetooth as you began to moisturize your skin. He answered it in two rings.

“Hey,” he gruffed out before clearing his throat. “About time you called me back.”

You ignored how hearing his voice immediately made your chest feel that little bit lighter and your shoulders release some of the tension you’d been carrying around the past day. “Yeah, well, when someone threatened to put a BOLO on my ass, I responded real quick. That’s all I need, this town’s cops pounding on my door, in addition to everything else.” You had meant it to come out teasingly but your voice had betrayed your aggravation. You regretted it the moment the words were out of your mouth. You knew Beau was just worried about you, that he cared about you, and wanted to make sure you were alright. In all fairness, you could have at least sent him a text to let him know you landed but you were tired and didn’t feel like talking. He would have understood. He wasn’t the asshole in this scenario; you were.

“I’m sorry about that,” he offered gently and you could hear the genuine remorse in his tone. “I wasn’t trying to give you a hard time but damn, Y/N, not one single text to let me know you’re still alive?”

You flinched at the last word and started applying the lotion more aggressively. You were eager to be done with this call, with everything, so you could crash and finally get some much needed shut-eye. You hadn’t slept much in the past forty eight hours, probably stress from the job (it happened sometimes), and you were feeling it.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have said that.” More remorse.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, popping the cap on the bottle closed and placing it on the nightstand. “Well, now that you know that I’m fine, no BOLO’s are necessary.”

“Y/N, I didn’t—”

You knew you didn’t really have a right to be angry with him but you also didn’t have the bandwidth for dealing with anyone or anything right now. You appreciated his concern and him checking on you, but all you wanted to do was hit the sack and evade consciousness for a few hours. “Listen, it’s super late, I just got in because it was a late flight and delayed at that. I’m exhausted. So if we could…” You left it open-ended, hoping he’d just take the hint and say goodnight.

You heard some rustling on the other end and you realized he must have been in bed already when you called. You quickly glanced at the alarm clock and thought over the time difference. It wasn’t even 10:30 yet back in Helena and Beau was already going to sleep for the night? That was odd. Then again, he was now a deputy sheriff down and Hoyt would need the backup in case something came up. Plus, you knew he had cut his vacation short to rush back to Helena. He was probably just as exhausted as you were, possibly more so. “Y/N… You’re not shutting down on me, are you?”

You practically did a double take at the question. “What? No! I’m not. What, I’m tired and want to go to sleep after the long day I’ve had and that’s suddenly me shutting down on you? Seriously? All because I didn’t answer a few texts or pick up one of your many phone calls?” You had no idea why but that question majorly pissed you off. The logical part of you knew you were overreacting to a genuinely concerned question from your best friend but your temper seemed to be off to the races; you couldn’t stop it if you tried. “I get that you’re a grade A worry-er and everything but I’m not some goddamn child you need to check up on every ten minutes for Christ’s sake!” In your rush of anger, you hadn’t even realized just how much your voice had raised. Not until there was a deafening silence in the room and on the other end once you finished your little tirade.

“I wasn’t trying to insinuate that you were, darlin’,” he spoke calmly.

“Don’t you darlin’ me. Don’t you dare patronize me with that shit, Arlen. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare.” Your chest felt immediately tight again and tension filled your body once more. You huffed out an angry breath and decided the best thing for you to do in this situation was to end the call as soon as possible. “Look, you wanted to know I’m still alive, now you know. I would appreciate it if you would stop calling me and texting me all the time while I’m here and threatening me when you don’t hear back from me right away. That’s the last fucking thing I need on top of everything else,” you snapped.

Beau remained quiet but you could still hear his breathing on the other end so you knew he was listening to your ranting.

“Now, I’m going to bed. I appreciate the check in but it’s unnecessary. When the services are over and I’m going to head back, I’ll let you know.”

Still nothing.

“Good night, Beau.” You hung up and angrily tossed your phone onto the bed with your earbuds before heading back to the bathroom so you could blow dry your hair.

