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starlessea · 2 days ago

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙙 [𝘿𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙡 𝘿𝙞𝙭𝙤𝙣 𝙓 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧]

Chapter 2: Wide-Eyed

Series Masterlist: The Ties That Mend

Summary: Three-hundred-and-ninety-six days after the outbreak, you are discovered in an abandoned community college, covered in filth and barely able to speak a word. Despite the showers (multiple) and rehabilitation attempts (also multiple), it's apparent that your mind is elsewhere. Beyond saving.

This new world is chaos, but you're lucky to find good people in it. More so than any is a man named Daryl, patient enough to let you put yourself back together—one stitch at a time.

Daryl had seen eyes like that only a few times before.

The first, he’d been seven-years-old, roaming the streets of Northern Georgia with his no-good brother. Their parents never did care a rat’s ass about where they ended up, and this time, they’d found themselves in the bad part of town. The epicentre of trouble.

Merle had been hanging around some older boys back then, the type who got off on taunting his kid brother. Sneak up on the local kook, they’d told him. It’d be funny; he’d be a chicken if he didn’t. So Daryl—filled with a newfound sense of bravado—agreed, and dumped his can of orange Crush over some man too cracked out to notice.

Until he did.

The way the guy’s eyes popped open—bloodshot, bulging—was burned into Daryl’s memory. Even now, thirty-some years later, he could recount them in astounding detail. They were the same shell-shocked eyes as those nasty bastards his daddy used to hang about. The ones hardened by their daddies and so on.

They were eyes Daryl saw far more often these days. Came across them in the fleeting glances of their ragtag community—from the stragglers of Woodberry to the drifters that had no place else in the world. After a few weeks of decent meals, sleep, and a safe place to shit, most of them lost that look. Replaced it with all sorts of stuff he didn’t really care for.

But most recently, Daryl had found it again, stamped onto the face of Glenn’s newest rescue. Whilst he’d pitied you at first, shaking like a newborn gazelle on Carol’s arm, that pity quickly morphed into something colder.

Catching your eyes, Daryl suddenly felt seven-years-old again. It wasn’t a passing thing, that look, nor did it mask something deeper. It was simply a fixture of your face. The result of whatever shit storm you’d endured.

Even with all the time in the world, Daryl wasn’t sure you’d ever shake it.

“Man, I’m telling you. Shit felt like The Shining—”

A voice drags Daryl back into the room. Around him, a group had gathered in their usual corner, chairs pulled together in a circle. Bob has the floor, soaking in the attention as he recounts an abridged version of the day’s events.

He’s new, too, and Daryl hadn’t taken to him yet.

“—Glenn will tell you. Suddenly, she’s staring at us with those big bug eyes,” Bob goes on, bringing his pointer fingers to his face. “Kept getting wider by the second.”

Across from him, Glenn shifts uncomfortably. “It wasn’t that bad,” he retorts. “She’s not deranged just because she doesn't blink much.”

Daryl feels himself scowl. He’s got his back against the stone, arms crossed as he watches the exchange. He doesn’t usually involve himself in these little powwows, but something about this one is wearing his patience thin.

“Fifteen times,” he gruffs. Eyes turn to him as he pushes off the wall. “Tha’s how much most folks blink in a minute—fifteen.”

Daryl moves in closer, stopping just short of the circle before shaking his head. “She blinked once in three.”

The chatter is replaced by silence, thick and uneasy.

“I’ve seen people like that,” Bob says after a moment. His voice is more subdued now, like he's been grounded back to that floor and not the pedestal he'd been put on. “Usually, it’s on their way back from war.”

The words hit hard. For once, Daryl finds himself agreeing. There was something about you, something off that made him feel like a kid again, standing in the shadow of a stranger’s unpredictability. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Wha’ever shit went down there,” he says, “ya can bet yer ass it weren’t pretty.”

“It wasn’t,” Glenn confirms.

His tone leaves no room for elaboration.

At the other side of the room, Rick, who—like Daryl—had been doing his utmost to not get involved, straightens. “Glenn, brother,” he starts, “I know you mean well, but do you think she’s—”

Rick doesn’t say it, but Daryl can hear it in the silence. They all can.

Beyond saving.

Carol clears her throat. “A bit of a feral cat,” she adds, after a beat.

It’s a poor attempt to lighten the mood; no one laughs. Least amused is Glenn, who rakes a hand through his hair before letting out a hefty sigh. “What was I meant to do, just leave her there?”

He doesn’t aim the question, but the lack of response only urges him on.

“You didn’t see it—that place was hell.” His voice tightens, the day’s frustrations bleeding through. “Not everyone’s lucky enough to have someone to pull them out of it. That could’ve been me, or you, or any one of us.”

The group slinks back as Glenn gestures around, trying not to let themselves land at the end of his pointer finger.

Michonne—who’s been sitting quietly at the edge of the group until now—finally speaks. “Give her time,” she says simply. Her words are directed at no one in particular, but carry the kind of weight that can’t be disputed.

Daryl glances at her, and for a brief moment, their eyes meet.

He’s come to appreciate Michonne; her short replies made life easier in the months they’d spent tracking the Governor. She never wasted breath on stuff that didn’t matter.

She has a point now, too. You hadn’t been here long—a couple hours at most. Hell, Daryl had taken longer naps. And it’s not like you were going anywhere. Not on those weak knees.

For the time being, Cell Block D was the best place for you. It was the only one still needing repairs, a little dingy and a whole lot of space, which worked out fine. You likely wouldn’t cope well in the ones filled with people.

That’s why Daryl slept in Block D, too.

In the minutes that follow, an air of deliberation settles over the group. It’s an uncomfortable sort of quiet, with everyone seeming to retreat into their own thoughts. Daryl considers leaving; he’s got plenty to be getting on with. In truth, he’s not sure how he ended up here in the first place. But before he can make it across the room, he crosses paths with Maggie, coming in like a storm through the main entrance.

She looks dishevelled: her shoulders rounded and tiredness evident in the contours of her face. Sidestepping Daryl, she picks out Rick in the crowd. She shakes her head at him. “That pregnant lady in Block E is having trouble again,” she says, “My daddy’s gonna keep an eye on her tonight. Beth too.”

She takes a moment to flatten her hair, willing the stray strands into submission.

“They’ll come see the new girl in the morning,” she explains. Then, with a sidelong glance toward Glenn, asks, “What’d you call her again—loony bin?”

Glenn cringes. He reiterates your name, which he’d likely pried from you earlier in the truck.

The sound of it takes Daryl by surprise. It’s a pretty name—one he’d never pin to you. He almost wonders if hearing it can give him a glimpse into your past, at the person you used to be. But then again, not everyone suits their name. Perhaps you never had.

“Well…” says Rick, more decisive now, “let’s get ‘er to eat in the meantime.” He stands to dust off his jeans. “Or clean up.”

There’s a collective murmur of agreement, and almost immediately, the group starts to disperse. Daryl’s first to move, but Carol catches his arm before he can make it out the door.

He throws an annoyed glance back at her.

