#eric a quiet place x you

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ LOVE AND MERCY !

summary: you're more stubborn than the apocalypse. eric is the personification of a sad, wet dog. your world's collide when the world as you know it ends. (6.3k)

pairing: eric (a quiet place day one) / f!reader

contents: strangers to friends to lovers, a couple of losers in love, apocalyptic setting, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of grief and anxiety, brief mentions of injuries, and smut 18+

You wake up that morning in a bed that is not yours, in a room that does not belong to you, in an abandoned cabin you turned into a safe house three weeks ago.

Everything around you is foreign. Including the world outside these rotted walls, which turned entirely on its head in a blink. A blink that somehow turned into three months gone.

The only thing familiar to you now is the stranger lying in the bed beside you — on the right side that he has wordlessly claimed as his own. Before Eric was a guy you shared beds with, he was a guy you found in the rain. A boy with big, wet, puppy dog eyes who followed you like a stray after the world fell.

That was all he was to you for a month straight. A burden. Deadweight. An ever-anxious being that had nearly gotten you killed more times than you could count. You never saw him any differently until you almost died — a certain death involving you, an old beartrap, several aliens with uber-sensitive hearing, and a stupid boy who was too dumb to leave you behind. 

“I can’t leave you,” Eric blubbered through tears, whimpering in faint whispers so the blind monsters wouldn’t hear. “I won’t.”

“Then you won’t make it at all, you idiot,” you spat through gritted teeth, eyes wide and stern and glittering. You wouldn’t let yourself cry, not even with your leg all but torn to shreds, but Eric’s sudden stubbornness scared you. Why now? Of all times? you thought to yourself, Why does he have to be so stubborn now?

“I wouldn’t want to,” Eric promised, bloodied hands trembling where they gripped your arms. “I wouldn’t want to make it without you.”

That was a month or so ago, but you carry the horrors of that day still. 

In the vivid nightmares that rattle your bones. In the marred skin of your ankle, hidden beneath bandages, slowly healing with each passing day. And in the strange boy with puppy dog eyes who still hasn’t left your side.

Let me check your leg, Eric scribbles on a notepad. 

His handwriting is slanted and small and hardly legible — fitting for a man whose mind is always racing faster than he can keep up. 

The marker is fading slowly, too, dying from excessive use because the majority of your conversations are spoken through written words on a page. You’ve gone through a notebook or three already.

You snatch the notepad from his grip to write a response of your own. Eric peels the tattered blanket from your body to survey the gauze around your ankle. He peeks beneath the bandage, and his chest pinches at the sight — not because of his sensitive stomach, but because of the harsh reminder of the day he almost lost you.

The paper swishes faintly when you turn the notebook back to him. Okay, Dr. Eric :P, you’ve written in sloppy cursive. The boy grins at the mischievous look in your eyes.

“That’s Doctor Eric Esquire to you,” he corrects in a whisper that makes his accent sound more posh than usual. He smooths the gauze back into place with a gentle hand and says, “You’re healing fine, I think. I’ll have to go out and scavenge for more bandages soon, but these should last for another…”

The sounds of your rapid scribbling fill the quiet cabin. Eric trails off in wait, wide eyes darting from the marker in your hand to the pinched look of concentration on your face. 

He sees a strange sort of giddiness sparking in your otherwise serious features that makes him fearful. Intrigued, yes, but still distantly fearful. All your ideas tend to get him into trouble.

The notebook turns to him again. His stomach does a backflip.

Wanna go on an adventure?

“This is… Not what I was expecting,” Eric muses beneath the sounds of a rushing waterfall. 

His words echo slightly in the expanse of the dank cave. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice in full volume, deep and accented and smooth. His pretty whispering annoyed you to no end back when he was just a stranger with exactly zero survival instincts. Now, you never want him to stop talking.

“Well, that’s why it’s an adventure,” you lilt, wiping water from your brow with the neck of your t-shirt. 

Your clothes stick to you in places where the waterfall had splashed you on your way underneath it. The still air of the cave, strangely cool compared to the humid air outside of it, makes you fight back a shiver.

Eric eyes you from a distance, features swirled in a quiet concern. It’s impossible to relish in this little ounce of peace when you have the kind of mind he does — the kind of mind that’s always anxious and always filled with thoughts of you. 

He cares so much for you, far more than he planned to, that it’s made him chronically fearful. He’s grown to realize, since he met you, that the two words are rather synonymous. You can’t have love without fear — and what is there to be fearful for, if not for the ones you love?

“Your bandages really shouldn’t be getting wet, you know?”

You scoff and limp further into the damp hollow. The quiet sound of your steps reverberates within the stone walls, along with the subtle scuffing of your bad foot. “You said I was healing okay, remember?” you huff and drop the basket in your elbow onto the cobblestone.

“I said you were healing fine,” Eric chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s a difference.”

