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itsthestutterforme · 3 months

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“Glad You Called” (Jack Reacher x black!reader)

Summary: Two years ago, Reacher left your home with nothing but a note left behind. What does he expect your reaction to be when he shows up at your door, saying you were in danger?

Notes; GIF is not mine, mistakes are my own, friends to lovers trope

The faint pattering of the rain on the tin roof of your outdoor garage was the only thing you could hear from the house.

You stared down at the unsaved numbers flooding your most recent call list. Reacher had been on your mind lately.

Which was kind of out of the norm because you hadn’t seen him in years. And you didn’t exactly end on the best of terms either.

He ghosted you. You woke up one random morning and noticed he was gone. A simple note was left behind:

“You’re perfect. You deserve better. I’m sorry.”

I suppose it was better than nothing, but barely.

He was in the Atlanta area and needed some place to crash. You were the first person that came to mind. He knew you were in Atlanta but had no idea which part.

He would have been searching for hours until he happened to walk by the coffee shop you frequented.

You were eating a piece of bacon avocado toast when you felt eyes on you. You looked up to see the mountain of a man known as Reacher, and that was the start of a very slippery slope.

One night turned in six months. Neither of you crossed that boundary but it was very noticeable that there was something romantic between the two of you.

There was something about the way the looked at you that desperately made you wish that you were a telepath.

That man had libraries worth of words in that brain of his and yet he chose to remain quiet every time.

The best part about it was while he was selective with words, his presence spoke volumes whenever he walked into a room.

Little did you know that what was going through his mind when he would look at you was one thing: marriage.

And that scares the hell out of him. He never crossed the line because he knew he would never go back.

That would be the end of it. His time of being a wandered would be over and he would be forever tied to you.

The domestic life would have taken him over, and it would have been completely voluntary. Because he wants to be there, with you.

He would have lived out his life as a husband and as a father. And he knew he wasn’t going to be ready for that, so he left.

Over the course of the six months of you living together, you expected to see him when you got home. He would ask you how was your day was while he cooked dinner for you.

You’ve gotten used to that. You’ve gotten used to him. And then he was gone.

The letter was all you had left of him for two years. And now there is an unsaved number calling you every day for the past week like clock work.

Speaking of, your phone rings once again. It was the same unsaved number, but this timed you answered.

“Hello?” you heard a deep sigh through the phone.

“Reacher,” you added, your palms growing slick.

“Y/N,” he starts, it was almost as if he wasn’t expecting you to answer.

“What, cat got your tongue?” you said unamused.

“You’re in danger Y/N. When can you get to New York City?”

“What makes you think I want you to protect me?”

“Y/N, we don’t have time for this. They threw Franz out of a helicopter after torturing him for information. I need to know that you are safe.” he says all in one breath.

“Franz?” you repeated.

He remained silent for a moment.

“God. I was at his wedding last year,” you said in disbelief.

“How soon can you get to New York?” he repeats.

“I can protect myself, Reacher. Goodbye.”

“Then I’m coming to you,” he says before ending the call. You stared at your phone with your mouth open in disbelief.

You had a feeling that would be a face you would be making often.

You already knew who it was from the solid knock reverberating through your house. However, it is better to be safe than sorry.

You had to admit that you’ve been on edge ever since Reacher called you. You only went out for the essentials and even then, those trips were kept minimal.

Taking your Beretta from your table, you check the chamber and clicked off the safety as you made your way towards the door. Opening the door, you had the barrel of the gun pressed against it.

Much to your surprise, it was not just Reacher at your front door. O’Donnel, Neagley and Dixon were standing behind him.

“I was hoping you weren’t serious,” you start.

“When have you ever known me to joke?”he retorts.

“There was a time that I knew you to have integrity. Obviously that has changed.” you said, clicking the safety back on.

You walked back inside and tucked your gun under your waist band. Reacher took that as an invitation to enter and the rest of the group followed.

Reacher couldn’t help but look around the familiar house. You still liked to keep the house smelling of citrus with a dash of honey.

He loved the smell. It reminded him of Christmas. Reminded him of home. He almost ran into you when you stopped to turn around.

Your glossed over eyes met his and while your gaze remained on his face, his explored every detail.

Your voluminous, curly hair just barely touched your shoulders. Your favorite crop top and sweatpants outfit you wore more often than not. Your fuzzy Crocs that he initially hated but he grew to love.

He grew to love you.

O’Donnel and Neagley shared a look at how cold you were being towards Reacher.

Of course they didn’t know about what happened between you before. So as far as they were concerned, it was unwarranted.

“You guys didn’t need to come all the way over here. Like I told Reacher, I can handle myself.” You explained, breaking the silence.

“I’m sure Franz thought the same thing,” Neagley starts.

“We’re not losing anyone else. And I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but you’re just going to suck it up for the time being.” Reacher stampedes.

“If you somehow think you can just burst into my home and my life, and stick your chest out while you give orders. You’re insane. But if you really expect me to listen, you can fuck off.” You snark, crossing your game and narrowing your eyes at him.

“Okay, obviously we missed a few chapters.” O’Donnel voiced.

The group looked between you and Reacher for a moment until Dixon spoke up, “Whatever bad blood you two have, set it aside. I can guarantee you, it’s not worth your lives.”

“Yeah, we started coming up with a plan of action but it didn’t really get anywhere because Reacher was adamant about getting in touch with you. So now that we’re all together where can we start?” O’Donell facilitates.

“What do we have so far?” you questioned, giving Reacher one last pointed look before sitting down.

Should I make a part 2? 🤔

#black!reader #jack reacher x black!reader #jack reacher x reader

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hometoursandotherstuff · 16 days

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Here's a lovely 1925 home in Atlanta, GA. It's serene and tastefully decorated upstairs, but if you feel like getting funky, you can go down to the basement where it's a whole different world. 3bds, 3ba, 2,880 sq ft $895K.

This home, in the colonial style, has a nice living room with a brick fireplace that they painted a dark gray to "update" it.

And, it has a lovely dining room that opens to a deck.

This kitchen has been updated with stainless steel appliances and there's also a door to the deck. A modern tile backsplash is on the sink/stove wall, but the counters are laminate.

The kitchen's not very large, and you can see that it's a bit crowded. Nice little cookbook shelf next to the fridge, though.

Off the kitchen is an updated powder room with a cute pedestal sink.

In the family room, the brick fireplace has been painted white.

The primary bedroom is open to the family room. Not a fan of that.

Either this wasn't meant to be a bedroom, or it's a suite, but the stairs come up to an open doorway.

Small den.

Plus a large, updated shower room.

Outside the shower room there's a closet for the w/d, and a closet/dressing room that was converted from a small sun porch.

Then we take the spiral stairs to the lower level. Have you ever seen so many disco balls?

There's a full kitchen down here that also serves as a bar.

Here's a bar area and a small dance floor.

I'm wondering if the disco balls and chandeliers convey.

Back here, by the rear entrance, there's a 1/2 bath and a shower.

Behind the house, the deck is an elaborate 2 tier deck plus a screened-in porch.

There's also a lovely garden back here.

And, there's no garage, but there's a car port under the deck.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1241-Briarcliff-Rd-NE-Atlanta-GA-30306/14507700_zpid/?

#brick colonial homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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purelyfiction · 8 months

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stars in a line - robert 'bob' floyd x f!reader

Word Count: 1,207 words

Summary: Chicken's in the skillet, ice in the drink, head's in the clouds, diamond's in the rough, he's in a Chevy and I'm in love // Tips in the apron, hair's in a braid, Mercury's all in retrograde // He's in a T-shirt all cleaned up, Good lord almighty, mama don't wait up // Chills down my spine, hearts on the line, He's all mine and I'm in love

Content Warning: fluff!! also note of animal abandonment

Author Note: another round for @ohtobeleah 's galentines writings :))))))

the familiar rumble of the older engine makes your features split with a smile. when bob had told you he was gonna drive his truck from montana to california you thought he was losing his mind.

then he'd explained why he was so insistent.

that he'd taken you out in that '87 Chevy all those years ago. after weeks of coming into the diner you worked in after school, dozens and dozens of milkshake and fry basket combos (and subsequent heartburn) just so he could hang out with you. he'd gotten up the nerve to finally ask you out. that truck had been your front row seats at the drive in watching a rerun of some old army movie his dad had recommended.

he'd taken the two of you to prom in that truck. to high school graduation, your college graduation. when the engine died on you while he was stationed in atlanta he'd taught you how to fix the thing via facetime.

beverly the chevy had been there for so many of your big moments. she'd been the reason why bob ended up buying the house that you stood contently in.

'bev is gonna need a place out of the elements if she's gonna stay top notch.'

this house had been the only one with a two car garage. one side for bev and one side for your car.

now when the engine rumbles echoed in the garage and made the older house vibrate, you couldn't help but grin. the sizzling of chicken in a skillet on the stove greets bob when he steps into the kitchen. he's greeted with the smell and a bottle of wine in a pile of ice in the sink. the door to the garage shuts, and you glance over your shoulder. when you do, you're witnessing the brown paper bouquet in his hands, white t-shirt on his shoulders, levis hugging his waist, trucker cap right where it belongs. he knows what this does to you. it's a simple look, nothing more than the basics but that's what does it. it highlights him. the man you love, bare bones and all.

the same man you fell for in that truck bed all those years ago.

he slides his boots off and wraps his arms around you from behind you, showing off the flowers he carried in. "happy flowers to you," he's humming now, making you giggle as his arms tight around you start bouncing you back and forth as he sings to the tune of 'happy birthday', "happy flowers to you, happy flowers, happy flowers, to my valentine youuuuuu" he punctuates the end of the song with a sloppy kiss to your cheek as you ease the weight of the florals from his hand.

"these are stunning, bo." you grin as he lets go, letting you turn to face him fully as he smiles.

"i know, i picked 'em cause they remind me of you." bob grins before pressing a quick kiss to your lips, barely pulling back when he speaks again, "happy valentines, sweet girl." you repeat the sentiment before he takes the arrangement and starts to get them into water.

you can't help but stare as he begins trimming the ends of each stem, easing them into the vase. you can smell the freshness of his body wash, having showered on base before he came home to you. couldn't waste time on your night together - and he knew it. the combination on him is near lethal to you. if you weren't actively cooking dinner, the counter would have been supplying a different kind of heat to the kitchen.

"i bought you something!" you nearly startle him with your sudden announcement, the reminder of your gift hitting you as you watch him. running down the hall causes the pup in the living room to chase after you, causing you and bob to both laugh.

shadow had been an unplanned addition to your lives because the poor pup appeared on your back deck one night. the collar on his neck held your current address. the previous owners had barely been involved with the process of the sale, so you didn't have their contact information to tell them hey assholes, you left your dog.

so, you and bob joked that the house came with a guardian, a black lab and german shepherd mix (bob got his dna tested out of infuriating curiosity). he quickly clung to the two of you - thus 'shadow'.

you lug the box into the kitchen, where bob has kept an eye on the meal you had recklessly abandoned. looking at you he huffs a gasp. "sweet girl, this is unnecessary." he laughs, taking the wrapped gift from your arms and sliding it onto the counter. still, he tears into it and reveals the milkshake maker, making him laugh, looking over at you with a grin. "that why you got your hair all done like this?" he grins, his fingers moving over the braid you'd plaited this morning.