There's an apron tied around her waist; Michonne had brought it back from some tacky gift shop they’d raided not long ago. The fabric was already stained—the pattern made dull from hard work. Carol was on cooking duty again; Daryl knew because he unintentionally looked forward to those days.

“Any chance you could get something for her?” she asks, gesturing to the crossbow over his back. “Fresh?”

There’s hesitation in her voice, her lips pressed together like she’s bracing for something.

Daryl raises an eyebrow. “Sure. Ya want ribeye or sirloin?”

Carol bats him lightly across the shoulder. Then she offers him a small smile—one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Daryl dislikes it.

“She’s just so skinny,” she eventually says. That teasing tone he’d grown to expect is gone now, replaced by something more serious. “I lifted her, and—well, it was like lifting Sophia.”

The name lands like a stone. Daryl stills, his jaw setting.

“I’ll find something,” he mutters.

Carol nods, sending him off with a small ‘thank you’.

Daryl readies his crossbow and hunting gear before heading out into the yard. It’s bustling, as it always is these days—children weaving around him, adults trying to strike up conversation. He shuts them down with a look that says he could care less for chit-chat right now. There’s too many of them for him to handle.

Already got another damn mouth to feed.

He has half a mind to turn around, but Carol’s words propel him forward, clinging to the back of his mind like burrs.

He'll find something.

—

The cropped-haired woman comes to collect you at dinner.

She tells you her name is Carol, and that she has something special prepared for you. Her tone is light, airing on excitement as she helps you along the metal catwalk and down the stairs. It’s an easy, practiced motion—her arm brushing against yours. But with each stroke, you feel it: that itch in your chest.

You’ve never been fond of surprises. In fact, you hated them. The uncertainty, the lack of control, the unfamiliarity of this place… Every step tightens the grip around your lungs.

Breathe, you remind yourself. In. Out.

Carol notices the shift in your demeanor, must feel it in the stiffness of your shoulders. So she opts for distraction. As the two of you walk arm-in-arm, she attempts to fill the space between you with reassurance—even if it doesn’t quite reach you.

She details life at the prison—everything they’ve worked towards in the last few months—and the other refugees who now called this place home. There's a semblance of stability behind her eyes as she recounts it all. “We’ve come a long way,” she says. “It’s been hard, but we’re getting there. You’ll see.”

You want to believe it; you almost do. But talk of warm-water showers, birthday celebrations, and even tending to livestock leaves you doubtful. It’s too reminiscent of life before everything fell apart.

There had to be a catch. There’s always a catch.

Whatever it is, Carol doesn’t let on. But you’re not convinced she believes the narrative she’s selling, either. She won’t say it, but you can hear it in the pauses. It’s something you’ll have to decipher for yourself.

When the two of you pass a mirror at the end of the hall, your step falters.

Who is that?

You recognise Carol, of course. Her face is familiar enough, grey hair catching the light like silver, but the one beside her—you—is someone else entirely. Your throat tightens as you take in the face staring back at you.

That’s not you; it can’t be.

When had you become this gaunt—this filthy?

Your cheeks are hollowed out, their colour lost entirely. The lips below are dry and cracked. Whatever was on your head, you could no longer call it hair. It was a matted thing that trailed like rope to the backs of your knees.

Staring into the mirror, you find nothing of yourself in that reflection. Everything you’d ever thought endearing, gone. Even your voice is not as it was. You doubt it could still carry a tune.

It’s all too much. The sight of yourself—the thing claiming to be yourself—triggers emotions you hadn’t encountered in quite some time. Before you can stop it, your eyes are burning.

You fight the sensation. Squashing it down to the depths, you stamp it dead. You can’t afford to break now. Not here. Not in front of her.

“Come on,” Carol says gently, nudging you away from the mirror.

Could she feel it? The way your heart jumped in your chest—how your legs threatened to give way?

You try not to think on it. Instead, you nod.

Once you reach the communal area of the cell block, you’re escorted to the same dilapidated table you’d noted earlier. People are still gathered there—some you recognise, others not. They don’t stare outright, but you feel their eyes. You begin to tremble in response, as though your body is trying to shake them off. Wordlessly, you let Carol guide you to your spot.

A plate is already set in front of you. There’s meat on it; you're told it’s rabbit. One look, and you’re reminded of the bunny you raised as a kid—a fluffy white thing, pure as snow. It was decapitated by the neighborhood fox one evening. You never did find it's head. At the thought, nausea grows within you, but like everything else, you push it down.

No one else is eating, you notice. You’re aware that you’re likely turning their stomachs just sitting here. The word ‘shower’ had been thrown in your direction more times than you could count, but nobody had followed through with the threat—yet. Instead, you are offered a bucket of water to rinse your hands. It turns brown from just a few passes.

“Thought you could use some meat on those bones,” Carol quips, the words blunt but not unkind. “Daryl caught it fresh.” She then gestures for you to take a bite, to eat rather than stare.

You nod. Stowing your hatchet safely on a nearby seat—you had refused to leave it in the cell—you reach for the cutlery laid out on the table. There’s a knife and an odd spork-like utensil. They seem intentionally blunt, and in your hands, too, they don’t properly fit.

It’s been far too long. How did you use these, again?

With each stroke of the knife, your anxiety mounts. You can’t seem to get a clean cut. The meat is sinewy, too alive—nothing like the canned mush you’d survived on for the last year. It takes everything in you to keep the tremors from taking over, to keep your hands steady enough to continue.

As you poke about the rabbit on your plate, a woman who introduces herself as Maggie strikes up a conversation. “The old community college, huh?” she asks, in spite of cautionary glances. “My sister used to go some weekends. Probably finger paintin’ or singing kumbaya,” she adds.

You catch the playful hint in her tone, and when she laughs, it’s a sound you’re not sure you remember how to respond to. It’s pretty—the kind that’s easy, like it hasn’t been twisted by everything bad.

“Did you start there, or just end up there?” she asks, casually.

“St—started,” you manage. You’re not sure she hears you, but she leans in, trying to catch the words.

“Hmm?”

“Started,” you repeat, louder, though it feels like a strain.

Beside Maggie, a darker, leaner woman shoots her a look. “Let the girl eat,” she says. There’s something practiced about the way she carries herself. You sense she’s the type not to pry, and you’re thankful for that. Her kind are few and far between.

"You're right, Michonne," replies Maggie, and with her answer, you learn another name.

Despite the warning, a boy, not even in his teens, lingers near the table. You’d noticed him earlier, coated in a sort of pessimism unsuited to his age. “Were there a lotta walkers?” he blurts. He’s wearing a sheriff’s hat—one he hasn’t quite grown into—and is eyeing you from under its rim. “My dad said the worst place to be is somewhere like that. Bet there were a bunch of people during the outbreak.”

The leader of the group, Rick, flicks his hat in warning. But it’s too late—the question’s out. Your stomach twists again as you focus on the meat, trying to chew through the knot forming in your throat.

Across from you, your eyes meet Glenn's. He’s the only one here who saw it: the halls rotting with bodies, the blood-soaked floors. Even then, he still doesn’t know the full extent.

And what would he do if he did know? If he found out what happened there—what you did? Would he have brought you back?