“Not really,” you shrug with a scrunched nose, flashing him a fleeting glance over your shoulder. You turn away again and wince at the distant ache in your ankle when you crouch. 

Sometimes the scars hurt like they’re still fresh, still weeping scarlet and throbbing like a new wound. Eric’s not a doctor, but he tells you that it’ll probably be that way forever. “Phantom pains, I think they call it,” he says in a posh accent that makes him sound more official than he really is. You’re inclined to believe him, anyway.

The boy watches as you sort through the wicker basket you stole — or borrowed, as you claim, “’cause it’s not like the owner’s coming back for it anytime soon.” It’s full of stuff you wouldn’t let him see, like it was some kind of big secret. 

He grimaces when you squat, putting unnecessary weight on a barely healing leg. He knows it hurts, even when you pretend it doesn’t — especially when you pretend it doesn’t. His chest pinches like the ache is his own. Like sympathy pains or something. He worries so much for you that you’ve given him fucking sympathy pains.

“We shouldn’t have left,” Eric agonizes, wiping a pair of anxious hands down his face. He swipes his fingers through his hair and finds the chestnut curls now partially damp. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. I mean, what if we have to run, huh? What if we have to—”

“We won’t,” you groan as you stand to full height again. You hold an old quilt in one arm and gesture wildly with the other. “That’s what the waterfall is for. They can’t hear us under here. Nothing’s coming.”

He knows you’re right, but it doesn’t worry him any less.

“How’d you even know this was out here?”

You falter for a moment. A mere blink of a second. But Eric catches it immediately because there isn’t anything about you he doesn’t instantly notice. He’s rarely ever seen you, his silver-tongued girl, so ambivalent. And something about it frightens him.

“I was… on a walk one day… while you were out scavenging—” you answer slowly, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal at all, though you immediately follow it with, “—Don’t get angry.”

Eric’s pink mouth falls softly agape, opening and closing like a fish’s might, while he tries to find the words to say. To shout. To scream. 

“Y-You... You— You left without me?” he stammers, voice booming. 

The words ring across the expanse of the shallow cave, bouncing off the damp stone walls. It’s the loudest he’s heard himself talk since the world ended, and the notion startles him. Like a dog just learning how to bark.

Eric’s breath hitches in his throat as his dark eyes widen in fear. He waits instinctively for the screeching of far-off monsters and their booming footsteps — prepares for an adrenaline rush that’ll give his weak arms the strength to carry both of you to safety.

It never comes. 

The sounds of the waterfall shield you from the war raging outside of it. 

When the panic passes, the anger resumes.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Eric agonizes, quieter now, though the corner of his lip twitches with withheld anger. 

You keep your back to the boy and lay out the contents of the wicker basket. A floral quilt to cushion the stone flooring, two bottles of wine to share between you, several bags of stale chips, and one MP3 player that’s somehow stronger than the end of the world. You pay Eric no mind as he continues to rant behind you.

“What if you’d gotten killed? What if— What if you got lost and I couldn’t find you—?!”

“Don’t shout!” you gripe despite your own booming voice. 

“Why not?” Eric questions with a cynical laugh. “I thought nothing could hear us under here?”

You spin back around to face him, grimacing slightly when your healing wounds start to burn. You tilt your chin in a look of defiance, though your eyes sparkle faintly in the dim natural light — something mischievous and strangely shy. 

“I don’t want you to shout because I put a lot of effort into this,” you answer in a steady voice, lips quirking in a distant smile. “And we can’t enjoy it if you’re gonna be grumpy the entire time.”

Eric blinks at you for several long moments, brown eyes wide like an owl. Only then does he notice what you’d set up for him in the brief minutes he’d been blinded by his anger. A picnic of sorts — fashioned with a moth-eaten quilt, dusty wine bottles, and snacks you’d scavenged and seemingly stashed like a squirrel. It’s about as fancy as you can get in an apocalypse.

His mouth opens and closes again, this time in a quiet sort of shock. “Wh… What?”

“Well, you kinda spent your entire birthday taking care of me, so… I figured we were past due for a celebration.”

Eric’s brows pinch together. A furrow of deep thought settles between them. 

He realizes he hadn’t thought twice about his birthday till now. Hadn’t thought twice about turning another year older, just like he hadn’t thought twice about needing to be repaid for taking care of you. He did both things without thinking. He can’t control his urge to dote on you like he can’t control the existential dread of getting older.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?”

“‘Cause you told me once,” you shrug. “And I keep track of the days in my calendar, so—”

“So, you’re saying that… That you did all this...” the man laughs, gesturing to the cave and the waterfall and the wine. “For me?”

A similar-sounding laugh sputters from your own mouth ‘cause you do it all for him. From going on stupid picnics to fighting monsters from another planet. Everything you’ve done up until this point, you realize now, you’ve done for Eric. You keep on living despite the unfavorable odds for Eric.

“Of course I did. It’s not that big of a deal,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest to shield your bleeding heart. “I mean, you kinda saved my life. The least I can do is take you on a stupid fucking picnic.”