"maybe." you hum, kissing his cheek as he looks over the box holding the machine. that diner the two of you met in had closed not long after you moved to san diego. you'd spent hours there and he'd once complimented the ribbon in your hair when it was woven into the braid on your head. recently, bob had mentioned how he'd missed those milkshakes they'd always made him.

he grins, before tucking his hand into his pocket. "hold out your hand." you hold it out as he asks, palm up. what he sets into your palm catches you off guard.

you'd been expecting something small, likely a jewelry box or something, like the years before.

instead a little metal circle is dropped into your palm. shining and glimmering. diamonds along it like stars in a line. your spine is electrified with chills, as your jaw drops as you look at him in awe. "bob, what-you-"

"i can get on my knee if you want, i'm just- i'm so in love with you. i'm truly in awe of you and how valid you make me feel. how valued and cherished i feel - how you listen," his head nods to the machine on the counter, "and you care and you never fail to be the best. just simply the best. i hope that i am for you-"

cutting him off you speak, "and you are," he laughs.

"then i wanna continue being that for you. for forever." you're sliding the new piece of jewelry onto your ring finger before he can get the words out, your arms slinking around his shoulders and linking your lips with his.

when you pull back, you grin.

"you're mine. i'm all yours and i'm in love. i'm so in love with you. with our life and the path we're on." you whisper. his hand takes a hold of your arm before the two of you jump at the sound of a smoke detector, both of you scrambling to clear the kitchen of smoke.

when the alarm is off and the burnt chicken is tossed, you smirk as you pull ice cream from the fridge.

"ice cream for dinner?" you try. bob grins.

"how about milkshakes instead?"

#bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #bob x reader #bob floyd #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x y/n #robert floyd x reader #robert x reader #robert bob floyd #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x f!reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year

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.⋆｡Neighbours｡⋆.

Daryl Dixon x plus size reader

You have a little crush on your handsome next door neighbour

Warnings: modern!au, mutual pining, Negan, fluff

WC: 1.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

4k Follower Celebration

King’s County was a very cute town. Barely an hour outside of Atlanta but not so far in the sticks that you were completely isolated, it was the perfect place to set up roots. You got a house at the edge of town for practically nothing and immediately a job landed in your lap.

Of course, it was a difficult adjustment having moved from New York where you worked at a cafe to being in Georgia and getting the teaching job of your dreams but what really helped was your next door neighbour- Daryl Dixon.

You first met him the day you moved in.

Alone with a singular U-Haul truck that had your entire life in the back of it and the mid-July sun on your back, you could think of no worse torture than this as you slowly but steadily moved box after box into your new home. You felt like you were drowning in sweat and your arms were about to fall off when you heard a deep raspy voice from just outside the truck.

“Can I help?” His accent was so thick, it took you a minute to actually understand what he said.

The sun was at his back, covering his face in shadow but from what you could tell, he was just under 6 feet with hugely broad shoulders and slightly bowed legs. “Um yeah! That would be so great, thank you!” He nodded and grabbed the two boxes in front of him.

You were in awe as he lugged the boxes of books up your front steps without even a grunt of exertion. You followed behind with the last of your stuff, desperately trying not to look at his ass in those dark jeans he was wearing. “You can just put that by the stairs.”

He hummed and dropped them gently right where you told him to put it. “Thank you again, could I get you some water or lemonade, I’m sorry I don’t have anything else to repay you with”

He shook his head, causing his long dark hair to cover most of his face. “Naw, jus saw ya needed help. It’s what neighbours do ain’t it.” You smiled at his bashfulness.

“Well it was still a nice thing for you to do.” You reached out your hand and gave him your name. His eyes (you could now see that they were blue) flicked to your outstretched hand and then back down to your hardwood floor but he gave you a firm shake anyway.

“Daryl.” As he pulled back, he left a smear of what you thought was motor oil on the back of your hand. His face went beat red and he opened his mouth to apologise but you spoke again before he could.

“Let me get you dinner then, I was planning on ordering a pizza and I doubt I could eat a whole pie by myself.” That got a smile out of him, a small one but it was genuine and it made your heart skip a beat.

“Alright.”

Finally, it was the winter break, after four months of trying to wrangle multiple grades (it was a small school and you were the only history teacher), you could relax. You could feel the tension melting off your body as you drove up to your house.

You pulled your car into the driveway and immediately spotted Daryl. He was perched outside his garage, once again tinkering with his motorbike, a cigarette hanging from his chapped lips. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t notice how you just sat in your car and stared at him longingly.

Daryl was a drop dead gorgeous man and apparently he didn’t even know it. He was incredibly strong with biceps almost the size of your head and a general bad boy biker appearance but with a heart of absolute gold. You sighed and grabbed your school bag that unfortunately had paper you still needed to grade.

“Hey Daryl!” You called out. His head shot up so quickly, his cigarette fell to the ground between his booted feet. He cursed under his breath and picked it up again. “Some teachers are coming over to my place for some drinks if you want to join, no pressure though!”

“Sure.” He dismissed but you smiled brightly.

“See you there!”

Rock music crooned from the speakers, just barely audible over the chatter of your coworkers and neighbours as they mingled. You were in the kitchen, making margaritas at the behest of the school’s gym teacher. He hovered over you as you made the drinks, he was either telling you some story about his ‘glory days’ or insulting you, you couldn’t quite tell.

“Negan, it doesn’t need that much tequila!” You snatched the nearly empty bottle from his hand which he had been pouring into the blender when your back was turned.

“Of course it does!” He tried to wrestle the bottle back from you but you stubbornly held on. It quickly became a childish game of tug-of-war that neither of you were really taking seriously, just happy to let loose after dealing with idiotic students for 4 months.

Just as you were getting the upper hand, a voice caught your attention. “Hey.” Hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped forward with a small blush dusting the apple of his cheeks.

“Hi.” You immediately greeted, unbothered that Negan had stolen back the bottle of alcohol and had subsequently dumped the rest of its contents into the half-made cocktail mixture. “There’s pizzas in the living room and some beers chilling on the deck if you want.” You offered and the shy mechanic just nodded, wandering off into the small crowd.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes dip down to his ass, watching it as he disappeared into the hall. “Seriously? Him?" Negan’s voice startled you from the hypnotising sight, your head snapping back to face him. He was smirking at you with a mixture of disgust and a strange proudness.

“Shut up.” You grumbled and grabbed some extra ice from your freezer to throw into the blender.

“I thought I was more your type but I see it now, a redneck shotgun wedding! Maybe you’ll have roadkill hors d’oeuvres with moonshine- ow! The fuck was that for?” He rubbed at his hurt shoulder which you just punched.

“At least my wedding won’t be fucking baseball themed, you has been.” And as you bickered back and forth, neither of you noticed the figure standing in the doorway, face beat red and blue eyes practically sparkling. If it were up to him, your wedding would be the most lavish event the world had ever seen and by god, he hoped that he would be the one standing at the end of that aisle for you.

Request: Can I please get "neighbors" and "Seriously?Him?" for Daryl for your celebration?

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#4k follower celebration #daryl dixon x plus size reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl x plus size reader #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon #daryl x female reader #female reader #plus size reader #reader insert #request #inbox #fluff

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heavyhitterheaux · 10 months

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Sentence concept (dad Jack):

“Don’t make me tell Dad”

"Oh, fuck.” Axel muttered as he assessed the damage on your newly upgraded G Wagon that you had originally gotten for a push gift for Nova from Jack.

“Dad is going to be so pissed. He literally picked it up for mommy this afternoon.” Autumn replied as she noticed the huge scratch and dent on it.

“I just tapped the barrier! How is it dented!?” Axel exclaimed while throwing his hands up in disbelief.

“Maybe they won't notice?”

“Autumn, please tell me you didn't just say that.”

“Well, you have to come clean because you were the one driving.”

“I….”

“Don't make me tell dad.”

“You play the role of the annoying ass little sister a little too well sometimes.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

The two of them made their way back home and Axel parked your car back in the garage and prayed that you didn't drive it until he was able to talk to Anthony's dad to fix it since he was a mechanic.

When 8 AM hit, Axel heard his father's booming voice and knew he was in trouble.

“AXEL WYATT HARLOW. GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE NOW.”

Axel made his way to the living room to see Jack red in the face and Autumn looking guilty.

‘Sorry big brother.’ She mouthed towards him and all he did was sigh.

“Bye Autumn.” Jack said and she immediately started to protest until he gave her a look.

“Um, I'll be going now.”

“So, you want to explain to me why there is a big dent and a scratch the size of Texas on your mom's G Wagon that I just got upgraded and picked up from the dealer yesterday to surprise her?”

“Umm”

“It's no time for that. And you took your sister and neither of you actually have a license and only a permit? Do you know how dangerous that was?”

“We were coming right back!”

“You can stop with the excuses. You know better than that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“The two of you seriously could have gotten hurt. And then what?”

“Are you going to tell mom?” Axel asked and right on cue, you came in the door.

“Tell me what babes?” You asked and his eyes went wide. You kissed Jack before coming over and hugging Axel as you kissed his cheek. You were back a day early from Atlanta and Axel knew he would be grounded for the rest of his life.

“Uh….”

“Axel and Autumn took your car that I just upgraded for a joy ride last night and dented and scratched it.”

“AXEL!”

“I….”

“With no license. So, Ax along with Autumn is going to use their allowance money every month to get it fixed and I'm not budging. No video games. No going out with your friends and I have to decide if I'll let you play soccer or not.”

“Axel, babe. You understand why we're upset, right?” You asked and all he did was nod.

“You and your sister could have gotten hurt and that is the last thing we want. You not only put yourself in harm's way, but her too.”

“You're her big brother so I expected more from you.” Jack added as Axel was looking down at his feet.

“I know.”

“Ax, we almost lost you when you were a baby so this gave me flashbacks. You cannot do reckless things likw this." Jack quietly said and you simply nodded agreeing with him.

Now, he immediately felt guilty.

“Anytime you want to go out driving, we will take you but this cannot happen again. Cars can be replaced, the two of you can't.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can go back upstairs.”

That now left the two of you and Jack could tell you were visibly getting upset.

“Baby, I know where your mind is going but they're both okay.” He said as he brought you into a hug.

“I cannot take the thought of something happening to them.”

“I know. But we aren't focusing on that. We’re focusing on the fact that they’re both okay.”

#jack harlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow imagine #first lady of pg

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daryltwdixon · 13 days

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The Ruins of Us: Chapter 5

content warnings: S/A (if you aren't comfortable reading that, skip the flashback, basically Shane tries to take advantage of you in his truck after seeing you distraught over the argument with Daryl).

Daryl pulls up to a stop behind the rest of the cars approaching the CDC. You reach for your passenger seat door, grabbing the handle. Just as you get it pushed open a crack, Daryl leans over you to pull it closed.

“What the hell, Dare?” you ask, sticking your thumb over your shoulder, “we have to go,”

Daryl takes a deep breath. You could tell he’d been restless this ride over. Stealing glances at you out of the corner of his eye, huffing and sighing to himself. You had tried to pry and ask what was up but all he’d mutter was a simple “nothin’” under his breath. You’d dropped it after the third time you tried to ask. But now it seemed like he was finally ready to talk. And of course it had to be before you were about to head into a potentially very dangerous situation.

“Shane,” he finally said. You raise an eyebrow at him. He still didn’t go on.

“Shane… what…?” you lead him on.