Your mind starts to spiral. You shove a piece of the rabbit into your mouth, hoping to distract yourself. It goes down like tar. Your hands are shaking now, clattering the mismatched cutlery against your plate. No matter how hard you try, you can’t prevent the shudder that rips through your body.

Carol, tempered by concern, leans in. “Did you get separated from your group?” she asks gently. “Is there anyone—”

Before she can finish, Daryl speaks up. “Would y’all quit it?” he says, his eyes flicking from Carol to the others. The gruffness of his voice stands in complete opposition to their concern. “Yer givin’ me indigestion and I ain’t even eatin’.”

For a moment, all attention is directed away from you and onto him. You’re grateful for the space it grants you—no matter how small. The next breath you take is intentionally drawn.

“I—” you lock eyes with Daryl, hoping to convey your gratitude. Instead, something else makes its way to the surface. “I’m going to be sick,” you announce.

There’s no time to stop it. The first to react, Michonne dumps the bucket of water out over the floor. You can’t hold it in anymore. Your head falls into it just in time to let the bile spill out. It’s a pitiful sort of retching. There’s no vomit; your stomach is too empty to give up anything more.

Behind you, someone rubs your back. You don't know who, but their cool hands are a welcomed reprieve to the clamminess of your skin. Your body betrays your mind as you instinctively arch into them. It’s only for a split second, before you pull away.

What have you done?

Head emerging from the bucket, you force yourself to look up. There are eyes on you again, more persistent than before. And in them, you see it, the swell of emotions:

Pity. Annoyance. Indifference. Disgust—

Your chair screeches against the floor as you dart out of it. You leave the table smelling even worse than before.

—

It’s mid-evening when Daryl catches sight of you again, scurrying along the catwalk to your cell.

You’re still a mess, though slightly improved since dinner. He takes a passing look. You haven’t bathed yet—probably still shaken by that whole interrogation—but there’s something less rabid about you now. Your hair, still a matted mess, is pushed behind your ears, and you’re wearing an odd ensemble: jeans far too big for you and a shirt likely belonging to Glenn. They were clean, at least.

Daryl crosses you without a word. Tired eyes and heavy steps, he’s hell-bent on returning to his own cell for the night. He’s halfway down the catwalk, hand on the door, when he registers it. A voice, barely above a whisper:

“D—Daryl?”

He stops upon hearing his name. Turning, he finds you right behind him—staring up with that wide-eyed expression.

He tries not to flinch. When the hell had you gotten there? You were just…

Daryl’s gaze drops instinctively. Bare feet. That’s why you hadn’t made a sound.

“—m sorry about the food.”

He tunes in to your words. They’re coming out too haltingly, too polite for the situation.

Daryl doesn’t know how to respond. Eat the food, don’t eat the food. Normally, he wouldn’t care. But something about the way you say it—so fragile, so damn apologetic—leaves him grasping at straws. He’s not good at this, never has been.

You keep going nonetheless. “It wouldn’t stay down... I’m sorry to w—waste it.”

A nervous stammer creeps into your words, and with it, fans Daryl’s agitation. He wants to bite back. To let you know he’s got better things to do than watch you throw up food he went out of his way to catch. But something inside of him chooses restraint.

You’re teetering on the edge; everyone within a five-foot radius can see it. And when he looks at you, for some reason, his mind deciphers it as fear. He’s just unsure whether it’s the fear of breaking you, or the fear of what you’ll do if broken.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Mm,” he mutters. “Don’ matter. Can always get s’more.”

You don’t say anything after that. The silence hangs between you, heavy and awkward. Daryl shifts on his feet, mapping out the route back to his bed, and how quick he can get there.

“Jus’ eat the next one, a’right?” he says, with finality.

You nod, your gaze not lifting from the floor. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Daryl mutters back. Then he watches you disappear into the darkness of your cell, waiting for the clink as you lock it shut.

But it’s not a good night.

It starts a few hours after they all turn in. Daryl bolts upright at the curdling scream ripping through the air. His heart slams against his chest, and instinct kicks in. He’s already got his crossbow in his hands before the panic can register.

Torchlight flickers along the catwalk as the others begin to scramble awake. There’s a cacophony of voices, footsteps on metal, guns cocking, and Rick barking orders as he joins Daryl to locate the source.

The sound echoes again. It’s coming from your cell, a god-awful shrieking that has him preparing for the worst. Rick’s master key turns in the lock, and the door swings open.

Daryl steps in behind him, crossbow aimed high as he searches for walkers—hell, for anything that could warrant those screams of utter terror. His heart pounds in his ears as he sweeps the room.

There’s nothing. No threat—no you.

A flashlight shines over your cot, but it’s empty. Daryl follows the edges of the light,into the shadows and all four corners of the room. He finds you in one of them, curled up in a ball, rocking on the soles of your feet.

He gestures to Rick, who—spotting you there—lowers his gun. “Hey,” he says, with a tone like he’s negotiating you off a high-rise building. “Hey, it’s okay.”

There’s no response. Your head is buried in your knees, arms wrapped around your legs as you sit twisted in blankets. The shrieking has stopped now, but your silence, Daryl finds, is far more unsettling.

Rick steps aside, exchanging a glance with Daryl. It’s a subtle signal for him to take the lead. He’d rather not, but it’s Rick, so he listens.

Lowering his crossbow, he edges forward. “C’mon, snap outta it,” he growls. The cut of his voice makes him cringe; he’s never been good with words.

When you don’t react, Daryl tries again—a little closer this time. His hand reaches for your shoulder despite his better judgement.

A switch flips the second he touches you. Without warning, your arm shoots out, a blur of motion that sends your hatchet swinging wildly. The instinct to defend yourself—to fight—is so ingrained that it comes as natural as a breath.

Daryl barely manages to dodge the assault. He pivots back, feeling the blade against strands of his hair. Then, as quick as it started, it's over.

You're looking at him now—not through him. Sweat is beading on your face, running down your cheeks like tears. Daryl knows better than to wipe it. As he stands out of his crouch, realisation flashes behind those massive eyes of yours.

“God—I’m sorry,” you gasp, breath ragged. “I’m so sorry... I thought you were—” You don’t finish. You don’t have to. He knows. Everyone knows exactly what you thought you were seeing.

Rick let's out a sigh: half relief, half exhaustion. He throws a backwards glance at the gathering crowd, raising one hand in a calm gesture. “Go on,” he says to them, “back to bed.”

Daryl hears their protests. It's understandable; they'd raced from their rooms only to find the source of the threat was some raging loon having a nightmare—as harsh as it sounded.

“You gave us quite the fright there,” Rick continues, turning his attention back to you. At this moment, he's demonstrating more tact than he shows his own children. “Do you need someone to stay with you?”

You shake your head, barely lifting your eyes. “No.”

Rick shifts his weight, searching for something else to say. He doesn't believe you, Daryl can tell by his stance. But that's not his problem.

By now, Daryl had already retreated to the door, watching you from a safe distance in the dim light. He’s seen this in people before—the way the world cracks them open like an egg. It’s never pretty. And it would have been less pretty if he'd been standing just a half-step closer to you.