When you turn around again to ease yourself onto the blanket, Eric tries to make out the words to thank you. Not just for what you’ve done here, but for what you’ve done all the days since he found you. Because you’ve saved his life too, more times than he could count, actually — ‘cause that’s just what you do. You save each other and don’t think twice about it because that’s what you do when you care for someone.

He forgot all about birthdays and picnics and what it meant to be alive before he found you. And now that you’re here, you spend every single day reminding him of everything the end of the world begs him to forget.

“I’m— I’m sorry… I’m sorry for shouting at you,” Eric stammers in a sheepish murmur, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I know,” you nod, smiling as you pat the spare spot beside you. “Now stop being weird and come sit down.”

The wine is warm, the chips are stale, and the quilt just barely cushions the hard ground beneath you — but everything’s still somehow perfect. Your MP3 player is almost as old as you are and cracked down the middle, but the music plays just perfectly from its headphones, anyway. 

Maybe it’s perfect ‘cause it’s not perfect. 

Or maybe it’s perfect because you’re here.

You sit side-by-side on the handmade blanket, legs crossed and knees brushing, as you share an earbud between you. Conversation ebbs and flows between snacking. Music fills the silence.

I was sittin’ in a crummy movie with my hands on my chin,

All the violence that occurs, seems like we never win...

Eric tips his head back to down the rest of the cheesy crumbs in the package he holds in a pale fist. His scruffy cheeks jut like a chipmunk as he chews through the mouthful. “I missed this, you know?” he mumbles.

You set the wine bottle beside you after taking a lengthy sip, licking the bitter-sweet grape from your lips. “What?” you wonder aloud. “The wine? The Cheetos? The music?”

The boy goes quiet as he ponders the question. He figures he was talking about you, mostly — this sort of connection between humans, this sort of comfort, this sort of normalcy. The music answers your question in his silence.

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

He nods anyway. “All of the above, actually…”

“You know what I miss?” you wonder beneath the rustling of the Scooby Snacks you dig your hand into. You chuck a cartoon bone into your mouth and find the graham-cracker components have gone soft with time. “I miss driving down backroads… going way faster than what’s probably allowed… with the windows down and the radio all the way up…”

Eric watches the far-off look in your eyes as you stare, unblinking, at the waterfall ahead of you. Clear water rushes from the mountain and falls hard onto the cobbles and the still water below. Rogue drops splatter inside the shallow cave, occasionally splashing you with fat droplets.

The running waterfall cast fleeting shadows over your face, littered now with faint scars. Your features are much softer than he’s used to in the natural light.

“I miss college parties,” he confesses, wiping his palms on his knees.

You wash the dry graham cracker out with another sip of wine and try not to laugh as you swallow it down.

“Why’s that funny?” Eric wonders through his own chuckle, only partially offended.

“I don’t know… I guess I just didn’t take you for a partier.”

“I wasn’t really…” he concedes with a shy shrug, gaze averted and cheeks pink. “But I was a really big fan of karaoke.”

“Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Eric humors with a scrunched nose.

You tilt your head back to laugh — a pretty, airy sound that echoes within the cobbled walls, only partially drowned out beneath the rushing waterfall. You shift closer toward him when you’re upright again, probably without realizing, but Eric notices. He can’t help but notice everything you do. And he can’t help but lean instinctively closer to you, too.

He can smell the natural scent of you beneath the various surrounding ones — of freshwater, pine, and whatever cologne was spritzed on your shirt before you found it. He can smell the sweet wine on your breath, too, and he quickly realizes that you’re close enough to kiss. If only he weren’t so chicken shit.

The proximity makes his cheeks flush, though you’re not nearly as fazed by it.

“I forgot what that felt like…” you muse in a quiet voice of disbelief.

Eric smiles so hard his eyes squint. “What?”

“I don’t know… just, like, happiness? I guess?” you laugh. “I used to think that was impossible before now.”

“Yeah… Me too.” 

The conversation lulls for a moment. The music playing in your ears takes over: 

—I was standing at a bar and watching all the people there…

All the loneliness in this world, well, it’s just not fair…

You cage your smile between your teeth in a feeble attempt to conceal how wide it’s grown. Your eyes are wide and sparkling, likely from the wine, as they flit between both of his darker ones. Eric exhales a breathy chuckle in response, all giddy and nervous for a reason he can’t name (probably from the wine, too, if he had to guess).

He feels himself leaning in to kiss you before he realizes it. He only catches himself when you pull unknowingly away, reaching again for the glass bottle at your side. His heart drops to his swirling stomach as his cheeks flare a deep pink.

“I’m glad you followed me like a creep for a week straight, you know that?” you confess with a teasing squint in your eyes as you bring the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

Eric scoffs at the memory, which feels like yesterday and ancient history all at once.