“Lori,” he is looking intently at you, searching your face for some sort of understanding.

You’re still not entirely sure what he’s talking about now, but your hackles raise on your neck. You suddenly feel very hot, your cheeks heating up.

He bites the inside of his cheek, nods, and gets out of the truck, quickly grabbing his crossbow.

“What the hell…” you say again, this time to yourself. You clamber out after him, trusted knife in hand and a newly acquainted semi automatic pistol strapped to your back.

The first thing you notice as you’re out of the truck in front of the CDC is the smell. It permeates the air, filling your nostrils so strongly it’s almost like you can taste it. As the group moves through the bodies of walkers laying around the debris, you hear others gagging and covering their noses and mouths. Growing up in dirt poor had its perks, one of them was no smell could affect you after the places you’d been. From dumpster diving behind malls and people keeling over sick on or in front of you at dealer’s houses, smells didn’t get to you nor Daryl as badly anymore. But even those smells couldn’t match the stench of the walk up to the building. The sound of flies buzzing is overwhelming as Rick says in a panicked voice: “keep moving, keep it moving,”

“It’s gettin’ dark out, Daryl,” you whisper next to him, finally catching up beside him, “we shouldn’t be out here”

He looks over at you, crossbow in one hand and a new rifle in the other. His eyes pass over you and over your shoulder.

“Walkers!” he yells, shooting an arrow in between the walking corpse’s eyes. You pull the rifle from behind your back, slipping your knife away to hold the gun up in ready position.

He turns on Rick and shouts, “You led us into a graveyard!”

Shane advances on Daryl shouting at him to shut up, and you stand in front of Daryl, “he’s right, we shouldn’t be out here at this time of night so close to the damn city,”

Shane barely looks at you and turns to Rick, “this is a dead end,” he says in a demanding voice to his patrol partner, “Do you hear me” he’s searching Rick’s face, “Fort Benning, Rick–still an option” he pleads.

“On what?” Andrea barks, “No food, no fuel, that's a hundred miles!”

“125, I checked the map,” says the boy in the baseball hat. You still hadn’t managed to get everyone’s names, especially those who went out to Atlanta.

“We need answers tonight, now,” Lori growls.

Everyone begins to panic and move back towards the cars. You stay next to Rick, looking for any answer. You look over to the windows–shut. The garage door isn't budging either. You look up, for anything–anything and–

“The camera!” you shout, noticing the little security cam on top of the door, “it moved, I swear it moved,”

Rick looks over and up at it too, “I saw it too,” He calls out to the others to come back, but they’re overought with fear. Dale claims Rick can be imagining things. Rick’s lip curls, and bangs against the doors again. Shane is doing his best to pull him back and Daryl is by you with your arm in his grip. You’re doing your best to stay planted against the force of his pulling.

“I know you’re in there!” Rick pleads aggressively to the security cam, “I know you can hear me. Please, we are desperate. We have women and children–nowhere to go!”

“I ain’t gon’ let you die here, Y/N!” Daryl growls as you fight his death grip. You’re watching Rick be pulled back by Shane and Lori. They’re telling him no one is here, we have to turn back. Have to leave. No, no, no. This was supposed to work. It has to work.

“Y/N!” Daryl is shouting at you, and you finally give in to letting him pull you back.

“You’re killing us!” Rick screams as he’s being dragged away too, “You’re killing us!” he keeps repeating in a barking cry.

As he turns his back, bright light explodes in front of you as the garage doors open.

x flashback x

Your face was wet and sticky as you walked down the sidewalk back toward your house. You kept nearly tripping over the cracks in the cement from the blur of tears in your eyes. Your nose was so clogged and eyes puffy you can imagine you looked a right mess to anyone passing by. Daryl’s words struck hard. He’d never used such foul language on you. Other people? Yes, all the time. Anyone who came across him usually got a few good curse words thrown at them, even if they were well intentioned strangers. You had known Daryl was the hot headed type and always spoke off the cuff without thinking. But he usually took his time with words around you. He’d never laced his words with such poison spewed at you. You just kept replaying what he said in your mind over and over and over until you ran dry of tears. Your feet were sore from walking too long in your too-small boots, your shorts so tattered and doing nothing for the chafing between your legs. A truck pulled up next to you, and you wiped your eyes to see Shane driving up next to you.

“Go away,” you said, voice cracking. You continued walking forward and he coasted along next to you in the street.

“What’s goin on? I thought we were goin’ to the drive-in tonight?” he said from his rolled down window. Just the thought of the drive-in reminded you of Daryl again and your tears come back. God, how many tears could a human make in such a short amount of time?

“Baby come on, get in. I’ll at least take you home,”

You stopped short. Did you even want to go home? You just kind of started walking when you left Daryl’s in such a fluster of emotions. You were still another 20 minute walk from your house. You sniffle and wipe your eyes again, walking across the road to get in his passenger side door.

“I don’t wanna go home,” you muttered, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Whatever you wanna do,” he whispered, pulling you in close. He’d stopped the truck when he let you in, parking it so he could put his arms around you. The close contact of a hug makes you collapse again into sobs, heaving against him. He rubbed the top of your head, shushing you gently. When you finally started taking deep, even breaths again he asked what had happened.

“Daryl’s a jackass,” you croaked out, “I hate him,” even though you knew it was a lie.

“Yeah, well that kid’s no good for you anyway. Bad influence, bad temper,” he shakes his head, still stroking your hair. You finally sit up and collect yourself a little more.

“He’s not, he’s just real good with words,” you mutter sarcastically, opening the visor mirror. You deflate when you get a good look at yourself. Puffy red eyes and swollen lips. You might as well be called Rudolph –your nose is such a bright shade of pink. As you fussed over yourself, Shane was deep in thought, his chin between his fingers, leaning over the driver’s side door as he put the car in drive. “What is it?” you asked, looking over at him. He stayed quiet for a while, driving up to a dirt patch by the side of your house a few minutes later. He switched the car off and turned to you. All the lights are out inside the house. Mom was most likely out getting boozed up or she’s asleep on the couch. Shane’s truck dash read 8:00PM. You sighed and looked back over to him, waiting for any explanation for his pensive quietness.

“I don’t think you should be hanging with the likes of Daryl Dixon anymore. You’ve got too much ahead of you. Too many amazing opportunities he’ll ruin for you. You gotta put this kid behind you, baby, leave him in the past,” he said heavily, rubbing his hand against his stubble, not looking at you. You raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to explain.

“He’s my best friend,” you said with bitterness.

“Yeah, and when you go to college, you know what Dixon’s gonna do? Probably bitch about you being a goodie two shoes while he’s stuck at home with that loser daddy Dixon.” he spit. You flinch at his words, taken aback by this sudden change in him. He had no idea what it was like in that god forsaken place for Daryl.

“How dare you,” you hiss out at him.

“C’mon baby, you know he’s no good. You have a life ahead of you. You can get into a college this fall and get away from here. Away from all this.”

“And you,”

He looked up, brown eyes looking in yours with seriousness, “I didn’t say that,”

You huffed out a sarcastic laugh, “Right, right. So you want me to dump my best friend that I’ve known since I was a kid, ride off into the distance and then be completely alone in a whole new place? Great plan.”

“C’mere, I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for you. For a moment you hesitate, wanting to reject him and jump out the truck. But his expression is soft and pleading. You sigh and lean against his chest, your back up against him.

“I ain’t leavin’ him,” you said with finality after a few long moments, “I won’t,”

“We’ll talk about it more later,” he whispered and his hands started moving and he was rubbing your arms and shoulders gently. You sighed as he began planting kisses on your head, down your jaw and onto your bare shoulder. He pushed your spaghetti strap down, exposing the top part of your bra.

“Please Shane, I feel so gross. Not tonight,” you groaned and put your hands on top of his to stop him. He didn’t pause his movements however, if anything his hands were harder now on you as he reached under your bra.

“Shane–”

“Shhh, let me take your mind off things for a while,” he whispered in your ear, palming at your chest now. You were far from being turned on after the day you had, but you let him continue his handsy search of your body.

Daryl’s words rang in your ears and you suddenly felt repulsed by yourself. You couldn’t stand to be touched right now. You had to get out of there. For once you were grateful he took you straight home.

You pulled away suddenly, Shane paused, shocked at the abrupt end to your warmth against him.

“I have to go,” you said hastily, pulling at the car door handle and pushing your way out.

“Get back here,” he said sharply. You paused before you could slide out the door, and Shane used that moment to grab the back of your neck and pull you in, causing the door to slam shut.

You let out a yelp as he held you against him again, “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled into your ear, his one arm holding you flush against him across your chest, and the other traveling down your body, opening your legs. Your skin suddenly felt red hot and tingling, adrenaline starting to enter your blood system.

“No,” you grunted, hands pulling at the strong arm holding you down, “Shane–no!” You squirmed, but he was so much stronger than you it’s futile. His free hand palmed you through your shorts, no matter how much you tried kicking and squirming away. He dragged his hand up toward your chest, pulling your shirt down below your bra, tearing one of the straps so it hung loose down your front. He viciously pulled your bra down while palming one of your breasts. Your body was in fight or flight now, he’d never forced you to do anything–anything against your will like this. You didn’t know this Shane, this animal inside of him. But instead of trying to fight it anymore, you felt your brain just shutting down and almost just…freezing.

“Good girl,” he growled in your ear, sending ice cold shivers down your spine.

“Please stop,” you pleaded to him, voice thick from trying not to cry.

He suddenly pushed you up and away from him, towards the passenger side door, “Fine. Get out.” he barked at you. You looked back at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Holding your arms over your chest, you pulled on the passenger side door, bursting out of the car. Before you could turn around to get the last word in, Shane was ripping the truck out into the road, rubber squealing as he took off down the street.

Adjusting yourself to cover up, you headed toward the door. You find the key under the mat with ease and pushed through the door to your dank little house. The amount of times your mother locked you out gave you enough sense to make multiple copies to hide around the place. You slam the door behind you and lock it, leaning up against the cold wooden door for support. After you scanned the front area of the trailer, you can already decipher your mom is out of the house. With the realization that you were finally alone again, you collapsed onto the floor and dry heaved, clutching your stomach and the door frame.

After a long while, you were able to breathe evenly and make your way over to the smallest bedroom down the little hallway, collapsing onto the bed. It smelled of mildew, and for once the musty smell doesn’t make you annoyed, just grateful to be in your bed and alone. You gripped the covers in your fists, pulling them over your face.

You cry yourself to sleep that night.

#daryl #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead #daryl one shot #daryl x reader #daryl dixion imagine #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd

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liz-allyn · 2 years

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sugar and vice, pt 2 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Peter makes a daring rescue to save Honey. Or is this a rescue at all? more shameless trope pining.

words: 5.5k

warnings: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. bandaging wounds. ouchy hurt boo boo. lots of crying. references to assault. someone gets tortured. shameless forced proximity trope. imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions.

you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you're too young to remember the ipod nano, this aint for you, chief.

Back to Part 1

Part 2

How many state capitals can you name?

Montgomery. Juneau. Phoenix. Little Rock.

She was running out of questions to distract herself. She’d already gone through listing all of Stephen King’s novels. All of the Presidents. All of the elements of the Periodic Table. She was running out of distractions.

Sacramento. Denver. Hartford. Dover.