“Well, if ya do,” Daryl says, his voice still edged with sleep, “it ain’t gonna be me. I wanna keep my head.”

The words come out harsher than he intends, but he doesn’t care enough to fix them. He’s tired, irritable, and the way you can’t meet his eye right now is getting under his skin. So Daryl steps back into the corridor, leaving Rick alone to deal with you.

His cell isn't the same as it was a-half-hour ago. It looks the same, doesn't feel it. It's quiet, but in his mind, that scream still rings like an alarm he can't shut off. On his cot, too, he fights with the covers. They're everywhere—too hot, too stifling. Too reminiscent of your emaciated body, tangled in bedsheets as you looked to Daryl for answers.

And he'd just left you there: wide-eyed and afraid.

Daryl doesn’t sleep that night.

Neither do you.

A/N Merry Christmas and happy holidays, lovers! I hope you've had a good one. I have eaten such ungodly amounts of cheese. That said, enjoy this lil gift from me. I busted my balls to get it out today - alternating between stuffing me face and putting words on the page. So do let me know if you like it! I also hope the change in POV isn't too confusing. I want to tell this story from both of their perspectives, since reader is a little bit of an unreliable narrator haha. Enjoyyyy x

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megalony · 1 day ago

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Horrors To Overcome

Okay, this is my first time writing for A Quiet Place Day One with Eric (Joseph Quinn). I hope you all will like this, I am in love with the Quiet Place series and I have another idea lined up for Eric if anyone would be interested.

Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt

Main Masterlist

Summary: When the world turns to chaos and silence overrides everything, (Y/n) bumps into a familiar face and they both try to stick together to survive.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stay quiet. Don't make a sound.

(Y/n) never really realised how hard it would be until now to stay quiet. She had no idea how many things could make a noise or how loud she could be when she thought she was being quiet.

Sometimes the sound of her breathing sounded horrendous. The sound of gravel crunching beneath her shoes was so quiet it was almost non-existent. Almost. But everything had a little sound to it, like a signature written across everything and it was frightening.

What kind of a world was this going to be for those of them that were left if they couldn't make any noise?

If they couldn't listen to the sound of each other's laughter, if they couldn't hear a loved one's voice or hear them murmur how much they loved one another. If they couldn't hear funny voices or hear the most beautiful singing or the sound of a piano or a soft guitar strumming in the background.

A world without noise was going to be so bleak. But it was a price people were willing to pay for survival. For what other choice did they have? Would it really be worth it for everyone to make a sound and have their lives taken away? Have the world change so much that no other life could survive out here?

A world without noise was a frightening prospect, but it was the only one that they had left.

Both (Y/n)'s arms coiled around her chest as she tried to walk down the street. She thought about taking her shoes off, but she wasn't wearing heels and they weren't clicking against the pavement. At least not yet. And if she had to start running, it was preferable to run in shoes rather than barefoot.

She wanted to tilt her head down and stare at her feet, but she had to keep looking. She had to keep moving and she had to make sure she didn't bump into anything or kick something or trip over.

The streets looked so different. So bare and broken and bewildered. Cars were turned upside down. Small fires were dotted around the road. Craters as big as sink holes filled the ground and buildings were partially collapsed. There were even blood splatters up the side of high rise buildings.

(Y/n) hadn't seen anyone in a while. Not since everyone tried to make their way to the river.

She wanted to go home. (Y/n) wanted to go home and see if there was anything left. She wanted to feel safe and secure and be somewhere familiar. Then she could decide whether she wanted to risk making the journey to the water and travelling to somewhere unknown, somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere with complete strangers. She had to decide whether to try and find refuge somewhere nearby or whether to risk leaving forever and finding salvation with complete strangers.

It was unusual to have to count each and every step she took and watch where she placed her feet.

On a normal day, on a day before the world turned to chaos like this, (Y/n) wouldn't look where she walked. Sure, she would glance ahead, make sure she didn't barge into anyone or step in any muck or dirt on the street. But she would never purposely count each step, never tread carefully to ensure no amount of noise echoed from her steps.

She had never been so cautious before.

It didn't feel right.

Her arms stayed deadlocked around her middle, her own way of comforting herself and giving herself so she didn't start crying. So she didn't let out one whimper and alert the creatures that she was here. She was in distress, but she was here.

Each step (Y/n) took dodged broken glass, crumbled buildings, bricks and grit. The broken buildings made it hard to find her bearings and work out where she was. She would just have to keep walking and walking until she found something familiar. Until she got home. Then tomorrow would be a new day with new decisions and choices and horrors to overcome.

A burst of water to her right made her take body freeze on the spot. The gust of water was followed by a spluttering and a cough and such deep, ragged breaths that (Y/n) felt sure that this was it.

That person had alerted the creatures that they were here. One would be climbing the walls at any moment. They would come down, screeching and stabbing their pinchers into the ground. They would wreak havoc and attack anything they heard, anything in their path.

Tears welled up in (Y/n)'s eyes and she felt the desperate need to close her eyes and wait for the inevitable, but she couldn't. Something drew her eyes to her right, something made her look.

Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was desperation. Or maybe it was the simple fact that nothing had come to kill her yet which made her look.

As soon as she looked, it felt like a fire roared to life within (Y/n)'s chest and her heart lurched up into her throat.

She moved before she could think better of it. Her feet danced across the pavement in a tap dance to avoid bricks and crumbled pieces of road and tarmac to get towards the entrance to the subway.

(Y/n) had never seen the subway look so strange as it did with water flowing from every orifice right up to the top step. She wondered where all the water was coming from. Surely there weren't enough water pipes in the subway and beneath the roads to flood it like that. Well, there had to be, but it just didn't seem real.

She stopped right before the top step, afraid to step into the water and make a splash, make a sound, a trickle of water that would alert the creatures of their existence.

Her hands waved out in front of her as a look of desperation flooded her face and her knees bent so she was level with him.

Eric.

He looked shell-shocked. his chocolate brown suit was drenched and glued to his frame like it had become a second skin. He was pushing back against the fence, stood on the second step down so his lower legs were still submerged in water.

The look in his eyes was unreadable and it made (Y/n) wonder what horrors he had seen down there in the subway. What had he witnessed? How many deaths had he seen? What had he done to claw his way back up to air, to some moderate sense of safety?

When another spluttering breath left Eric's lips, (Y/n) moved her hands again to gain his attention. He hadn't seen her yet.

The moment Eric twisted his head to the right, he jerked and cowered down against the wall as if he thought (Y/n) was one of those creatures here to end his life. The look of horror in his eyes was frightening and heartbreaking and his parted lips continued to pant as his chest rose and fell to the point it looked like his chest was going to pop.

Eric's brows furrowed slightly when he looked at her. Oh. He knew her. They worked together; at least, (Y/n) worked at the law firm where Eric was studying. Or where he had been studying. He guessed neither of them would be working there anymore.

The way she pressed her finger to her lips had his eyes narrowing again and he heaved for breath. He watched with intent concentration as (Y/n) pointed at him before she smothered her finger against her lips so much it must have hurt. And he watched what she tried to mouth across to him.