He was by himself when the world first fell — a stranger in a strange country, and the loneliest he’d ever been in his life. And, perhaps, the most scared, too. 

Then, all of a sudden, he sees this girl rush out of an alleyway and into a monster-infested street to save a dog from an otherwise unavoidable death. Eric watched from a distance as you returned the scared pup to its owners — a very young couple cowering behind a car, not that much older than you. 

You pointed them in the direction of a military base setting up camps for civilians then went the opposite way. Away from guaranteed protection. Like the safest hands were your own. 

Eric made the quick decision to follow you as you went. He figured if you were brave enough to save some dog that wasn’t yours, and stare death directly in the face while you did it, then you could do just about anything.

He didn’t know, then, that he was making the best decision he’d ever made in his life.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t pummel me in the face for following you like a creep.”

“I should’ve,” you quip. “But I liked your company too much, I guess…”

“Liked?” the boy parrots, laughing loudly at the turn of phrase. “Is this your way of saying you’re finally tired of me?”

You roll your eyes and hide your smirk behind the neck of the wine bottle. “Do you think I would’ve done all this shit if I wasn’t the least bit fond of you, Eric?”

The question is rhetorical, but you expect a lighthearted quip from the British boy anyway. Your words seem to settle something heavy on him, though. It’s the very first time you’ve admitted out loud, without a shred of sarcasm, how much you really care for him. 

Eric forgets to say anything at all. The cave fills with a loud silence. The steady drumming of the waterfall and the whisper of rustling trees. Strangely peaceful for the end of the world. 

“Wanna know something wild?” he asks you after a few long moments. His accent makes the words sound heavy on his tongue. Your brows raise to egg him on, and he continues, stumbling over himself in the process. “I’m… I’m not happy the world ended, but… I am— I am glad that it brought me you.”

Your breath catches. It’s the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you, you think. Way deeper than any measly ‘I love you.’ And how are you meant to respond to that? To his confession that the end of the world was worth finding you? There’s no string of words in the English language that could possibly compare to that.

Eric waits for your response with bated breath. He hopes for an affirmation of your similar affection, of course, but a rejection would be better than nothing at all. He blinks at you with hopeful chocolate eyes, then flinches away when you laugh.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, giggling, as you reach suddenly for his face.

You cradle his scruffy jaw between warm and gently calloused hands, pulling him into you with an admirable effortlessness. You kiss him like it’s natural to you — like he was never just a stranger — like you’ve spent entire lifetimes kissing him.

You take the breath from his lungs with little effort. Eric tips his head back and sighs when you swipe your tongue along his chapped bottom lip. The exhaled breath fans across your cupid’s bow, and you smile against his mouth as you clamor gracelessly into his lap — straddling his lean hips and pressing your beating heart to his. 

The earbuds fall carelessly to the ground, and the fading song plays muffedly from beside you:

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

Your mouths click when they part, a subtle sound beneath the drumming waterfall behind you. Your eyes are heavy and lidding as they fall to Eric’s kissed mouth — now a rosier shade, gently swollen, and shining with your spit. A stamp of ownership, almost, that makes your chest swell with pride.

Eric looks up at you with big, wet eyes as his hands fidget on either side of your waist. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages,” he confesses in a low murmur.

A small smile quirks faintly at the edges of your mouth. “Could you maybe say something that’s not super cliché?” you tease.

“How about… I really, really want to kiss you again?” Eric offers in a honeyed tone that makes his accent heavier. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “And that I… I wanna make you feel good?”

You cage your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile. Your fingertips are calloused and cold as they toy with the curls at the nape of his neck — tiny chestnut strands coiled in perfect ringlets. Eric fights back a shiver.

“Then I’d say that…” you begin with a mischievous lilt to your voice, wild eyes flitting from his pink lips to his watery eyes. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages.”

You part from him then, taking the warmth of your body with you as you sit on your knees across from him. The rugged ground is hardly cushioned by the thin quilt. You can vaguely feel small rocks digging into your skin, but your need for him is much louder. 

You cross your arms in front of yourself to swipe your t-shirt over your head. You toss the discarded fabric carelessly beside you, then work at the buttons of your jeans — also borrowed, and just a half-size too big for you. 

Eric watches with his heart in his throat. It’s the most naked you’ve ever been in front of him before. The sight of your bare skin, covered now only in the sports bra you’ve had since the world ended, makes his head swim. It takes him a moment too long to realize he should be undressing, too, and he rushes to catch up.

The two of you undress yourselves in relative silence. The sight is hardly as sexy as you’d expect — full of fumbling limbs far too eager to be graceful. Eric’s shirt gets stuck on his chin. Your jeans get caught at your ankle. The tense lull between you ebbs into a symphony of entwining giggles.

With your clothes scattered in abandoned piles, you lay back against the blanket. Eric settles on top of you with a strange sort of effortlessness — like it’s muscle memory to him, even though neither of you has done this for a long, long while — much less with each other. 