She’d been to Delaware once for a funeral. The whole state was a graveyard. She was going to be killed and who would be at her funeral? Would her dark-eyed friend be the one to murder her?

Tampa. Atlanta. Honolulu. Fuck! Tallahassee, not Tampa… Montgomery. Juneau. Phoenix. Little Rock. Sacramento—

Would he make it quick? Would it be him or would it be one of the people from the car? Did he know the two men that took her from the train? Did he order them to take her? Then what was that gunfire? Why did it seem like they were running?

She didn’t know how much time had passed since she had been brought to a room, sat down, and left alone under the dark of the hood obscuring her vision. Heated but hushed voices echoed from the other side of a wall. They were too muffled to comprehend, but the frantic frustration was unmistakable.

She could barely make out the words.

“She’s a liability now, Parker! Where’s she gonna go?”

Her heart felt like it would burst from her chest. The conversation got quieter.

Montgomery. Juneau. Phoenix. Little Rock. Sacramento. Denver.

The sound of a door lock startled her. Her body went rigid as a door opened wide. She swallowed hard, unable to get the image of the gun in Peter’s grip out of her mind. Heavy footsteps approached her. Her lip quivered beneath the hood. If the shot was coming, maybe it was better for it to come now. Maybe it was better if she didn’t see it coming.

The hood came off of her head, revealing a dark room only illuminated by a window. The night lights of the city skyline sparkled in the distance. She was on a sofa—a loveseat facing a desk. As far as she could tell, she was in some sort of office or study. And crouched down in front of her, was her dangerous friend.

Peter held his hands up in a placating manner, letting the hood drop to the floor. “Don’t cry, Honey. It’s just me.”

The sweetness of his voice made her heart beat faster. She cursed the treacherous bitch for allowing that to happen, after everything.

Just him. As if that was supposed to mean anything. Is he Peter, or is he Ben? Does it matter which one he’d tell her? And what other option did she have to respond, other than crying? Her mouth was still taped shut.

He studied her features in a way that made her squirm. His face was solemn as he considered her. He huffed a sigh. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me,” he declared in an apologetic tone. His cocoa eyes glistened with regret. “You’re probably feelin’ angry with me right now. I get that. You’ve been nothin’ but sweet to me and I... I—”

He stopped short of finishing the sentence as if his jaw locked up. A wrinkle creased his brow. He glanced down at the floor, then looked back up at her. “I’m gonna ask you to do somethin’ for me,” he began. “You don’t have any reason to owe me anything, I see that, I do. I don’t have the right to ask. But I’m still gonna ask.”

A hand came up to rub the back of his neck. The gesture made him seem more anxious, more boyish. Not the same man that marched into the garage holding a gun. Not the same man that ordered his man to blindfold her.

“You’ve always been patient with me,” he continued, dancing around a topic he didn’t want to address. “Even when I’m not my best. I need you to be patient with me now. Take a chance on me, Honey.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She really wished it wouldn’t do that.

He gazed at her, lowering his voice to an even more soothing tone. He emanated calm and control. “I’m gonna help you off the sofa, then we’re gonna leave this room,” he said. “We’re goin’ to the last door at the end of the hallway, okay? Nod if you understand.”

She stared at him like a deer in the crosshairs. After a moment, she nodded.

“Okay, good,” he replied. He reached for her. “Easy now.”

He put his hands around her upper arms and attempted to lift her weight from beneath her shoulders. A flash of pain erupted like her deltoids were on fire, and she winced and whimpered behind the tape.

Immediately, he pulled back his hands with a sour look. An edge of irritation returned to his eyes, in a way she’d remembered from the coffee shop when those goons showed up, except now they were alone and that look was rendered at her. Or so she thought.

Tears welling up again, she avoided his gaze. She sank further into the couch, as if that was even possible, and shook like a leaf. He stood before her wordlessly. She could only hear a heavy exhale through flared nostrils.

Seconds passed, then Peter bent at the waist, placing his hands on her hips. She shuddered at the pressure, the warmth and width of his hands on the crest of her hips. He held her in a steady grip, bringing her to her feet, this time with less pain.

Upon standing, she looked up and locked eyes with him. It stilled his motion, and he stood with her pressed up against his chest, looking down at her with darkening eyes. His body was solid mass through his white dress shirt. It occurred to her that she’d never seen him without a coat before. Her heart was fluttering, and she wondered if he could feel it. She felt suddenly pliant, legs turning into rubber.

Dizzy, she wavered a bit, blinking her eyes rapidly. It could’ve been the adrenaline spiking again, building pressure rising up beneath her skin. Perhaps it was her lack of real food since her distant lunch. Perhaps it was heat stroke, the way his gaze burned into hers.

He gripped her tighter. Swallowed hard.

Reluctantly, he released his hold, moving a hand to her lower back. “C’mon.”

She gulped. Hesitantly, she let him lead her to the door. Once they went through the doorway, he escorted her down the hall just as he had said. It was dark, but she could see light from beneath the closed door at the end of the hall.

Her boots felt heavy again. Her mind was screaming at her to run, but where would she go?

“S’okay,” he stated softly, reading the slowing of her steps for what it was. “Almost there.”

He brought her to the solid door, twisting the handle and opening it. The only thing her brain could register was a massive king-sized bed in the middle of the room. She pushed back on his palm, attempting to wrench away from him. He grabbed her from behind, his arms holding her in place.

“Easy, easy, s’okay,” he tutted.

But she was short-circuiting. Her mind was filled with violent images, clouding her sense of reason. A shriek crawled up her throat, desperately clawing at the adhesive of the duct tape over her mouth.

“Hey, s’okay, it’s okay!” He was holding her against the brick wall of his chest again. She shook her head desperately, struggling to break free to no avail. She could feel his heartbeat against her back.

He pressed his cheek against her temple, his arms pulling her in with crushing strength that lifted her feet from the floor. “Enough!” he snapped, with a shockingly harsh tone.

The simple admonishment made her go limp. She sobbed desperately.

His head fell backward and he let out a long sigh, frustration evident within him. He softened his grip, and instead of pinning her, it felt much more like an embrace. He bent his neck and his lips went to her temple again, his breath hot on her skin.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he breathed into her hair. She felt the slow rise and fall from his chest. The kindness had returned to his voice. He took another deep breath, and she felt it reverberate in her. “No one is gonna hurt you,” he declared, more authoritative this time. She matched her next breath to his.

They stood in silence for another few seconds. Her gaze traveled from the bed to the expanse of the room. The dark colors and modern accents. The yellow source of tungsten light spilled from an open doorway.

“Now we’re gonna walk forward. Into the bathroom.”

He began to walk forward, and her feet moved in accordance. After the first few concordant steps, he loosened his grip on her. She felt the absence of his body heat as they stepped onto a tiled floor, turning a corner to a grand bathroom bigger than her meager apartment bedroom.

It was stunning; a mix of classic beauty and masculinity. Adorned with black marble, gold fixtures, and subway tile. Her eyes soaked up the details with an unintentional gasp. Inappropriately, she wished for her phone to save the image to the Pinterest board of her bathroom dreams.

“It’s okay,” he gently reminded her. Hearing his voice pulled her back to her reality. Her eyes snapped over her shoulder, up to him, then back forward as they approached a freestanding clawfoot tub filled with steaming water.

Her feet got heavy again and he turned her to face him. She looked up at him with a face full of confusion and betrayal. It only seemed to sour him further.

“I need you to trust me, remember?” Peter said to her. “I’m gonna take off the tape, but I need you to get in the water first.”

She felt her head shaking. Tears streaming.

“It’s the tape,” he explained. “Your skin is already reacting to it. If I try to pull it off now, it’ll take your skin with it.” She quirked a brow up at him. “We’re gonna use the soapy water to soak the tape on your wrists. The stuff on your mouth, I have a solvent for.”

She blinked, looked at the water, and back up to him.

“You don’t have to undress or anything,” he answered, again reading her mind with stunning accuracy. “We can take off your boots and you can step right in if you don’t mind getting your clothes wet.” She watched the Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I’m not gonna try anything,” he whispered quietly, “I swear.”

She lost herself in his eyes again. She studied the honey of his irises, a golden glow enhanced by the vanity lamps. She thought of caramel and chocolate and bourbon. And the tang of oranges, the smokey smell and flavor of an Old Fashioned she had three years ago at The Flatiron Room on an otherwise disappointing date—

“You with me?” he spoke so softly it could be a croon. Brought his hands up and she felt the rough pads of his thumbs brushing away her tears.

Her eyelashes fluttered closed at the sensation. That dizzy feeling hit her again, and she tried to swallow it down. When her eyes opened, she saw her friend staring back at her, the shadow of a smile adorning his face.

She spent too long gazing up at him like he was some sort of Prince Charming. Composing herself, she straightened and gave him a nod.

Having gathered her meaning, he responded with a subtle smirk, before putting it away. Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees in front of her, never breaking eye contact. The action made her stomach weak. Made her avert her eyes. He deftly began untying the laces of her boots and braced her lower back to pull off her shoes.

Though he didn’t request it, she peeled her wool socks off next. She could have wet jeans and a wet shirt, but wet socks made her skin crawl. Once her bare feet were on the tiled floor, he came to a stand. He placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her as she stepped into the deep tub.

The warm water felt instantly soothing as she lowered herself into it. Her hands prickled with the sensation of the hot water reheating her abused limbs. He was right about her skin—she hissed at an immediate sting where the tape was. The thought of ripping off the duct tape over her mouth as fast as possible seemed more unpleasant.

She sat down with arms bound behind her, looking up at him as he sat beside the tub.

“The soap’s gonna help dissolve the adhesive,” he explained, pulling up a tray within his reach. A mass of dry cotton balls, cotton swabs, and gauze was neatly organized on it, next to several bottles of solution. It was bizarrely efficient. It made her wonder how many times he’d done this before.

He went to work, rolling up the arms of his sleeves up to his elbows. She pulled her eyes away from the sight of his toned forearms.

His fingers went to her face and she couldn’t help but flinch. He made note of it, lips pursed into a straight line, but said nothing. Slower, he reached for her hairline and a razor-sharp sting of her flesh reminded her that she had taken at least one good hit to the face.

His burnt-auburn eyes were now focused, a line forming in his brow as he studied a blood-crusted cut she couldn’t see.

“This one’s deep,” he said with a frown. “It’ll need liquid stitches. I’mma take care of this first before it gets worse.” His hands left her sensitive flesh as he came to a stand, moving across the bathroom into a medicine cabinet where more first-aid supplies were located.

While his back was turned, she rolled her eyes in frustration. The tape on her mouth was clearly the more pressing issue.

“Can you bear with me a couple of minutes before I take the tape off?” he asked perceptively. It was starting to get creepy. He sat down beside her again. “Just relax. It’ll be easier to do it now.” He dabbed a cotton ball with alcohol. “And it’ll be harder for you to bite me.”

Her eyes darted to his face, her body tensing. She had bitten one of her captors hard enough to draw blood. He busied himself with cleaning and dressing the wound while she pondered the possibility that Peter had been behind her kidnapping earlier in the evening.

That neck-less, ginger bastard – Katz? – dragged her off the train without any regard for whether or not she felt safe. Particularly right before he knocked her out. Did he work for Peter? She hadn’t seen his face since.

“Your heart’s racing,” he informed her, breaking her chain of thought. He swallowed hard, a solemn look plastered firmly on his face. “I wasn’t lying when I said no one was going to hurt you.” His eyes rested on the wound as he delicately pinched her flesh together. “Not again,” he sighed, disappointed.