'Be quiet.'

He found himself nodding and he pressed his palm against his mouth to try and ensure that his breaths didn't make a noise and he didn't start to wheeze. He couldn't make a sound. He gathered that.

Every person who he had seen in the subway who screamed, who lashed out or slipped or slammed their feet too harshly had attracted attention. Eric found out very quickly that if he didn't move, if he stayed silent and pretended to be a statue, the creatures would move right past him.

It didn't work out so well when the subway became flooded. Eric had screamed into the water, he has gasped and choked and flung himself about. He collided into people, he pushed bodies and bag and prams and all contents of things out of his way when the water became too high and he couldn't breathe.

He scrambled, kicked, fought and pushed until he got towards the stairs and managed to swim up here. He thought he was going to drown down there. Eric didn't know what was worse. Drowning in the subway or coming up for air and being attacked up here. Neither option felt welcoming.

Once (Y/n) looked around and ensured there were no creatures within sight, she held her hand out towards Eric.

Maybe, if it had been a total stranger that came out of the water like a beacon of hope, she would have ran. She might have hurried, left them to fend for themselves because that was survival. (Y/n) couldn't help everybody and at times like these, helping people could get her killed.

But that wasn't just anybody. That was Eric. That was one of the young ones at the law firm who was just learning the tricks of the trade. The one who made a point to learn everybody's name. The guy who brought (Y/n) coffee whenever she was at work on a morning shift. He was down to Earth, he was sweet and sensitive and kind.

(Y/n) couldn't just leave him. She wouldn't run away without knowing if Eric had any sense of what was happening. If he didn't know and made a noise, he would get himself killed. (Y/n) didn't want to witness that, she didn't want that to happen to him.

Surprise flooded Eric's system when he saw (Y/n)'s hand outstretched towards him.

He couldn't stop himself from shaking when he reached out and took her hand. Hers was warm compared to how his blood was freezing in his veins. He tried to be careful, taking one step at a time towards her until he was out of the water and out of danger of making a large splash and drawing attention to either of them.

He stood still, again taken by surprise when (Y/n)'s free hand held onto his shoulder and she seemed to take a moment to check him up and down. She was making sure he wasn't hurt.

When she mouthed 'okay?' to him, Eric nodded and took the time to look over her as well. She didn't look injured, she wasn't bleeding or limping or cradling any part of her that seemed to be hurt.

Eric had a great urge to shake the dripping water off his frame, but he knew that would cause too much sound. Any sort of sound would be too much. Instead, he tightened his hand around (Y/n)'s and pointed down the street. They needed to move. He didn't care where they went, as long as they got away from here.

He took slow steps alongside her, but he couldn't focus on looking ahead when all he could do was look down at the shell shocked girl beside him. There was a faraway look in (Y/n)'s eyes and with each step she took, she seemed to move closer and closer to his side until their arms were brushing alongside each other and her free hand moved to curl around his upper arm.

His body was soaked but the cold water was refreshing when (Y/n) felt like she was overheating from all the excersion from the day's events. Staying close beside Eric made (Y/n) feel some sense of security.

It reassured her that she wasn't alone. She may have started this terrible day alone and she may have started this defense by herself, but not anymore. At least, not for a while. Being with someone felt safer than being alone. She felt like she could keep walking without her thoughts becoming too much for her to handle.

Another set of eyes, another set of ears and another mind to help hide and figure out where to go and what to do, it was helpful. It was comforting.

Both of them seemed to shudder and press together when the rain started to fall.

At first, it was little droplets. Small splatters on the floor and it made them pause their treck along the road. Rain made a sound. It made a noise when it tapped against the roof of cars and when it splashed into puddles and when it started to hammer down and fall from the trees and tap on the windows, it could become a symphony.

The creatures must know. They must have known that the rain was making that noise, that it was nothing they could harm, nothing they could kill. Because none of them came; no creatures climbed the buildings or scoured the streets and aimed towards them.

One of the announcements said they don't like water, maybe that included the rain too.

When the rain started to become heavier and the droplets felt like pins scratching against their skin and sticking to their clothes, Eric pointed to the pavement. There was a building that was clearly under construction with scaffolding and wooden boards set up. That would provide them some shelter.

When they got under the scaffolding, they both paused. Their fingers were still woven together as they hunched over near the wall.

(Y/n) took a moment to listen to the rain. It was loud. It dripped from the scaffolding and splashed into puddles on the floor and it made background noise. It made a cover for them.

"Are you okay?" (Y/n)'s voice came out barely more than a whisper and as she spoke, she could feel a lump forming in her throat. Her eyes welled over and she looked around, making sure that the rain covered the quiet sound of her words.

She could see the panic written across Eric's face. She could see the contemplation in his eyes until he realised that the rain was their protection. It would provide a blanket for their words, as long as they kept their decibels low.

"I think so. Where are you going?" Eric took the time to look around and guess where they were.

They were in mid-town. Somewhere he didn't usually go. This was somewhere he went right beneath when he travelled to and from work each day on the subway. He didn't even make it to work this morning. He had barely been on the train for five minutes before it stopped.

An emergency announcement sounded, everyone was evacuated just as the chaos started. Eric didn't get off the platform before the creatures swarmed the subway and he ended up swimming out of there.

He didn't know what to do.

Would his home still be there waiting for him? What good would it do him to go home alone? He couldn't very well go to work, anyone there would be in hiding or trying to get out and get somewhere safe. He had no idea where to go. Did he hide in a shop? At least a shop would have food and drink and shelter.

"Home, for now at least." (Y/n) cast her eyes down to her feet before she looked back up into Eric's melting chocolate eyes. "I don't- I don't have any family here, home seems the best choice right now."

(Y/n) didn't want to think about her family. What was left of her family was broken, but they were all in different states. No one was here, no one was close by and the few friends she did have would either be dead or in hiding or making their way to the water. She was alone.

A sad sort of smile formed on Eric's lips as his shoulders sagged down and his hair began to curl as the water finally faded from his hair and trickled into his clothing.

"My family are in England. I was only here to study." Eric raised his hands at his sides like he wanted to laugh or make a joke but it only made him tear up and had a lump forming in his throat.

He was in New York to study. He was here to become a lawyer, his parents had pushed for this and he wanted to make them proud. How could he do that now? How proud were they going to be of a son who was crying and walking the streets aimlessly with no idea how to help himself?

Were they even alive? Was this chaos happening back home? Was this happening all around the world or was there one country, one town or one little village that didn't have these creatures?

(Y/n) didn't have a response to that. Just looking at the sadness and uncertainty in Eric's eyes was making her want to burst into sobs right here and now. They were both alone. They were both isolated from any family or friends and they both had no destination in mind or way they could get through this.

"Can… can I come with you?" There was an air of desperation in Eric's words that made (Y/n) want to scream because this shouldn't be happening. They shouldn't be this frightened, this traumatised and upset and afraid and isolated. None of this should be happening, but it was, and they could do very little about it.

Eric didn't want to ask, part of him really didn't because it felt strange. He felt bad for asking if he could tag along with her when the world was ending. Maybe she wanted to be alone. Maybe she thought he would be a hindrance. Maybe she thought he was weak and being silly for asking.