The weight of his body is warm and heavy over yours. You slide your hands under his arms and curl them over his freckled shoulders, digging your nails softly into his pale skin to pull him further into you. 

You watch with heavily lidded eyes as Eric brings his hand to his mouth. He slides his pointer and middle finger between his lips, wetting the pads of them with his tongue. You exhale a deep breath when the limbs come out again, glittering in the low light. 

He studies your features with a dark and unwavering stare as he slips his fingers between the lips of your pussy — tracing the velvety lips for a moment before easing them slowly inside. Your eyes flutter shut at the foreign feeling. Eric smiles to himself, wrist flexing, as he explores your silky cunt with his fingers. 

“Please fuck me,” you sigh when his palm bumps your swollen clit. Your head tips back as your hips buck upward, all but melting under his touch. “Please.”

It takes Eric a moment or more to formulate a response. You’ve never been so subservient like this before, so needy for him. This must be the eighth wonder of the world, he thinks to himself, as he continues to work you open with unworthy hands.

“Have to get you ready for me first,” he tells you, voice and low gritty, as he exhales a breathy chuckle that fans across your jaw. “Don’t wanna break you, honey.”

You manage a scoff in response. “Well, that’s very presumptuous of you— oh…”

Eric crooks his fingers until the tips of them brush a spongy depth inside you. Your mouth falls agape at the feeling, so foreignly full beneath him. His spit-slick lips curl into a lazy smirk. “That shut you up, didn’t it?”

You would’ve spit a snide remark back at him if his thumb hadn’t pressed so mercilessly to your delicate clit then. The words dissolve like dust on your tongue and escape only as a breathy moan. 

Eric continues his relentless pursuit with nothing but two of his fingers. Relentless, you think,because he’s hardly trying to make you cum now. You’re not sure if he’s just oblivious to how good he’s making you feel, or if he’s pushing you to the edge and jerking you back on purpose. It’s agony either way.

He only stops when his pointer and middle finger start to prune, the pads of them softly wrinkled from your honey. He wipes them off on the quilt like a total barbarian. You would’ve said something about that, too, if you weren’t still trying to catch your breath.

Eric rises to his knees. His bare chest, dusted with sparse hair over the sternum, rises and falls with uneven pants. His cock hangs heavy between his spread thighs — half-hard, glowing red, and leaking faintly at the tip. His wide hands are softer than your own as they smooth up and down the length of your thighs. His thumbs rub soothingly over the supple insides of them — with a touch almost as gentle as the melted chocolate gaze he looks at you with. 

“Are you alright?” he wonders, all quiet and suddenly shy, like you aren’t all but dripping for him now.

“You’re so annoying,” you gripe with a scoffed-out laugh, rolling your eyes because you’re certain he’s teasing you. Your stomach sinks when the genuine glimmer in his eyes doesn’t waver. You squirm beneath him and his unyielding gaze. “I’m okay, Eric,” you murmur sheepishly, never easily serious.

He nods to himself and swallows hard, still visibly unsure. It makes you wonder if he’s second-guessing. “Stop staring and kiss me, you asshole,” you grouse with a forced laugh, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

Eric’s mouth quirks in an absentminded smile. “Just let me look at you for a second…” he whispers, squeezing the outsides of your thighs with warm hands.

“We don’t have to whisper anymore, dummy,” you tease in a hushed tone of your own.

His grin widens until his eyes wrinkle at the edges and his tongue pokes softly through his teeth. He laughs despite himself and grips his heavy cock in his fist. “You’re so mean, you know that?” he asks, folding your knee back with his free hand. You’re not sure if he’s expecting a real response, but he slips into you before you can give him one.

He fucks into you slow — bitterly, painfully, and agonizingly slow — forcing you to feel every inch of him. His cock is of average length, but girthy enough to stretch you open. You’re suddenly grateful he thought to use his fingers on you despite your impatience, but the two of them alone hardly equate to how thick he is.

Both of you inhale sharply when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, neither exactly used to the feeling. Eric allows you a moment or more to adjust before sliding out again. You exhale softly together in entwining moans that get lost beneath the sounds of a raging waterfall.

Eric thrusts into you again with gritted teeth, trying not to whimper too loudly when your pussy clenches around him. He bends at the waist to hide his face in your neck and exhales all his pathetic moans there. 

He keeps one hand clenched into a fist on the blanket to prop up his weight; his other slides beneath your head to cushion your skull from the hard ground. You grip the boy by his flexing biceps, digging your nails into the skin every time he thrusts into you. Jaw clenched, nose scrunched, eyes squinted — you take his cock without complaint despite the very loud feeling that it’s all too much for you.

Eric is everywhere, and the notion alone overwhelms you. He’s in you, on top of you, all over you. Like the air you breathe. You need him just the same. Not because he’s your friend but because you’re scared you might seriously die without him. 

It’s dramatic at best. At worst, it’s the exact opposite feeling you should have for anyone in the apocalypse, where death is essentially promised for both of you.