A few seconds passed as he carefully coated the cut in the liquid stitch solution. He looked pained, increasingly irritated. “I’m sorry about all this,” he blurted out. “I-I never shoulda come back to see you. I... I-I’m sorry about everything. Never meant for any of this to happen.” His sad eyes found hers. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t mean much, I know. But I hope you believe me.”

She stared. Considering. Decided that she did. She had to. Tied up, sitting waist-deep in this strange man’s bathtub, she had nothing else but her hope.

He took a cotton swab and dipped it in a jar of pristine petroleum jelly. One hand delicately lifted her chin, angling her face upward toward him, as he took a corner of the tape at her mouth and began to work the petroleum beneath the strip. He meticulously followed that action with a warm, wet compress, and then a cotton ball of isopropyl alcohol. The tape hurt as it slowly gave way, but less than it could’ve.

The peaceful silence gave her time for her brain to slow down. Time to think. Time to plan. Time to question those plans. Question her judgment.

“Alright, almost done,” he said, then gave a small tug on the tape. The moment her lips were unsealed she took a deep breath. She hadn’t realized how much her breathing had been restricted.

Peter reached back for her with a square of medical-grade adhesive remover.

“Don’t touch me,” she spat, jerking her head out of his reach. He froze immediately, lifting his hands away where she could see them. Behind her, she pulled and tugged on the duct tape, the glue now having partially dissolved. She winced as she pulled her wrists apart.

“I was gonna get to that—”

She bit down on a yelp at the burn of the tape ripping off, taking bits of hair and drops of blood with it. She pulled her arms in front of her, revealing angry red welts on her wrists. Her shoulders felt like a stretched-out rubber band, tender to each movement.

“Okay,” he nodded bitterly, frustration poking through. “Tape’s off. You’re bleeding. Well done—”

“Stay away from me!” she barked. She scooted back as far as she could away from him in the bathtub. Her eyes were wide and wild, like she really could bite him at any moment. He sat back on his ankles, staring at her. Displeased.

“Take it easy,” he softly ordered, cool as ever.

“I-I don’t know who you are or-or what you’re into,” she babbled frantically. “But you—you better lemme go!” She panted heavily, words flowing out of her mouth, “My-my boyfriend is a cop! He tracks my phone. He’ll know I didn’t come home and-and when he turns on the tracker, he’ll see that I’m here... and he’ll bring fifty cops with him!”

Peter stared at her flatly, raising a brow. It was clear by his reaction that he wasn’t impressed. “Fifty?” he repeated, deadpan. “That’s a lot. Where’re they gonna park?”

“I’m serious!” she growled.

“Oh, yea-yeah, I know,” Peter nodded, pulling himself into a crouch at the tub. “This boyfriend of yours,” he added, swallowing grit as he said it, “he got a name?”

She blinked. “Jefferson.”

“Jefferson?”

“Scott.”

“Is it Scott or is it Jefferson? Is it Jefferson Scott?”

His mocking tone filled her with a flash of anger. She seethed, swearing at herself not to cry again. “Let me go!” she demanded with a glare. “And I promise, he won’t kill you when he finds me!”

The humor evaporated from his eyes like a droplet of water in a frying pan. “A promise?” Peter repeated, his cocky smile fading. He went motionless. Eyes dark. A chill shot down her spine. “Where was ‘Jefferson’ when Fisk’s men grabbed you tonight?” She swallowed hard. Refused to blink. “Really coulda used his help,” he bit off.

Her heart was beating faster than before. Pounding like a kickdrum beneath her ribs. His blackened eyes narrowed on her. “Do you have any idea,” he questioned bitterly, “what they would’ve done t’ya? If I hadn’t gotten there first?”

The calm tone of his overt implications made her queasy again. He cocked his head to the side, waiting for a reply.

She gulped. Steadied her voice. “Who's to say they don’t work for you?”

“They don’t work for me,” Peter declared, ice in his eyes.

“You expect me to believe—”

“They don’t work for me,” he repeated, as serious as a heart attack, “because I don’t employ assholes who beat on women.” He leaned forward, his chest puffing up, his words coming out in a low hiss. “Because if I want something done, I do it myself. Especially when it comes to protecting what’s mine.” His eyes narrowed, “And we both know you don’t have a boyfriend.”

She blinked at him, dumbstruck. Peter declared through gritted teeth, “You could send fifty cops or fifty-thousand. If someone took my girl, I’d get there first. And there’s not a damn thing you could say to keep me from rippin’ him apart.”

She shifted backward, arms wrapped tightly around her body, stunned by the switch in demeanor. He sat across from her, quietly glaring, chest heaving with pent-up rage. Her throat felt tight. Her pulse pounded in her neck.

Seconds passed as they gazed at each other in a stalemate. He was the first to look away, his breathing conscientiously slowing down. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, keeping his head turned away from her sight.

“Don’t lie to me,” Peter said, finally. “Ever.” He looked up at her, eyes a bit softer. “It’s very important that you never lie to me. When people lie to me, it puts me at a disadvantage. Makes it harder for me to protect the people I care about.” He sniffed, stowing his emotional baggage from earlier. “So please,” he gently requested, “don’t lie.”

He kept his eyes downward as if he was more interested in the state of the grout. She had witnessed him rear up like a cobra and now he was slinking away, sheepishly hiding from her gaze.

There was that word again — protection. His focus is protecting the people he cares about. Protecting what’s his. She eyed him carefully, her muscles relaxing a bit. This was happening because she was a threat to him. Did that mean in some way, she had power over him?

He wiped his nose with his forearm, still avoiding her eyes. “You hurt anywhere else?” She blinked up at him, confused. Her silence made him meet her gaze again, and this time the sympathy and remorse had returned. “Anywhere I can’t see?”

She stiffened once she caught his meaning. Breaking eye contact, she gazed down at the tiny bubbles coating the surface of the water. “Um... no.” She answered as honestly as she could. “I don’t... I don’t think so.” The statement felt like a lump in her throat. She felt her eyes burn again, and she angrily dared her body to defy her again. She couldn’t handle it.

“Okay,” he nodded. After a moment, he came to a quick stand. His orders flowed more formally. “There are towels over here. There’s a robe on the door. Cat’s gettin’ you some clothes. Should be here soon. Leave the wet stuff on the edge of the tub. When you’re done in here, come outside of the bedroom. I’ve got one more thing I need from you tonight, Honey.”

He turned on the leather sole of his heel and disappeared from her sight, as fast as ever. She sat in the rapidly cooling water of the tub, tenderly rubbing the swollen flesh of her wrists. She listened to his footsteps diminish. The door slammed, a bit too forcefully.

Alone, finally, she allowed herself to cry again.

About fifteen minutes after being left alone, she emerged from the main bedroom with a thick white terry robe blanketing her. With nothing but her thoughts and growing exhaustion, she decided not to keep Peter waiting too long. She’d completed each task on his list, as a good houseguest should. Or whatever she was.

She found him leaning back against the wall in the darkened hallway, hands in his pockets, musing quietly. He turned to look at her with a much calmer mood. Both of them cooled off from their earlier spat, but an awkwardness remained. An elephant in the room neither of them wanted to address.

“C’mere,” Peter beckoned, jerking his head down the hall. “I wanna show you something.” He turned and approached a flight of stairs, descending it. She had no other option but to follow.

They reached the main level of the residence where she took in the sight of an open-floor living room and kitchen surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. Though it was night, this was the most well-lit area she had seen. It was spotless, and carried the same modern, refined-industrial aesthetic that she saw in the bathroom.

She recognized the lanky teenager on the couch, sitting with arms crossed, head bobbing to music blaring out of over-the-ear headphones. Miles sat quietly in his own world, brow furrowed, as he focused on the beat of the music.

Tapping away at her smartphone, the silver-haired woman from the car ride paced idly. She was even more gorgeous in person. Peter approached her, hands in his pockets, and nodded in Miles’ direction.

“What, is it time for a siesta?” Peter muttered disapprovingly.

The woman gave him a go-to-hell look. “Lay off, will ya? You know how he gets.”

“We need to keep our eyes open,” Peter responded grimly. “That means on alert, Felicia.”

“Jesus Christ, Parker,” she groaned with a petulant sigh. “Seriously?” The woman, Felicia, looked up incredulously at their houseguest, then back to her boss. “What happened to discretion? You wanna give her my social security number, too?”

“Where’s O’Hara?” Peter replied.

She rolled her eyes, dropping her arms. “Fuck it, then. In the basement with Brock. That’s Eddie Brock, if anyone here is taking notes for the FBI.” She turned, minding her phone again. “If you need me, I’ll be keepin’ my eyes open, with your credit card, waiting for the Postmates guy to deliver your lady friend a new wardrobe.”

Peter rolled his eyes with a light scoff.

“And just for that, I’m buying myself my Christmas present from Fendi,” she called back, a deadpan tone. “Thanks, Boss. You really shouldn’t have.”

Peter glanced over at his Honey, who was curiously watching the familial interaction in silence. He jerked his chin again, approaching a metal door frame near the foyer. “This way.”

He tapped a button on the wall, calling up an elevator. She shuffled uncomfortably on her bare feet, but then followed him into the tiny space. They stood together in silence as the elevator descended.

Once it opened, they were in a dark, dingy, brick-laid fortress, a stark contrast from the exquisite rooms above. He stepped out of the elevator, and hesitantly, she followed, wishing she’d put on her boots.

The space felt claustrophobic, littered with dust-covered junk. Mostly paper boxes. There was a table with an old computer that looked at least 30 years old, surrounded by glass beakers and antiquated lab equipment. She spotted a retro green chalkboard on castors, half-shrouded in a tarp.

As much distance as she wanted to put between herself and Peter, she also crowded at his back. She felt cobwebs brushing her ankles, and the sensation made her want to fold herself up like origami.

They turned a corner and she froze. Mouth agape with horror.

Bound and gagged in the middle of the basement was Katz. The man looked rough. Barely conscious. His face was bruised, bloodied, and jagged, the bones having been broken and rearranged. On either side, Miguel and another thick mass of man—Eddie Brock for anyone taking notes for the FBI—stood by. She watched Eddie anxiously as he wiped his hands with a blood-stained shop rag.

The sight of tortured man made her gag. Tears sprang to her eyes as she glanced away in terror.

“S’Okay,” Peter tutted, taking her by the shoulders and keeping her back to their tortured captive. She was grateful for that kindness, as it spared her the sight of the half-dead man.

“Remember I told you that you could trust me?” Peter asked, tilting his head towards her. She was gasping. Sucked in air, like a fish out of water. “Honey, look at me.”

Her stomach quaked and she worried that she’d vomit. Despite this, she looked up at him. Once he had her attention, he went on.

“This man works for somebody very dangerous,” he explained slowly. “He had direct orders to kidnap you and take you to one of his places. A mechanic’s shop near the docks on the Lower East Side that he uses for business. Once they had you there, he and a bunch of his friends were supposed to hurt you.”

Her chest heaved violently, tears flooding her vision. She shook her head and tried looking away. Felt faint. Like she was going to pass out. Gently, Peter hooked his fingertips beneath her chin, bringing her gaze to his.