You thought over the entire conversation. You felt slightly bad that you had lost your temper with him when he was just making sure you were okay but God, you didn’t need that right now. What you needed was to get through the next few days so you could return to your life, your normal routine, as fast as possible. The best way you could do that was to keep going, not allowing yourself time to think, and get this done.

A twinge of guilt surged in your chest when you had that thought. You hadn’t meant anything disrespectful towards your grandmother or to insinuate that you didn’t care that she had died when you were thinking that. It was just…things were already going to be difficult, if your Aunt Ida’s attitude on the phone had been any indication as well as her behavior so far. If it hadn’t been for Lucy’s call earlier and the obituary link she texted you, you wouldn’t have even known when the services were going to be so you could grab the first flight out. Yes, things were bound to be difficult and tense until this was over.

You unplugged your hair dryer in a huff and finished getting ready to go to sleep. Beau just needed to give you space. Your life in Montana had nothing to do with anyone or anything here and you were determined to keep it that way. Texas never did despite your few trips back over the years; Big Sky Country wasn’t going to either.

You supposed you shouldn’t have been surprised at the text message notification on your screen when you lit up your phone.

You felt that twinge of guilt again but this time in your heart. Beau hadn’t deserved what you had unleashed on him before. He was a good man and he hadn’t done anything wrong. You were mentally kicking yourself as you hurriedly dressed for bed and snuggled under the sheets. You stared at your screen, your thumb hovering over his name, the desire strong within you to call him and apologize. You yearned to hear his voice one more time, even if it was just him talking and you listening, him giving you hell for the things you had said in anger earlier. Hell, you almost wished he was here with you so you could fold yourself into his arms and burrow into his chest, letting his Texan drawl wash over your ear as he assured you everything would be alright. And you could stay there as long as you wanted, safe and comforted, not having to face the world or how it had changed so drastically for you with one phone call.

After a minute of indecision, you decided to let things be, get some rest, and then call him tomorrow to apologize when you were a little more clear-headed. And God, you hoped you would be more clear-headed. You powered down your screen and turned the light off, getting into a more comfortable position. You closed your eyes and tried to let the silence settle over you to start lulling you into sleep.

A few minutes passed by of you unsuccessfully getting your mind to stop racing, constantly replaying your phone call with Beau, the phone call from your aunt, what Lucy’s call revealed (though you shouldn’t have been surprised), what you would be facing come tomorrow, and everything that entailed. Almost as if it was a track on repeat. Finally, you let out a loud huff and reached for the TV remote, turning the television on. You channel surfed until you landed on a rerun of The Golden Girls. You tried to get into the episode; the series was an old favorite that you loved. But when you saw Sophia talking to her granddaughter, you winced and decided that the show wasn’t for you right now. You continued to click through channels until you found an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. The minute Marie walked through the youngest Barone’s household, giving her daughter-in-law a glare, you let out another wince. You finally settled on The Weather Channel and stared at the screen while the woman talked about the highs and lows expected for the next week in the area. You noticed that rain showers were being forecast for the day of the burial. How apt. And just like that, you knew your brain wasn't going to let you get any rest.

You sighed and tossed the remote away from you and rubbed your hands down your tired face. So much for sleeping.

The next day, you arrived at a familiar red-colored house with white trim, stepping up onto the old wooden porch. You could already hear a low buzz coming from inside as voices batted back and forth in conversation mixed with the sounds of young children running around and playing. One voice stuck out to you from all the rest and it made you tense up. A part of you wanted to turn around and retreat back to your hotel room.

You briefly closed your eyes and took a deep breath. No. You were not going to avoid this. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You could do this. You would do this. You were an adult now, you had your own life, and you were a deputy sheriff for Christ’s sake. You dealt with dead bodies, assaults, and much scarier criminals every single day. You refused to turn around and leave with your head hanging down.

As if to ensure you wouldn’t be able to leave, without your permission, your hand lifted and gave two confident raps on the front door. You could hear the chatter pause long enough that you knew they had heard the sounds. You straightened up and squared your shoulders, making sure you were holding your head high just like you did during work hours. It was a silly fleeting thought but you almost wished you were wearing your badge on your belt, having it near as some layer of invisible protection.