Tears prick your eyes at the thought, though you’d rather blame them on Eric’s merciless thrusts. They’re sloppy and unmeasured as he struggles to find a rhythm. He’s similarly overwhelmed by the pleasure. You can tell by the way his body trembles over yours, and the way he buries loud moans into your pulsepoint. You can feel the vibrations of each moan in your veins. 

The way you’re pinned beneath him cages your clit between your bodies. Every time Eric’s lean hips thrust upward and back again, the coarse thatch of hair above his cock brushes your sensitive button. You couldn’t free yourself from it if you tried. You’re not sure if you even want to.

“This is good for you, right?” Eric wonders through heavy pants, voice wavering under the weight of his pleasure. “Please tell me this is good for you.”

Any other time, you would’ve laughed at him, but now you only nod. Rapidly and with your jaw clenched tight. Just as pathetic as he is. 

“’S good,” you promise through gritted teeth as the coil in the pit of your stomach starts to tighten. “It’s so good, Eric. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

The affirmation makes him moan. Loudly. Enough for you to be momentarily grateful for the cover of the rumbling waterfall. Eric buckles down over you and strengthens his rapid, irregularly timed thrusts with a feeble cry. 

Your own whine rumbles in your throat, falling from your mouth like honey. Your warm skin, now slick with a layer of sweat, begins to buzz. The need for release builds like a dam within you — somewhere deep, right where the tip of Eric’s cock fucks into you. 

Your thighs start to tremble on either side of his waist. Your hips begin to buck despite yourself. You can’t be sure if you’re running from the pleasure now, or chasing it entirely.

“You gotta cum, baby,” Eric tells you through a pitiful whine, face still tucked into your neck. He licks his lips and starts to babble: “I can’t— I’m too close— I need you to cum before I do, baby— Need you to cum right now— Fuck.”

“Is your idea of dirty talk always this pathetic?” you would’ve joked if you weren’t already cumming for him. 

Your mouth falls agape in a silent moan as your head tips back into his palm. Your back arches as you reach the height of your pleasure, pussy fluttering through every wave of it. 

Eric fucks you the entire way through your orgasm — despite your nails biting crescent shapes into his shoulders, despite your velvety cunt tightening around him, despite the very overwhelming feeling that he might burst entirely.

Only when your body goes lax does he pull out of you. 

The empty feeling makes you whimper. Your weeping pussy clenches around nothing while Eric jerks himself off. You can’t see him, but you can feel his wrist moving in rapid motions between your legs. 

A groan rumbles deep in his throat as he tenses on top of you. His still body goes rigid. Something warm and wet spits on your inner thigh a second later — a heavy load of his pearly white cum, which he gives you three of before he’s milked himself dry.

Eric collapses on top of you when he’s officially spent. He forgets to hold up his weight, and you deliberately decide not to remind him. You let the man soak in the waves of his pleasure while you strain to reach the wicker basket at your side — struggling for a moment to find the handful of napkins at the very bottom, then using them to wipe up the mess on your thigh.

“Ah, shit,” Eric curses when he notices (his mess or his weight, you can’t quite tell). He sniffles and rolls off of you. “Sorry…”

Your head whips in his direction. You find his face all flushed, glowing red along the apples of his cheeks and the very tip of his nose. His eyes are big and wet, too, glassy like he might cry. 

Buzzing with concern, you rise to your knees, watching intently as Eric reaches for your discarded pile of clothes. You set them aside when he passes them to you and hold his face in your hands instead. His stubble scratches at your delicate palms. Your wide eyes sparkle with concern as they dart over his teary features.

“Hey… Hey, what happened?” you agonize. “Are you okay?”

Eric laughs at himself, then sniffles again as he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah… So much for not being cliché, right?” he jokes.

“What happened?” you repeat, giggling this time at his crooked smile.

“Nothing,” he assures, shrugging his freckled shoulders. “I just… I’m just really happy, I guess…”

Your tight chest deflates with a sigh of relief as you nod in response. “Yeah… I am, too.”

Eric’s grin widens at your confession. His cheeks speckle a rosy color, like he’s pleasantly surprised by the response — as if his softening cock isn’t still sparkling with a mixture of your cum. 

You meet his smile with a scowl, rolling your eyes as you shove playfully at his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that,” you grumble and turn away from him, reaching for your clothes. 

Your body looms over him as you stand, putting very little weight on your scarred leg. You bend at the waist to tug your underwear up your thighs.

Eric shoves his boxers on with a cheeky grin. “I’m really glad I found you, you know that, right? Even though you’re mean to me all the time?”

You scoff and drag your sports bra over your torso, yanking it at the hem to pull it over your breasts. “I’m happy you found me, too, stalker,” you respond in a monotone that would otherwise suggest the opposite. But Eric catches you smiling when you reach beside him for your shirt and knows you really mean it. 