“They were ordered to take pictures,” he softly added, more gentle with his choice of words, “and send them to me.” A heartbroken sob escaped her lips and he winced, as if the sound alone caused him physical pain. “Listen, listen, listen,” he cooed, shushing her.

He dipped his head, leaning his forehead against hers. It was intimate. Too close for the relationship that they had, but at the same time, she was starving for it. The sensation of his warm skin against hers, the heat of his lungs ghosting on her face—they worked to ground her. She focused on what was happening and not what could have happened.

“I never got any pictures,” Peter explained tenderly. “He says they never got that far.” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her chin quivering. She leaned into the touch of his thumb gently stroking her jaw. When she could open her eyes again, she found his. His cocoa orbs gazing down at her compassionately.

“Remember what I said about lies?” he asked with a kind voice. “Remember I asked you never to lie to me?”

Another quiet sob whimpered out. She nodded her head.

“Tell me the truth now, Honey,” he said. He lifted his forehead, gazing into her soul. “Is that the man that hit you?”

She shuddered at the memory. Terror gripping her. Heart pounding.

“Words, Honey,” he tutted gently. “I need you to say it. Tell me the truth.”

“Yes,” she whimpered in reply. She brought her hands up to cover her face, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“Good girl,” he answered. “You don’t need to hide.”

The tears kept coming. “I can’t.... I can’t—”

“S’okay, we’re almost done,” he cooed, bringing a hand up to stroke her hair. “Now this part’s really important. I want you to think. I don’t want you to be afraid. Just think.”

She cried even harder. Her body swayed. She felt like a lone tree being pummeled by a hurricane. As much as she wanted to collapse, he held her upright. “Please,” she begged, but she wasn’t sure what for. “I don’t want... I can’t...”

He wrapped his hands around her cheeks, his fingers reaching around her head. “Just look at me, Honey,” he replied.

Sniffing hard, she complied. He looked at her with an expression she couldn’t decode. It was a blend of anger, sadness, and pain all at once. He swallowed hard, as if he was trying to steady himself.

“Tell me the truth,” he said with a voice void of its own breath. “Did this man, or any of the other men, hurt you?” She shook her head rapidly. “Did they touch you?”

“No,” she sobbed.

“Don’t lie—”

“No!” she shouted desperately.

He exhaled slowly, letting out a breath he’d been holding. “Good,” he nodded, seeming to relax. His hands rubbed her arms, taking extra care around her shoulders. “That’s good.”

“Boss,” a voice called from behind them. She looked beyond Peter to see Miles standing anxiously near the elevator entrance. He wore a hollow expression. Breathed through his mouth only. “You think she could use some sleep?”

Peter gazed at the younger man, a mixture of grief and gratitude. “Yeah,” he nodded, blinking away tears that had begun to form at his lashes. “That’s a good idea. Take her upstairs, wouldya?”

Miles nodded once, and stepped forward. Hesitantly, Peter let go. Honey shot out of his arms like a spooked cat, clinging to Miles’ chest and burying her face there. Vicious sobs racked through her body. Miles placed a hand on her back and led her back out of the basement.

Peter watched her go sadly. Didn’t turn away until he heard the elevator doors close.

“So,” Eddie’s deep voice chimed in, fixing his grim blue-green eyes on Peter. “What now?”

Both Miguel and Eddie watched the tense curve of Peter’s shoulders. The balling of his fists.

“Hammer,” he replied, voice as dark as night. Peter turned and stalked toward the captive. He snatched a bloodied hammer off a workbench nearby. Eyes widening with fear, Katz began to jerk in his seat, pulling desperately on his restraints.

“You should be grateful, Nicky,” Peter sneered, acid in his voice. “This coulda gone another way.” He loomed over the captive, eyes blacker than oil, nostrils flaring. He gripped the handle so hard, it’s a wonder it didn’t snap in his hand.

“If I found out you were lyin’ to me,” Peter said, vengeance coating his voice, “I woulda gone for the pruning shears.”

Continue to Part 3

Back to Part 1.

A/N - Reblog to be tagged.

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deansapplepie · 10 months

Text

Inherited | Chapter 3

Summary: Daryl needs Y/N’s opinion about something, but what she has to say isn’t exactly what he wants to listen.

Warnings: mentions of animal abuse (or kind of). Minors do not Interact.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 1,995

A/N: English isn’t my first language so it can have mistakes.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Chapter 3:

Beautiful but treacherous

You were at your dad’s office, well… now you thought it would start to be yours. When you went to Administration College, you thought about having an excuse to come back and help your dad with the farm, but you never did. You worked as ADM on Aaron’s business instead. So now it was time for you to start taking care of everything. You took all the recent documents, the financial books and had everything spread or piled on the table.

Aaron and Eric went for a walk around the farm, to get to know everything while you were busy checking if everything was ok. Your hair was tied up on a ponytail and you frowned in concentration, when you heard a knock on the door. You looked up and Daryl was standing there, you waited for him to speak.

“Good ya’re looking at it, ‘cause I know nothing about it.” He said, walking inside the office hat on his hand.

“Guess, going to college wasn’t so useless. Don’t you think?” You smirked, he knew why you were saying this. “Can I help you, Dixon?”

“I wanna show ya somethin’ and discuss it.” He said after clearing his throat, he tried to be polite and make small talk before, but he should have seen it coming since you have been at each other throats since you arrived.

“Sure, what is it?” You asked him.

“Follow me to the stables.” He said, you got up and he took you in. “Ya better grab yer boots, bet ya dun want yer white sneakers dirty.”

You looked at your shoes and sighed in frustration going to your room to change for your boots. When you came back you followed him to the stables, your eyes roaming about the land and many memories floating around in your mind. When you got to the stables you remembered about how many times you helped your dad there, how you would come and help Daryl so you both could play faster. When you asked your father if you could go play with Daryl he always said “Help him to finish the chores and both of you can play.” These were memories that brought a smile to your face.

You’d just got to the farm for your first summer with your dad after him and your mom divorced. 9 year-old you couldn’t contain the excitement of being back home, with your dad and close to your friends. Your dad parked his old truck on the garage and you got off of the car running to find who you needed.

“I love you too sweetie.” Your dad shouted playfully, he had picked you up at Atlanta’s airport, you had hugged and talked a lot already.

You ran until you found Daryl brushing a mare’s fur. You shouted his name and he stopped everything to look at you, a small smile on his face. You wrapped your arms around him and gave him a tight hug. When you parted from the embrace, first thing you did was looking on his arm for the bracelet you gave him, it was there.

He looked at you eyeing your clothes, pink shoes, jeans and a shirt with unicorns and rainbows in it. “Why’re dressin’ like a girl?” He wasn’t used to you dressing like this. That wasn’t you.

“ ‘cause… I’m a girl?” You answered not understanding where your friend want to take this conversation.

“Ya dun dress this kind of girlie things, this isn’t ya.” He said and you didn’t know how to explain it for him. Sometimes you’d call to talk to him or Maggie, but you never said how things sucked at school.

“I have to. The other kids pick on me, so I have to wear this clothes.” You drawled, in your old school nobody would do this, everyone were the same way, but now it was completely different.

“Why don’t ya punch them?” He stated matter of factly.

“ ‘cause it’s wrong, and I’d have to punch the whole school.” You said. “Dun wanna talk more about it. I wanna have the best summer with ya and Mags!”

Daryl smiled, he was happy. He had missed you so much, there wasn’t a day where he and Maggie didn’t talk or thought about you. Everything reminded you. He really wanted to go to NY and kick the ass of everyone on your school, but he’d rather enjoy the little time that summer was with you.

“Are ya gonna come or are ya staying there smiling all goofy?” Daryl brought you back from your memories.

You were at the door of the stables and he was already in the middle of it, waiting for you. You shook your head sending all those thoughts away and following him inside. He stopped in front of a stall, there was a beautiful black horse and you couldn’t help but stare in awe at the beautiful animal.

“It’s beautiful.” You said, before you could think about anything.

“Beautiful but treacherous.” Daryl said bitterly.

“Is it… the horse?” You asked, by his tone you knew it was.

“Yeah.” He affirmed. He leaned on the stall and looked at you. “What d’ya want to do with it?”

“What do you mean?” He was the one in care of the animals, you knew how to do it, but it was his job.

“D’ya wanna sell it or sacrifice it?” He asked bluntly and your heart went directly to your throat, his words surprised you a lot. Your dad would never get rid of an animal just because he couldn’t tame it on the first time. Your dad taught you to love and respect the animals, you’d just take an animal’s life for 2 reasons: 1- you needed to eat. 2- It was suffering.

“Daryl…” you took a breath before saying what you were going to say, because it was also being difficult for you. “This options are not going to bring him back or make the pain go away.”

“So, you’d rather look at it everyday and remember it killed your daddy?” He wasn’t being reasonable, and you knew he could be like this when he was angry or sad or hurt.

“If… he haven’t died. If he had just fell from the horse… what would he do?” You knew the answer, but you wanted to make him think.

Silence.

“He’d find another way. He’d try another method.” You said. “And you know I’m right. You knew him.”

Silence. He gripped the stall with both hands, a heavy sigh leaving him. You knew it was destroying him. You got closer to him and slowly and carefully put one hand on his shoulder. “We don’t need to find a guilty. It was an accident. He wouldn’t like to see you like…” ‘this’ you would say. But he took your hand off him and by his looks you swear he hated you.

“Ya know shit about what he’d like! Ya didn’t even come here on family holidays! Ya have no right to say what he’d like or not.” He shouted at you and left the stable cursing and stomping his feat. He knew you were right, and he could see that you were still as sweet as you used to be before, but it didn’t change what you did and what you said.

You stayed there paralyzed, you were just trying to help. You just wanted to remember him what your father would want and that it wasn’t it that would make the grief go away. You knew it would never stop, many people that had already lost their parents told you it was a pain that you’d never forget, you just get used to it and learn how to live with it. But you shouldn’t have known it was going to be like this, he didn’t want to discuss feelings with you, he just wanted business. That was what you were now, business partners and he wanted you to make a decision about the horse, together. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings, but suggesting selling or killing the horse… that was exactly what he was doing. So many years and he’s still didn’t know how to manage his feelings.

Later that day, you called Aaron and Eric to the office, so you could talk with them. They were leaving the next day and you couldn’t let Aaron go without knowing what you were about to do.

“I’m not going back to NY.” You said, it was better to say it quickly than to take much longer.

“You aren’t just resigning, are you?” He asked, how he would find someone that he trusted to help him administer his business.

“Yes, I am.” You said feeling a little guilty. “I need to stay, that was what I was supposed to do since the beginning.”

“Can’t you continue to work for me from distance? I mean, we can do everything online nowadays.” He insisted. “I’ll never find someone like you.”

“We can try, but if I feel it’s too much…”

“Ok, we can try to work like this. If it works, it is an extra money for you. If it doesn’t… I may have to kidnap you.” He said, joking in the end to try to lighten the mood.

“Deal.” You said and extended your hand so he could shake it, and he did.

When the night arrived and everybody went to sleep, you didn’t feel like going to bed. So you headed outside, the cold breeze of the night hitting your face. You thought it would be good to watch the stars from outside instead of from your room like you did the night before. You walked to your spot, you could watch the stars from anywhere, but you felt it was wrong if you didn’t do it from the same place you used to.