Before you could scoff internally at yourself, the door yanked open and there stood the older woman you hadn’t wanted to deal with. You hadn’t seen her in years and while her sandy hair was mixed with more gray and her face sported a few more lines resulting in an even harsher scowl than you remembered, the dark eyes full of contempt whenever they focused on you remained the same.

You didn’t smile, tear up, or surge forward for a hug, and neither did she. “Aunt Ida,” you greeted.

“Y/N,” she replied icily. “So you decided to show up for the services after all?”

You could feel your teeth set on edge but you schooled your features. You weren’t going to let her little digs get at you and you would be damned to let her see it if they somehow did. You weren’t fourteen anymore. “I did. Mind if I come in?”

Her beady eyes gave you a once over and she practically sneered before stepping back and opening the door a little wider. Not exactly a warm invitation but an invitation nonetheless. You gave her a nod and took it, ignoring the tiny snort of derision she let out as you did.

You sat uncomfortably on the old couch that you had hated as a kid. Aunt Ida had insisted this couch was for entertaining, not for young children to watch television on or jump on or do anything on really. The seat was practically as rigid as your aunt.

You silently wondered what Beau was up to now as a temporary means of mentally escaping this situation. You had tried to call him before you came over here but his phone had gone straight to voicemail. You would be lying if you said you weren’t a little hurt and a little let down that you hadn’t been able to speak with him. He had told you to call him anytime, that he was there for you despite the harsh words you had launched at him the previous night, but the one time you actually tried to reach out, he hadn’t been available. You hadn’t been prepared for the beep of the voicemail, signaling you to talk, and you ended up leaving him the most awkward message you had ever left someone. “Hey. It’s me. …I’m sorry. Call me back when you get this, okay? Or if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I’ll understand, but…it would be really nice to hear your voice. Well…you know what I mean. Anyway, just call me back…if you want.” That had been four hours ago. And granted, he was three hours behind you now, but you knew he would already be up, getting ready for the day. So why was his phone off?

You had chastised yourself out loud after hanging up the phone, telling yourself that he was probably in the middle of something for a case that he got called in on overnight and couldn’t be disturbed. How many times did you have to do the same? You had scowled at yourself in the bathroom mirror while putting the finishing touches on your foundation. “What the hell is wrong with you, Y/N? You need to get a fucking grip.” In perhaps an immature move that you were glad no one else was around to witness, you stuck your tongue out at yourself and shook your head, muttering “Stop being such an asshole already”, and walked out the door.

And now you were here, in the house you didn’t really want to be in, surrounded by people that you didn’t really want to be around. Well, perhaps that last thought was harsh. There was really only one person you didn’t really want to see and she had been the one to let you in the door.

You quickly glanced around the room you were in, noting not much had changed since you had been here last, when you had left this town in your rearview mirror and didn’t look back. Even the scent you hated as a child was still the same: a mix of old lady perfume and stale cookies. You could feel nausea starting up in your stomach but thankfully you hadn’t eaten anything before you came here.

Your Uncle Mason, who sat on your right, gave you a tight smile when he noticed you surveying the room.

“Still looks the same, huh?” He offered.

“Exactly the same,” you agreed without looking at him.

Your cousin, Lucy, sat in the stiff armchair on your left and looked around as well, smiling. “I like that it hasn’t changed since we were kids. A lot of good memories happened here.”

Your gaze dropped to the oak coffee table that still had the scratch in it from when you were a child and didn’t know any better. That was one of your countless infractions your aunt had held against you. “Yeah, good memories,” you muttered. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Mason tense a little and Lucy fidgeting nervously.

You all heard Aunt Ida finish up her conversation and hang up the old handset before she made her way into the room. “That was the funeral home. There was an issue with the plot next to Dad but it’s been resolved.”

“What kind of issue?” Uncle Mason asked.

“Payment,” Aunt Ida spat out as she sat down before turning a fresh glare on you. “I hope you’re not here thinking there’s any money waiting for you and that’s why you decided to show up.”

You nearly ground your teeth together but forced yourself to remain calm. “Of course not. I’m here for Gran.”