“You love me,” he insists playfully, right before stealing a kiss from you. 

His lips only manage to brush the corner of your mouth in his haste, but he grins wide about it anyway. Your face screws like you weren’t begging him to fuck you ten minutes ago, as you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand.

“You’re disgusting…” he hears you mumbling as you turn away, tugging your shirt over your head. 

But he knows what you really mean.

[sunsburns]

the great gig in the sky

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x reader

summary: you had come to the library with only one thing in mind; to finish your final paper for class. but then there's this cute forgein lawyer asking you for help finding a book, and you think you're hitting it off with this guy but then the next thing you know, the world is ending.

—or: the world ends when you least expect it

word count: 2.3k+

contains: fluff (at first), angst, horror implications, alien invasion, the-end-of-the-world kind of scenario, blood, graphic gore & violence, mentions of death, death, a lot of angst lol

author’s note: one thing about me is that i love a good old angsty apocalyptic fic (this is coming from my wattpad days and my stranger things fics on there). i wanted to see if i still had the hang of writing horror and i think i've still got it! just a bit out of practice i guess. but anyway, this fic is for the small quiet place fandom! i see you guys! enjoyy

DAY ONE

The library is one of the few places in New York City where you can find a semblance of peace. In a city that never slept, with its constant cacophony of sounds and vibrant atmosphere, the library offers a stark contrast. It’s a sanctuary where time seems to slow, where the world is reduced to the soft rustling of pages, the gentle thuds of footsteps on hardwood floors, and the muted whispers between friends and peers, occasionally punctuated by the sharp "shh!" from the librarian.

You lean back in your chair, your laptop open in front of you with a half-finished report on the screen. Textbooks lay scattered across the table, pages open to the sections that cover your syllabus. You remove your glasses and rub your temples, tilting your head back to gaze at the grand ceiling of the library.

The smell of aged wood and parchment fills the air, a comforting scent that evokes a sense of calm. The high ceilings elevate the space, easing the claustrophobia you often feel in your cramped dorm room or crowded cafes.

Sunlight streams through the tall, arched Victorian-style windows, casting warm, golden beams that chase away the usual aura of stress associated with studying.

After about an hour with your earphones in, a movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. You jump slightly and glance up from your book to meet a pair of warm, brown eyes. The man standing before you looks a bit anxious, shuffling his feet nervously.

You take out an earphone and look at him questioningly, recognizing him vaguely from one of your classes.

"Hi, uh, sorry," he whispers just loud enough for you to hear, "Do you know where the Crimes and Investigations section is? I tried asking the librarian, but I think she hates me."

His accent, foreign and charming, catches your ear, and you find his awkward smile endearing. He stands in front of your wooden desk, slouching slightly to your level. Up close, you notice the faint stubble on his face and the soft, dark brown of his eyes, reminiscent of oak bark.

"Yeah, it's in the west wing, I think," you whisper back, offering a friendly smile. His curly brown hair is slightly messy, likely tousled by the wind outside.

"Uh," he hesitates, "What wing are we at exactly?"

He looks genuinely clueless and anxious, his brown suit neatly pressed, and his blue tie impeccably straight, giving him a professional yet approachable appearance.

"We're actually at the center court, but I can show you where it is if you’d like?" you offer, feeling an unexpected blush creep up your cheeks. You silently chide yourself; you really need to go out more. You wonder briefly if your friends are still planning on heading to a club this weekend.

A look of relief washes over his face, making him grin. "That'd be really great."

You shut your laptop and stand up.

"Are you okay with leaving your things?" he asks, moving around the table to stand next to you.

You snort, "Please, I doubt there are people in the library with a knack for stealing things. One thing New Yorkers won't steal are books."

"I don't know, I heard college books are getting pretty expensive these days," he says, a hint of humour in his voice that makes you smile.

"Come on, I'll show you," you say, motioning for him to follow you.

As you lead the way toward the other side of the large library, you head toward the tall bookshelves that stand like dominoes. Through the muffling of the windows, you can hear the distant wail of sirens from ambulances and fire trucks, the honking of cars—sounds of the city that usually blend into the background but seem more persistent today.

"You're a lawyer?" you ask, making conversation as you walk.

"Working on it," he replies. "I'm still attending school. I think you're in one of my psych classes, though."

You beam, realizing that was where you remember him from. "Yes, I remember now. Are you taking it as an elective or something?"

"Yeah, sure, something like that."

"And how's American going for you?"

"Not what I imagined, honestly," he admits with a pout. "Don't get me wrong, the teachers are great and all but—"

"The students suck ass, right?" you interject with a smirk. "Yeah, we're pieces of shit here in the States."

He laughs, a rich sound that makes your stomach flutter. "No, I wouldn't say that. I mean, you seem pretty nice."

You feel your face heat up at the compliment, your heart racing. You want to smack yourself with a book; all this guy did was call you nice, and here you are blushing.