Getting close to it, you saw his frame there. So you were not wrong the day before, he was the one there. Today, once again he smoked his cigarette while observing the sky. He listened to you arriving, you were silent, but he had a good hearing from years getting into the woods and hunting to feed his family. You sat on the fence, a little distant from him. He let some smoke come out of his mouth and turned to you, you were staring. Damnit, you were caught.

“Didn’t want to watch it from your window again?” He asked taking his cigar to his mouth. So he had seen you…

“It isn’t as good as here.” You answered looking to the sky again and trying hard to not look at him. “Thought you’d stop doing it…”

“I tried. It seems like this shit is as addicting as my cigar.” Why did he started to make small talk with you again? He couldn’t understand his own actions. He was angry at you, with all your smartness and sweetness acting like you knew everything and you were always right. But he couldn’t stop himself from talking any shit with you, he wished he had come up with an offense but he was not in the mood to fight. Yes, the days Daryl Dixon wasn’t in the mood to fight existed.

The last thing you imagined was that you were going to be stuck in the farm with him, having to be polite and talk. The thing was, you couldn’t even make a conversation without being pricks to each other.

You didn’t know what to do or what to say, so you just kept you attention to the sky.

Wanna be add to my tag list? Let me know. (Please tell me if you want to be tagged on everything or just specific series)

Everything Taglist: @lilyevanstan1325

Inherited Taglist: @angelbunny222

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl x you #daryl dixon fanfic #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl #inherited twd au #deansapplepie

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final-girl96 · 11 months

Text

Broken World: Chapter Three

Atlanta 2010

I sat at my desk filling out the paperwork for the arrest we just made on Troy Kinney, a man who killed three women in the span of a month. He wasn't smart about it either. Left evidence all over the crime scenes. He wasn't hard to find either. "Stone!" I turned my head to see the Lieutenant walking towards my desk. I stood up as he approached. "Lieutenant."

"I need you to go to 345 Chestnut Street. There is a man who killed his wife and apparently ate part of her too before trying to attack the neighbor. Take Peterson with you." I gave him a confused look, not sure I heard him right. "I'm sorry, did you say he ate part of her?" I asked. He nodded his head with a sigh. "Yeah. Neighbor said he heard the wife screaming for help while out on a walk, tried to help only to be attacked himself, bitten actually, before getting away and locking himself in the house, checked the man's wife for a pulse but found none and called 911."

"There seems to be a lot of reports of people attacking others and biting them," I said. "Yeah, I don't know if it's some new drug or what, but we gotta get it off the streets, whatever it is." I nodded and pushed my chair in. "Peterson, you're with me!" I called out. Peterson was new, transferred from New York PD, and he's supposedly one of the best they had. I'll be the judge of that, I guess. He came over to me, a smile on his stupid, handsomely face.

I grabbed my stuff off my desk and started walking for the door. We headed out of the other department and headed for the garage where the cars were parked. "So, am I driving, or are you?" I walked up to my car and opened the driver's side door. "You it is," Peterson said and got in. "Do I get to know what we're heading into?" He asked.

"Man killed his wife; are part of her before attacking the neighbor." I looked over at him to see his green eyes staring at me in shock. "Ate part of her?" I nodded my head, "yeah, and bit the neighbor." I started the car and pulled out of the parking garage, onto the busy city streets, and towards the highway. "There's been a lot of that; people attacking people, biting them."

I hummed as a reply, looking up at the light, waiting for it to turn green. "We never had anything like this in New York. Well, I mean we had some fucked up shit, but eating someone…yeah, nope. At least not while I was there." I took a deep breath and started driving again. I was not used to having a partner; I work better alone. So, have you lived in Atlanta your whole life?"

"No." I mumbled, pulling onto the highway. "Where are you from?" He asked. "A small town hours from here," I said. I hate small talk, and he keeps asking questions. "Why'd you move to the city?" I shrugged, "because I wanted out. Nobody ever gets out of a small town like mine. Stop asking questions." He mumbled a sorry, and the rest of the ride was silent. When we pulled up to the house, there were already police and ambulance and the coroner outside the house.

The crime scene wasn't like anything I've seen before. The poor woman was ripped apart, a gaping hole where her stomach should have been, and her throat was ripped out as well. Peterson ran out as soon as he saw the scene, I could hear him gagging and heaving outside. The floor under the woman was covered in dried blood. I walked outside and up to the man who had found her.

He sat in the back of an ambulance, getting the bite mark his neighbor had given him cleaned by one of the medics. I asked him to tell me exactly what happened and if he saw which way the suspect went. He told me exactly what I was told at the office and that he wasn't sure where the husband went.

After we got back to the precinct, I started writing up the report and going over everything. The chatter of other detectives and officers grew louder and louder until someone yelled to shut everyone up. The tv was on the news, as it always was. A news report, a thin woman with long blonde hair, bright green eyes, stood in the street with a scene going on behind her.

Police cars, officers, medics, and ambulances blocked off the street behind her. A man lay on the ground, blood pooled under his body while another man slowly stumbled to his feet. Blood covered his hands all the way up his forearms and covered his face. Officers shouted at him to stand down, their guns pointed at him. The news reporter repaid the events that unfolded behind her. When the man didn't get on his knees with his hand behind his head and just kept coming, an officer fired his gun, hitting him in the shoulder.

That didn't stop the man, though. It only jerked him back a couple of steps before he kept stumbling towards the line of officers. Another shout for him to stop and get on the ground came before a gunshot rang out, and another and another. No matter how many times they shot at him, he didn't stop coming until one bullet found itself flying through the man's forehead and out the back of his skull. Only then did the man stop, dropping to the ground.

Screams from the patrons standing around watching the scene screamed and shouted. Until the second man, who was believed to be dead, rose to his feet slowly, shuffling his feet towards a woman standing too close and biting into her throat. Her shrill scream pierced the air while two men tried to pull the attacker away from her. Medics rushed towards her to help.

Then things took a turn for the worst when another man came stumbling out of the alley, attacking the cameraman. The tv screen went blank before the faces of the new reports in the studio filled the screen. Nobody said a thing, too shocked at what happened, and the audio that was still coming through from the field report. Screams filled the studio while someone tried to cut it off. "What the fuck is happening?" I whispered. The department was in complete and total shock and silence. We were in for a hell of a ride.

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swiss-mrs · 8 months

Text

Chapter Two: Rebel Tour

Life Eternal Series

eddie munson x rockstar!poc!reader

Chapter Warning: Unnamed OC/Reader's saphic and runaway backstory is delve into.

*Masterlist, Series Warnings, Additional Series/Reader Info, and Posting Schedule.*

Word Count: 3.5K

It’s been 2 months since the band’s stop in Indiana. You’ve called Eddie from every Hotel and Motel you’ve stopped in. Each call lasted no less than an hour. It never seemed like you ran out of things to say. Whether it was updates on your tour, or updates on his dreaded job search, you guys always had something to say to each other.

Your stop in Nashville was how you found out about his first guitar, an acoustic Wayne found at a garage sale for $15. Your stop in Atlanta was when you told him about your first performance, a middle school talent show. You were so nervous that you forgot the lyrics to the song you were performing. You can’t listen to Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” the same anymore.

Your stop in Houston was when he shared his first crush, a cheerleader he met in middle school, and when you found out that it took him three tries to graduate. Dallas was where you shared that you dropped out in your freshman year. “I ended up getting my GED once the band had enough money to get comfortable.”

Denver is when you told him about your heart breaker phase as a teenager. “Well, that’s not hard to believe.” He would smile into the phone.

“Yeah, had all the curious chicks crawling to my door.” You’d tease back.

Phoenix was mainly spent talking about the vibe you were going for in the band’s next album. “I want to tell a story, you know? We’re two albums in, now, and I feel like it’s time to come out with something that embodies this current era of my life. I want to listen back on this album in 5 years and know exactly what I was thinking, what I was feeling, hell, what I was eating in these very moments.”

L.A. and Sacramento were spent bouncing off ideas for the next album, coming up with concepts, even sharing quick, off-the-dome lyrics.

Your current stop is Seattle. You were posted up in Washington for a few days. All the band’s family and friends were here, so a point was made to allow time to visit loved ones. Earlier this day, you were able to see Mr and Mrs. Hemming, Marley’s parents. They were always such a loving, open-minded couple. They were the ones who took you in all those years ago. They were big hippies back in the day, huge Hendrix fans, so they never judged you and always made you feel welcome, like you belonged. They were the closest thing you had to a family, a home.

It’s been a good three days since you last talked to Eddie. You've yet to make the call from your Washington hotel room. Most of your time here was spent in bittersweet sentiment. You got to see people who cared and supported you, old faces, but it also brought back lots of unwelcome memories. Right now, you were huddled up in your lonely hotel room. It was fancy, basically a luxury one bedroom apartment. The tour budget had extra money for a nicer room since you were the only one needing to be housed on this stop.

You were laid out on the bed, the TV playing some random sitcom on low volume as background noise. You had been laying like this for at least an hour, staring into the void that is the golden lined ceiling. You let out a big sigh, and prop yourself up on your elbows. You glare at the TV, before caving in and grabbing the corded phone on the nightstand just left of you. You have his number memorized by now.

“Hello?” a raspy voice says.

“Eddie?” you ask a little confused.

“Superstar,” he says a bit more enthusiastically but still a bit groggy, “what’s up? Everything okay? How’s Seattle?” He asks, you can hear some shuffling around in the background. This is the point when you look over to the clock on the bedside table to your right. Your eyes widen.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was.” It was midnight, 3AM his time. He chuckles.

“And here I am thinking you just wanted to hear my sexy morning voice.” He teases. For the first time ever, you are so glad you weren’t seeing each other in person. Your face burned. “What’s got you up so late? Were you out partying like an animal?” He asks sarcastically. You scoff.

“Yeah, partying like the world’s ending.” You reply, equally sarcastic. “I’m sorry,” you apologize earnestly, “I just wanted to talk with you, but I should’ve looked at the time before calling. I’ll let you go back to bed. Sorry.” You say, almost hanging up.

“Woah there. Hold on, now. I was just taking a little nap.” He lies, “I’m up. Let’s talk.” He says, more shuffling could be heard, probably him sitting up. “What’s on your mind, princess?” He ask, making your heart jump. You honestly don’t have much energy to tease him over the pet name. You sigh.

“Well, being back here, it's just,” you pause, “It’s bringing back a lot of memories, a lot of emotions I thought I left behind. In all honesty, I’m struggling here a little, Eds.” You admit, a bit shaky. There’s a short pause on his end.

“You want to tell me about it?” He asks gently. You pause, thinking.

“I don’t know. I don’t wanna bore you back to sleep.” You joke, deflecting.

“I’m listening.” He says without missing a beat, stern yet comforting. You sign and lay back down on your back, staring up at the ceiling again. For a few breaths, all that could be heard was staged laughter and shitty sitcom jokes from the TV.