But when she reached out and took his hand again and stepped closer to him, Eric felt his heart doing summer saults in his chest. "Of course."

He got the sense that just maybe, (Y/n) didn't want to be alone either. Maybe if they had been strangers this would have been a little more unorthadox, maybe it would have been uneasy or uncomfortable. But they were friends, they were colleagues and they spoke almost every day at work. Eric felt he knew her enough to be comfortable enough to panic and cry and be himself around her. He hoped she felt the same.

With their hands entwined, they moved back onto the road and began to trudge through the rain.

They walked in tandem, their steps and their paces matching while their hands stayed deadlocked together and their arms were glued up side by side. (Y/n) took to leaning her cheek against Eric's arm, focusing on the sound of the rain and listening out for anything else that sounded unfamiliar.

The silence was comfortable between them. They seemed to cling to each other the further they walked. They rounded a corner onto a new street that finally looked familiar and (Y/n) began pointing to the street signs to show Eric which way to go.

(Y/n) could of cried when they were finally on her street again, although it didn't much look like her street. She barely recognised the road that had been covered in craters and pot holes. The corner shop looked like it had combusted. Everything looked like the blitz, but at least the two apartment buildings on each street corner were in place.

(Y/n) took a step forward but before she stepped onto the road, she paused short when she felt Eric's hand slip from hers.

Her head turned to look beside her but Eric was no longer right beside her, he was behind her.

Both his hands clamped down on her waist and he pulled her back towards him until his chest was glued down into her back. His face hovered dangerously close to her ear and (Y/n) couldn't be sure whether he wanted to whisper something to her or if he simply wanted to breathe close to her skin to calm himself down.

His fingers were puncturing into her hips and he was trembling behind her. Had he suddenly become afraid? Did he want to go somewhere else? Had something spooked him?

As if he could hear her thoughts, Eric managed to unclamp one hand from her hip so he could point across to the building across the road on their left.

A creature.

A cold shiver ran down (Y/n)'s spine and she found herself shrinking down and pushing back into Eric. Her hand reached behind her to grip his arm and her jaw dropped but no sound escaped her mouth. She wanted to cry. Tears were welling up in her eyes and her throat was turning dry and she felt the great need to cough and splutter through a howl.

Her eyes snapped closed when Eric's hand moved from pointing out the creature and his palm clamped across her mouth. The touch wasn't forceful or smothering, but it was enough to coax (Y/n) to stay quiet.

She tried to stay deathly still, clutching at Eric's arm while she felt his head turn just a little more until his lips were touching the side of her temple. The touch was delicate, like the first flakes of snow on the grass but (Y/n) could feel how badly his lips were trembling and how he was fighting back his own sobs.

He breathed shallow and quick against her temple, almost like he was kissing her skin and his fingers were puncturing into her hip leaving bruises in his wake.

Eric kept his eyes on the creature despite how badly he wanted to close them and disappear. He wanted to curl up and wish this whole scene away. But holding onto (Y/n) was doing something to keep him grounded. It was stopping him from screaming and getting them both killed here and now.

He watched the creature, the odd block of arms and legs and a strange shaped head that could splinter apart and crack open like a walnut shell. He watched it dig its pointed claws into the building across the street. He watched as it made a horrid echoeing noise that had (Y/n) quaking in his arms and made Eric double over her like a security blanket.

The creature was moving away. It was heading in the other direction. It continued down the street until it was far away from them and just out of sight.

Once it was gone, the pair of them stayed deathly still, making sure nothing else was lurking around the corner about to become a predator.

(Y/n) dared to open her eyes when she felt Eric press his lips harder against her temple and kiss her head. She could feel the relief pouring through him into her. She felt him stop shaking and finally breathe softly against her skin.

Her hand unlatched from his arm and she shakily pointed to her building. The rain continued to beat down against them and lightning struck the skies as their beacon, their safe haven, was finally within sight.

Eric's hand stayed on her hip as they crossed the road at such a slow pace it didn't feel like they were moving at all. But going any faster in this weather felt like tempting fate far too much.

The door was open. It felt like a sign, like something welcoming them inside, like the building was promising to protect them and keep them safe.

Once inside, Eric didn't bother to shut the door, it could stay wide open like that because it meant they could come and go without fear and if anyone else needed shelter, they could hurry inside.

(Y/n) turned her head and looked up at Eric, letting tears fall freely from her eyes while she pointed down to the stairs.

"Stay this side." Her voice was barely audible, the quietest whisper she could manage, but she had to tell him.

She walked these stairs each and every day, she knew which floorboards creaked and which steps would be loud and which would be quiet. Walking on the left side of the stairs and staying close to the bannister was the safest bet as the boards didn't creak as much over here.

As not to tempt fate, (Y/n) walked on her tiptoes and she was sure Eric looked down and copied her movements. He stayed on his toes, barely setting his feet down on the floor until it felt like he was gliding on air.

It took them five minutes to climb two flights of stairs but when (Y/n) approached her door, her expression turned grave and her stomach churned.

Her bag. Her keys. Her phone. Every possession she left the apartment with was somewhere in the streets, lost in the chaos. She didn't have a spare key outside, it was too dangerous when anyone could walk in the building and try and get into her apartment.

A clap of thunder outside made her jump and she stepped to one side while she looked up at Eric.

"No keys."

Eric nodded before it seemed to sink in what she had said and his lips rolled together tightly while he looked around. He had nothing but his foot to use to get them inside the apartment.

He stepped back and nudged (Y/n) to one side and raised one leg in the air. He knew he had to kick just below the lock to make sure it broke properly.

He watched (Y/n) wave her hand out in front of him before she pointed to the window and waited. As soon as a flash of lightning struck the sky, she pointed and Eric snapped his eyes closed.

He kicked the door just as thunder tore through the air and shuddered the foundations of the building.

The door was open.

When they headed inside, (Y/n) felt brave enough to carefully twist the door handle and close it. She prayed no creatures would be inside the building. She prayed they wouldn't be nearby and being here in her home with padded walls and other apartments enclosing them in would keep them safe. She prayed they could make a small amount of noise, a few hushed words and a few movements around the flat. Hopefully they would be safe, for a while at least.

Tears were drenching her face the moment she turned around to face Eric and she took her chance before her courage dissipated.

Her arms bound around his waist and she smothered her face in his chest, glueing herself up against him to try and seek whatever comfort she could and to hold him together. Because she could see Eric looked like a puzzle that was about to fall apart.

She felt his shoulders quake and the tiniest, smallest whimper left his lips before he smothered his face in her hair and tried to breathe in her scent. He kissed the top of her head with one arm bound around her waist and the other hand cupping the back of her neck.

They held one another close as if letting go or moving back would physically tear them apart limb from limb and kill them. Neither of them wanted to let go.

"It's okay." Eric's voice was a whisper on the wind, just a little bit louder than he had been when they had been out in the rain, but it was enough. It was enough to soothe one of the many broken nerves within (Y/n) and when she felt him start to sway them from side to side, she gripped him tighter.