She scoffed and shook her head. “Only took her dying, right?”

Lucy struggled to her feet, her round belly acting as an obstacle, but she managed. “You know, I don’t hear the kids anymore. I’m going to go check on them and be right back.” She then hurried out of the room; if she could have run, you bet she would be sprinting towards the backyard her kids had been urged out into when you had arrived. You couldn’t blame her. You would be, too.

“Ida,” Mason attempted to admonish his sister. “Now is not the time.”

“Then when is it?” She snapped, making Mason shrink back, before she turned her scowl back onto you. “Why else would you show up? It’s not like you came when she needed help, when we all needed help with her. You didn’t visit her once while she was in the nursing home. Not once when she was in the hospital.”

Your jaw tensed and you felt the familiar twinge of guilt deep within. “You told me not to come, Aunt Ida,” you reminded her.

She barked out a laugh. “Is that how you heard it?”

“That’s how I heard it because that’s exactly how you said it.” You didn’t look away when she was slightly taken aback by your reply. You refused to back down from this one. You reminded yourself that you were no longer a child; you were a grown woman who didn’t have to take her shit anymore. You were no longer dependent on her or anyone else in this family for anything though when you were, she had only been too happy to make you feel like crap for it every single day of your existence.

The woman shook her head, laughing at you. “Right. You’re some big shot cop now, right? Too good for us lowly citizens.” She smirked over at Mason in collusion, though her brother was shaking his head, refusing to meet her gaze. That angered her further and the glare she settled on you was worse than before. “It’s obvious why you’re really here. Like I said, there’s no money for you. Anything she had left went to the payments for the nursing home and her funeral. And what she had left was pretty much nothing. So if you came here expecting a payout from her will, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

You lifted your chin slightly higher in defiance of her accusations. “And like I said, Aunt Ida, I didn’t come here for anything other than to pay my respects to Gran, and to help where I can.” Your voice softened a little at the thought of your grandmother. “She would have wanted that.”

The other woman scoffed once more but didn’t say more due to the doorbell ringing.

“I’ll get it,” Mason hurried to offer and then nearly rushed from the room, leaving you and Ida in one hell of a glaring contest.

“I’m only trying to do right by Gran,” you assured her.

“Too little, too late,” she hissed.

You unclenched your jaw and took a quiet breath. “Yeah,” you reluctantly agreed. “Suppose you’re right.” Right then and there you decided that once you were back in Montana, you would sever all ties, this time permanently. You owed nothing to this woman or to any of them, regardless of any blood you shared. The one person you might have owed something to once upon a time was no longer alive. If anything, you were being quickly reminded why you had left this house all those years ago and hadn’t come back.

Ida harrumphed and continued to shake her head.

You were about to stand and leave, having had more than enough in this one little exchange with your aunt, and tell her to call you if she or anyone needed anything before the wake, when Mason returned and a familiar figure filled the entryway to the room. Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped.

There stood the very man you had been trying to get a hold of earlier, giving you one of his warm smiles. You could see slight rings of shadow underneath his eyes that were similar to yours that you had been sporting this morning before using concealer. Exhaustion lined his face but so did relief. His green eyes that were centered on you softened slightly and in that moment, you knew everything that had happened the night before had been forgiven. He was here, for you.

You didn’t remember making the decision to move when you hurried over to him, Mason barely able to get out of your way before you launched yourself at Beau who immediately wrapped his arms around you, practically picking you up off the floor. You squeezed your eyes shut to keep any tears from coming out and burrowed into his neck, happy to breathe in the familiar scent of his cologne. No one said anything and for that you were grateful. You didn’t want anything to shatter the one good moment you’d had in the past two days.

Eventually, when you felt like you wouldn’t break down in tears and you had yourself under pretty good control, you choked out in a whisper, “You’re here.”

“Damn right I am, darlin’,” he confirmed into your ear, making you smile as you heard that Texan drawl you loved so much. The tension in his body relaxed though his hold on you did not. You felt him press a kiss to your hair before hugging you even tighter. “I’m here.”

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