“I’m not originally from Haven.” you start. “Growing up, I bounced around a lot. Home to home, state to state, until I eventually went out completely on my own and just kind of landed in Haven when I was 15… When I got there, I spent an entire year by myself. I found this small, abandoned neighborhood on the outskirts of town. It was overgrown and pretty hidden, perfect for a runaway. I lived in the one house that still had most of its furniture and the least pests issues.” You chuckle. “I was getting so used to being by myself until one day I ran into this kid, this little girl with curly hair down to her knees. She didn’t look older than 12 years old, but she had flashy, bedazzled makeup and the cutest little sundress on.” You reminisce on the memory with a smile. “She was riding her bike around her trailer park and stopped when she saw me passing by. Told me her name was Marley, like Bob Marley. Said that her parents told her to always help someone who was in need, and told me that I looked like I needed a friend.” You laugh, hearing her childish voice clear as day in your mind. “Who knew that in that moment, my life would change forever. She would go on to introduce me to her parents, two hippies straight out the 70s, and her neighbor, this dark haired nerdy kid with glasses.” You couldn’t see it, but Eddie was smiling at your recounting of some sweet memories. “Charlie was so short back then. We’re the same age, but he didn’t even look older than Marley at that time. The little dweeb didn’t really hit puberty till we were 17.” You pause, smiling at the past. “Adam joined in after that, being somewhat of Charlie’s mentor and protector during the dork’s freshman year. We met Stacy when she was babysitting one of the other kids in the park. Adam had a crush on her from the start, but he was too shy. She knew, but she was playing hard to get.” You roll your eyes. “Somehow Rick weaseled his way to befriending Charlie, and the rest is history.” You pause, loads of memories of how far you’ve all come flashing in your mind all at once. You shake your head. “These are the memories I never want to forget. We built a family, you know? It's crazy to think about it. They’ve all been so important to me for so long that I forget I had a life before them.” You close your eyes.

“That’s beautiful, hun.” He says, sighing into the receiver.

“Yeah.” you say with a short laugh.

“But that’s not why you called me.” He says softly, knowing you have more to get off your chest.

“Yeah…” you trail.

“I’m here.” He says, trying to comfort best he could over the phone. You take a deep breath.

“Yeah,” you start back up, “good memories are not what I’m struggling with.” You clench your jaw, furrowing your brows in frustration. “Everything was going great after I met the band. We even became a damn near town legend. The satanic teens living out in the ghost town in the woods.” you state dramatically and laugh. “Everything was great, best I ever thought my life would get, until it got better.” A sad smile creeps into your face. “We used to hold ‘concerts’, if you could call them that, out in the woods. We called them ‘seances’, really leaning into the whole antichrist thing we had going on. We did it for three years. Some times we’d perform, other times we just threw parties. One day, Summer of ‘97, we were throwing an ‘End of Summer’ party. I met this girl.” you pause. “She was gorgeous. She had curly, blonde hair, big brown eyes, and this big, bucked tooth smile that lit up the world.” You smile the entire way, thinking back fondly, “She was so short and skinny and innocent looking. You would’ve never guessed she had such a powerful singing voice. She was perfect.” You sigh. “She was a theater kid with a dad who worked for this music production agency based in Seattle. She was insanely smart, and you could tell just by looking at her that she was really going places. That’s what really made her stand out from the hundred other kids there. She wore this oversized, black leather jacket, light wash jeans, and a hot pink top." Your eyes dance around the ceiling as you remember the details of that night. “Me being me. I toyed with her my entire performance. I was desperate to get her to notice me, but I wanted to play it off like she was just another pretty face in the crowd. I was really driving that heartbreaker thing I was going with.” You laugh. “I don’t know how, but my little facade worked. Turns out she had a little sister around Marley’s age, Peyton. Man, that little girl was a riot. She matched Marley’s wild energy perfectly… Somehow the stars aligned for my ratty ass, and I got the girl, against all odds.” you chuckle dryly. Your eyes begin to sadden as you pause, running through the end of that story. “I just… couldn’t keep her…” You feel your eyes begin to burn and your nose tickle. You huff a humorless laugh from your nose, shaking your head, frowning.

“You alright, hun?” Eddie breaks your silence. You breathe in sharply, getting your bad thoughts and pushing them aside.

“Yeah, I just… hm…” you sigh, trying to gather yourself. “Mariana.” You pause again, a name once so familiar, now almost feeling foreign on your tongue. “That was her name… She was someone I thought was going to be my forever person, you know… But things change. People. People… change. I was young and naive. I should’ve known better than anyone that things too good to be true don’t last, at least not for me. I feel so incredibly lucky I’ve even made it this far with the amazing people I have.”

“It’s not luck.” He interjects. “It’s talent. You deserve it.” He brings back, “Remember, that’s what you said to me when we first met.” he pauses, “People… People like us? We don’t get by on luck. We get by because we work for what we deserve. Sometimes, when we get what we’ve been aiming for, it doesn’t feel deserved. It feels like luck, but not this time. You are the reason for your success. You’ve earned it, babe. Don’t sell yourself short for that.” He speaks earnestly. You laugh.

“Maybe one day I’ll believe that, Eds. Things haven’t always been this high. I haven’t always done this well. I’ve fallen, Eddie, hard and flat on my face, and I’ve nearly fucked up everything for everyone else. I don’t know if I can confidently say I’m completely out of the pit, now, but I’m definitely not where I was. I’m glad you didn’t have to see me at my worst.” You confess. There’s a silence between you two. It doesn’t last long, but it lasts long enough for you to get nervous and doubt whether you should've said what you said.

“That don’t change my mind about you, kid.” Eddie’s voice rings through, determined. “You… I… You and I have more in common…” He sighs, trying to find the word. “Look, I get you. I see you. I hear you, and I will never judge you.” He says truthfully. “I’m here for you, always and forever. I hope you understand that.” You smile sadly. “I will always be there. I’m here to support your right and wrongs.” He jokes, bringing a small laugh out of you. “And I promise to be here for you whenever you need, whether that's a shoulder to cry on or an alibi.” He smiles through the phone.

“Oh my god, I didn’t kill anyone.” You interrupt, laughing.

“I’m just sayin’” He laughs back, “I got a shovel and a van whenever you need, babe.” You share a good laugh.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You continue as the laughter dies down, “Thank you, Eddie… really.” You pour out, hoping your sincerity and gratitude come through the phone clearly. He lets ou a soft chuckle.

“I gotchu.” He yawns out, causing you to yawn as well. He chuckles, “I think you should get some rest, superstar.” He says gently. You turn to look at the clock again, its passed 1AM. You sigh.

“Probably.” you yawn again. “I love talking with you, Eddie.” He smiles on the other end of the call.

“Me too. I was starting to get a little nervous there. Haven’t heard from you in a couple days.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. As soon as we got here, we performed, then after that, I went around with the band and saw old friends. Today was the first day I had to myself and it was really getting me down. Sorry, again, to call and wake you with blues.” You pout, he chuckles tiredly.

“No problem. I’m glad you called. Will you be there for much longer?”

“Well, this is our last stop on the tour. Final show is tomorrow… or tonight.” you correct. Eddie scoffs.

“You really need to rest then-”

“Yeah, I know. I know.” You cut in. “Hey, are you gonna be busy in three weeks?” There’s a pause.

“Uh… I don’t think so…?”

“Good, come out to New York to visit me. We can do some proper song writing, finally.”

“Oh, um, I don’t know about that, sweetheart.” He says. Your brows furrow. “I mean, I’m still job hunting and, you know, I gotta help Wayne out as best as I can, and I don’t know if I can make that trip happen.” He stumbles awkwardly.

“Nonsense. Just keep your schedule free, I gotchu.” You say, mimicking his words from earlier. You can’t see it, but his sleepy brain is struggling to pick up what you're putting down. “Get back to sleep, rockstar. I’ll talk to you later, alright?” Right on queue, he yawns. “Stop that!” you yawn back. He laughs.

“Alright, alright. Talk later.” He says with a smile.

“Bye, Eddie.”

“Bye, Superstar.”

》》》

Three days pass after your last conversation with Eddie. You had given Eddie a call the morning after your final show before you left your hotel. “Tour’s finally over! I’m flying back out to New York this afternoon.” You would tell him. You would talk for the entire morning until you received a knock on your door to let you know that the car was there to take you to the airport. You promised to call him when you got settled back home.

“You got mail, Ed!” Wayne called out to him from the living room. Eddie hops up from his desk and out of the stiff chair.

“Coming!” He swings open his door and walks down the hall to find Wayne in the kitchen sorting through envelopes.

“From someone named ‘Superstar’?” He says as Eddie grabs the envelope off the counter.

“Thanks, old man.” Eddie grins widely and walks to the living room, plopping down on the squeaky couch. He rips the envelope open with his dull pocket knife, flipping the envelope over and pulling out its contents. He stills in shock.

“Everything alright?” Wayne pipes up, realizing Eddie freezes. He holds up two plane tickets with his name on them and a thick paper check addressed to ‘Wayne Munson’. Wayne’s brows crease, enhancing the wrinkles on his forehead. “What’s that?”

“I gotta make a call.” Eddie says abruptly. He hops up off the couch and runs to his bedroom, half closing the door just as he picks up the phone, he pauses. “Shit!” He says as he realizes you’ve never called him from your house before. He doesn’t have your number. “Shit!”

“What?!” Wayne yells from the kitchen.

“Nothing-” he’s cut off by a ring. Eddie puts the headset down and picks it back up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Rockstar.” Your voice comes through the line. He yells your name. “What? You get your mail, finally?” He yells your name again, causing you to laugh.

“You couldn’t possibly be serious right now!” He yells into the headset, looking down at the mail in his hands.

“Don’t be mad, but I couldn’t just stand by as you and your uncle struggle. Plus, you promised to help me write this album. No take backsies.” Eddie is speechless, yet again. He says your name a bit softer this time.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, just don’t miss your flight, pretty boy.” You say, smile evident in your worlds. He chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head.

“It’s already paid for. There’s no going back.” he said.

“Exactly.” You respond.

“Thank you, truly. I can’t thank you enough.”

“No need. I’m here for you just as you are here for me. I’m just grateful to be in a position where I can finally give back to those who give to me.” You say truthfully with a smile. Your smile is contagious through the phone, Eddie’s face breaks out in a huge smile. Wayne leans back curiously to get a glimpse at Eddie down the hall and through his cracked door. He gives Eddie a confused look. Eddie gave him an ‘okay’ sign with a big smile. Wayne nods, leaning back up and busying himself in the kitchen.

“You know, you’re too good to me, princess.” He chuckles. You giggle, blushing on the other end of the line. Eddie can almost see it.

“See you soon, pretty boy.” Eddie’s bright smile grows impossibly wider, hurting his cheeks.

“See you soon.” You both hang up at the same time. As soon as the phone is down, he jumps up and down like a madman, nearly hitting his head on the low ceilings in his room. He runs out of his room, startling his uncle at the burst of energy. Eddie hugs the older man in a big bear hug, grabbing his balding head and plants a kiss on the top of it. Wayne, completely bewildered, looks at Eddie like he’s grown two heads.

“Boy, what is going on?” He asks suspiciously. Eddie holds up the tickets and check for Wayne to get a good look at them. Wayne furrows his brows as he reads what's on the pieces of paper.

“I can’t accept this, Ed.”

“Listen, the angel who sent this to us is more stubborn than me, so you’ll have an easier time just taking the check and using it to pay those.” he points to the growing stack of overdue bills. Wayne looks back at the envelopes adorned with red writing. He sighs, giving in. Eddie hands him the check.

“If she’s as stubborn as you say, good luck.” He takes the check from Eddie’s hand and grabs his coat and keys, “I’ll be back.” He says before heading out. Eddie watches him leave through the screen door. As soon as he’s driven away, Eddie starts jumping up and down again, letting out a gleeful cheer.

“Thank you.” He says, giving a kiss to the plane tickets.

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