For now at least, it was okay. They were okay.

***

Sleep had always been something Eric thought of as peaceful. It was an escape. A way to leave the real world behind when things got too heavy; a way to drift off and get lost in an alternate world. A way to recover and rest and feel a sense of bliss that you just couldn't find in the real world.

Eric didn't see sleep in the same way anymore. He couldn't. How could sleep be something peaceful when it came with consequences and threats?

If he went to sleep, he risked everything. He risked going to sleep alone and waking up alone. He risked something happening during the night and not knowing it. Going to sleep meant letting his guard down.

What if a creature passed the building in the dead of night and Eric made a sound by mistake? And what if that mistake led to the creatures harming (Y/n)?

Eric had never had to think about making noise in his sleep. When he slept alongside someone, the only thing he worried about was if he snored while he slept- something he was adamant he had never done. He didn't consider that the covers would rustle or that he could make noise by turning over and have the bed creak or the cushions move.

He never considered before that he could make a whimper or a groan in his sleep or that such a quiet noise could be the undoing of him. Of everything around him.

He was in a frightful battle of needing to sleep so he could function but being too afraid to sleep and risk it all.

This led to a few sacred hours of sleep where he seemed to wake at least twice every hour in a panic, trying to make sure he wouldn't make a noise or do anything to alert the creatures of their existence here.

His arm reached up to cross behind his head on the arm of the sofa and his tired, dreary eyes focused on the ceiling that had been his canvas for the last half an hour or so. He imagined different scenarios, different images forming in his mind and scenes acting out while he stared up into the abyss which was actually the ceiling.

There was so little to do when he had no energy to get up but too much paranoia to settle to sleep.

"Eric?" The whispering of his name caught Eric off guard and his head lifted from the cushion so he could peer over the back of the sofa. (Y/n)'s quiet murmur of "Can't sleep either?" made his lips quirk into a gentle smile as he nodded.

At least he wasn't the only one up in the dead of night, plagued by terror.

It strained his neck to lean up like he was, but he couldn't find the will to tear his eyes away from (Y/n). He watched her, enchanted, as she padded across the carpet until she was level with the arm of the sofa that his feet were dangling over.

The first night they spent in (Y/n)'s apartment, they had both slept in the living room. Too afraid to part from each other's company, too exhausted to try and get changed or get a drink or do anything other than sit together on the sofa and drift into exhaustion.

Last night (Y/n) had tried to sleep in her room, after trying and failing to persuade Eric that he could sleep in the bed too, that she trusted him. But he hadn't been able to sleep and he saw no point lying next to her and disturbing what little sleep (Y/n) managed to get.

But she didn't want to be alone anymore. Staring at the shadows until they resembled the creatures had become too much and (Y/n) instinctively felt that Eric was awake too. She wanted some company, she wanted to forget the chaos they had found themselves in and just try to relax, for a little while. That felt doable if she was with company. If she was with Eric.

Eric moved his arm from behind his head to scratch at his eyes and clear his vision a little more. He noticed the way (Y/n) was fidgeting from foot to foot with one arm bound around her waist and the other scratching the back of her neck in a nervous habit that he recognised as something he did too.

"Can I join you?"

She didn't have to ask. This was her home and if she didn't want to be alone, Eric was never going to refuse her company.

Before Eric had the chance to try and sit up, (Y/n) moved. She took him by surprise when she softly perched down beside his hip on the edge of the sofa and when she stretched out and laid down on the very edge beside him, Eric didn't know what to do.

He suddenly forgot how to breathe, how to focus, how to process his thoughts and keep himself in order. All he could manage to do was shift his wide eyes to stare down at her. His eyes looked so dilated and blown wide that there was barely one small ring of chocolate brown surrounding those black orbs and they watched as (Y/n) shifted around next to him.

She moved carefully, doing her best not to make a sound or cause the sofa to squeak or groan beneath them. Moving slow seemed to be a new reality for them and it was starting to become a reinforced habit.

(Y/n) wasn't quite sure whether to stay lying on her back beside Eric or whether to turn and face him. She settled on turning on her right side with one arm beneath her head and her left hand softly settling on Eric's shoulder.

Those dark eyes could get him anything he wanted, (Y/n) thought, as she stared up at him in the darkness and the new sense of normality which had become silence.

Her fingers danced across his shoulder and gave a light squeeze while she shifted between looking from his eyes down to his sharp jawline that was littered in stubble. Being here with Eric felt better than being in another room, uncertain and alone and almost always terrified.

(Y/n) couldn't stop herself from gliding her hand from Eric's shoulder up his neck towards his face. she kept her movements slow, giving him time to turn his head away if he didn't want the touch, but if anything, Eric seemed to lean closer like he had been yearning for her touch all his life.

Her thumb traced the corner of his jaw and worked along the edge of his cheekbone beneath his tired yet dilated eyes.

"You need some sleep." She murmured softly and with her thumb continuing to trace beneath his eyes, Eric couldn't help but close them.

He tilted his head down, pushing into her touch as a quiet, inaudible sigh escaped his blushing red lips. Again, Eric didn't quite know what to do when (Y/n) inched closer and pressed her face against the top of his chest. She didn't seem to care about the undone buttons on his shirt pressing into her cheek or the racing of his heart or the fact that he hadn't showered in almost three days.

The feeling of his pulse softly lulling beneath his skin was soothing and being this close made (Y/n) feel at ease. It seemed to do the same for Eric because he nudged his arm across until his hand laid on her hip and he angled his head down until his nose brushed against her hair.

The slight smell of smoke and damp didn't manage to mask the smell of (Y/n)'s shampoo, that faint hint of raspberry with a silky edge to her hair that made him feel like he was burrowing down into a pillow.

Eric didn't want to go to sleep. He didn't want to become vulnerable, especially now that (Y/n) was laid here in front of him and he felt the need to keep her safe. But somehow, with her chest merged up against his own and the feeling of her lips and nose pressing against his exposed chest, it was calming. Comforting. And Eric found his mind was already shutting down without his permission for some much needed sleep.

Being cooped up together on the sofa, such a small cramped space, when they weren't supposed to make any noise might not have been such a good idea at times.

Neither of them could turn much in any direction and (Y/n) found that when she tried to turn or twist around, she felt Eric's hand clamp down on her hip, even in his sleep. He was a light sleeper, worsened by the events of the last few days. Any movement or slight noise woke him and when (Y/n) tried to turn, she felt Eric hold her hip and help her turn without making any noise. It was sweet, even in a delerious sleeping state Eric was still worrying and trying to protect them both.

(Y/n) could feel the light seeping through from the open curtains, basking across her face making her feel a warm glow all over.

One hand moved to brush across her face, again slow and tender as not to make a sound and it was suddenly hard not to yawn or stretch or groan as she woke up. Things she had done before without thinking but now they had become things she had to scold herself not to do.

It took (Y/n) a moment longer than it should have for her to work out why she felt rather constrained and uneasy.

Eric.

She had been surprised how quickly he had fallen asleep last night and how easily she herself found it to switch off and calm down for the first time in days. The pair of them had moved around quite a lot despite the small space the sofa provided.

It seemed now that Eric was making the most of their limited space. His head was softly nestled into the crook of (Y/n)'s neck and each breath he took fanned against her throat and she could feel his nose nudging against her skin. He had his right arm slung around her waist like he was ensuring that neither of them moved or made a single sound in their sleep. And his leg was cast over her thigh with his knee safely nestled between her thighs.

Raising her hand, (Y/n) slowly began to card her fingers through Eric's crimped curls that were askew and as wild as if he had been in the jungle. Her cheek nestled against his hair and her fingers rhythmically tugged and scratched at his hair and scalp. The action earned a vibration from Eric's chest that shivered through into her body but he did well to muffle the sound against her throat where he placed a delicate kiss without thinking.

"Morning."

He pressed another kiss against the hollow expanse of her throat as if returning the response in a gesture and he felt the shiver that it ensued running through (Y/n)'s system.

Eric's arm tightened around her waist and he nestled down deeper against her chest, praying he wasn't laid too heavily on her because right now, there was no where else he would rather be. He was as comfy as he'd ever been and he was calm. He was finally calm and settled and not laid in terror for every waking moment.

Somehow, it was a silent agreement between them that they wouldn't be leaving one another anytime soon. Neither of them wanted to face this world alone. The universe had clearly thrown them together for a reason, and they weren't about to oppose fate.

Maybe the world was ending outside these walls. Maybe their futures wouldn't be long or filled with happiness and pleasure. But for now, within these walls, they were in their own sense of serenity together. Just the two of them.

#imagine #a quiet place day one #a quiet place day 1 #a quiet place eric #a quiet place part ii #a quiet place the road ahead #eric x reader #a quiet place imagine #a quiet place eric x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader

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fastandcarlos · 2 months ago

Text

100% Whipped : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: lando is happy to do just about anything for you, which the other drivers are more than happy to remind lando about too

Lando looked around in confusion as sniggers came from around the room, his fellow drivers all looked at him in disbelief, many shaking their heads as he spoke once again.

“There are other things we can talk about,” Max told him, smirking across at Lando opposite him. “We don’t constantly just have to talk about your girlfriend you know.”

Lando’s brows furrowed in confusion as several others nodded in agreement with Max. It was a habit of his, and one he didn’t realise he had either, but the rest of the boys were all too aware of just how much Lando loved to talk about you, to anyone who listened.

They couldn’t help but smile at how fondly Lando spoke of you, the way his smile turned up and his eyes got brighter whenever the conversation was about you. As much as they loved knowing that Lando was happy, they didn’t need telling quite as much as they currently were.

“I don’t just talk about her,” Lando argued, but as the others rolled their eyes, Lando wasn’t quite so confident that he didn’t talk about you as much as they all suggested.

Although he would never admit just how much he adored you, Lando knew that he had been falling hard for you. He loved to gush about you and make sure that everyone else got to see what he saw in you, how kind, caring and funny you were.

The rest of the paddock knew that anyway, but Lando liked to make extra sure that was the case with all of his stories about you.

“Every time she’s not at a race you sit and complain that she’s not there and how much you need her,” Oscar spoke up, “she’s all we talk about on a race weekend.”

“Or when she is there, you refuse to let her out of your sight because you want to make sure that she’s alright,” George added, smirking across at Lando, “you don’t let her lift a finger.”

More and more stories came out as the boys all interjected with the moments that they’d experienced with Lando, seeing firsthand just how in love with you he was.

“I’m just being a good boyfriend,” Lando tried to argue once they eventually fell silent, but even Lando was beginning to realise that he went above and beyond, constantly.

“I think you know how she’s going to spend her day better than she does,” Daniel responded, unable to hold back his laughter. “You used to tell me every day exactly what she was up to, almost as if you knew where she was minute by minute.”

“Really?” Lando asked in surprise, not realising quite how much attention to detail he paid when it came to what you were doing.

“You don’t even realise that you’re doing it half the time.”

Lando’s stature shrunk, sinking down in his seat. “I promise that I’m not as whipped as you guys all probably think I am, it’s not that bad.”

“You are,” Carlos stated, sending Lando a knowing look, “but I guess most of the time it is quite sweet.”

“Aside from the fact that you make the rest of us look like terrible boyfriends,” Charles added.

Lando struggled to hold back his smile, although it wasn’t a competition, he knew that the two of you were a popular couple around the paddock. He felt like he was the standard, showing the others how to take care of your girlfriend properly and not care about what anyone else had to say about it.

“I wonder if she realises how whipped you are for her or whether she’s just used to it all by now,” Oscar spoke up, looking pensively across at Lando.

“I think Y/N is just as whipped for him as Lando is for her,” Daniel very quickly argued, “you should’ve heard some of the conversations we had about him when I was on the team.”

A smile emerged on Lando’s face as some of the boys nodded in agreement again. They were used to listening to you talk about Lando just as much, talking through how amazing his races were time after time as if they hadn’t been there to experience it themselves.

“Would you guys like me to stop talking about Y/N so much?” Lando asked them all.

The group felt quite guilty as Lando stared seriously across at them all. They all knew that he meant it, glancing between themselves as their heads all shook back across at him.

“We’re only messing with you buddy,” George assured him, tapping against his shoulders, “maybe we just don’t need to know every single last detail about her.”

Lando nodded, smiling back across at George. “I’m sure I can tone it down a little bit, the last thing I need is you guys all thinking that I’m whipped.”

“Mate, we all definitely know that you are though.”

He could try to deny it all he wanted, but the boys all knew what he was like. It was something in him that they were never going to change, but as such a popular member of the team, it meant a lot to all of them to see how happy he was with you.

“Don’t even try and deny it,” Max called out as Lando went to speak again, “wear it with pride, some people would kill to have the sort of relationship that the two of you have.”

“Do you really think that?”

“Of course,” Max smiled back across at him, “you know we’re always going to find something to tease you about, you’re still very much the baby of the grid to all of us.”

It didn’t matter how old Lando was, the boys were all very protective of him, and as much as they took every chance to make fun of him, they’d never let anyone else say a bad word about him.

“You just continue to do you,” Carlos smiled as he met Lando’s eyes, “some of these guys are never going to even get a girlfriend, so at least you’ve got that over them at least.”

“None of you can ever mention this to her,” Lando told them all, “do you know how embarrassed she be knowing that you guys see us as whipped for one another.”

Just like Lando, you were very aware of how whipped he was for you, but if anyone suggested that you were whipped for him, then you would categorically deny it. You knew how much he’d do for you though, savouring the feeling of Lando willingly doing absolutely anything to support you.

“We’ll keep it between us,” Oscar promised him, “unless she keeps stealing the chocolate I keep in the garage for once the races are finished. If that carries on, I’m making no promises.”

“I’ll buy you more,” Lando assured him, “just don’t tell her how whipped I am, or how whipped you guys seem to think that I might be.”

“Just admit it,” Charles laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Admit that you’re whipped for her, it’s not like we don’t already know it already.”

“Will you leave me alone if I say it?” Lando asked them all.

“We promise to leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

“Fine, I am 100% whipped for my girlfriend.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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