You slow down as you approach the section, walking between two bookshelves. There aren't many people in this area, but the sunlight glows into the space through the massive windows, illuminating the lined books. Some are old and dust-covered, inviting you to run your fingers along their spines, the dust clearing off and leaving a grey stain on your finger.

"Anyway, you have a specific book you're looking for?" you inquire.

He opens his mouth to answer, probably something smart and a book you've never heard of before, but your saving grace is the sudden rush of footsteps. People in the library are clamouring toward the windows, the usual calm shattered by a sense of urgency.

Someone runs between the both of you, knocking against your shoulder and making you stumble. You trip over your own feet until the guy in front of you reaches out, his hands steadying you. You thank him briefly before turning to the person who ran into you, "Hey, watch it—"

"Look!"

He's pointing at the window.

You both notice the uproar of people crowding closer, drawn by an unusual sight. From the window, you see that the world outside has nearly come to a halt. Cars are pulled over haphazardly, their doors flung open, and drivers and passengers alike are standing on the sidewalks, staring upwards. Street vendors have abandoned their carts, and pedestrians are frozen mid-stride, all eyes turned to the sky.

You rush to the window and press your hands against the cool glass, gazing out in disbelief. The sky is filled with what looks like falling stars, bright and burning, hundreds of them streaking through the atmosphere with alarming speed. Their fiery trails paint the sky with a chaotic tapestry of light and smoke, plummeting fast into the islands of New York.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, the vibration startling you. The piercing sound of the emergency broadcast alert follows, echoing through the library. Your heart sinks into your stomach as you see one of the falling stars crash into a building just blocks away.

The impact sends up a plume of fire and debris, leaving a fiery trail of destruction in its wake. You watch in horror as the building crumbles, a section collapsing in on itself, and the surrounding area is engulfed in flames.

You jump back from the window, stumbling as you try to process what you’re seeing. The people outside are no longer standing still. Panic has set in. They're running, shouting, seeking shelter wherever they can find it.

As you turn, you crash into the arms of the guy from earlier. His face is ashen, all colour drained as he stares out the window in terror. His eyes are wide, reflecting the fiery spectacle outside. You can see the muscles in his jaw clench as he struggles to comprehend the magnitude of what’s happening.

You move around him, your movements hurried and unsteady. Your mind races, a single thought cutting through the fog of fear: get the hell out of here and go home.

Your breaths come in short, panicked gasps. Around you, the library descends into chaos. People scream, their voices a cacophony of terror. The building is now a hive of frantic energy as others rush inside, seeking refuge from the outside.

The ground beneath your feet trembles violently, the walls groaning under the strain. The windows shatter with explosive force, glass shards spraying like deadly confetti.

You instinctively hold your hands over your head, ducking as one of the fiery objects crashes into the building with a deafening roar. The impact throws you off your feet, the world tilting crazily. Bookshelves topple like dominoes, their heavy wooden frames crashing to the ground and sending a shower of books and debris into the air.

You're thrown to the ground, landing hard. Pain explodes through your body, sharp and unrelenting. Your vision blurs, dark spots dancing at the edges of your sight. The air is thick with dust and smoke, choking you, making each breath a struggle. You cough violently, the acrid taste of ash filling your mouth.

You try to move, but every attempt sends a new wave of pain shooting through your limbs. The world around you starts to fade, the edges of your consciousness fraying as darkness creeps in. Just before you succumb, the last thing you hear is the distant, terrifying roar of something monstrous.

When you come to, the library is unrecognizable. The once grand ceiling is partially collapsed, with jagged pieces of wood and plaster hanging precariously above. The air is heavy with the smell of burning paper and wood, a thick, suffocating haze. Your head throbs with a relentless, pounding pain, and as you push yourself up, a horrifying sight meets your eyes.

Few mangled bodies lie around you, some partially buried under rubble, others sprawled in unnatural positions. Blood soaks into ash, coating whatever it touches. Panic surges through you, a cold, paralyzing fear that grips your heart and refuses to let go. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a physical force.

You hear someone scream, a desperate cry for a name, a beloved perhaps. The voice cuts through the smoke and chaos, filled with raw agony and fear. He's shouting, coughing through the thick, acrid air, tripping over his own feet in his frantic search. There's an open wound on his head, a deep gash that dribbles blood down his face, mingling with the dirt and sweat.

"Amy," he sobs, "Amy," he spots you sitting in the rubble and hurries towards you. "Help me—help me find—"

It comes in fast, a blur in the shadows that moves with terrifying speed. Before he can finish his sentence, it's upon him, dragging him away with a ferocity that leaves you frozen in place.

You jump, a silent scream stuck in the back of your throat as you watch the horror unfold. You're trembling, unable to see the creature clearly but acutely aware of the sounds—bones snapping, the dreadful crunching, and the sickening drip of blood hitting the ground.

Tears well up in your eyes, and a cry almost escapes your lips before a hand suddenly clamps over your mouth, stifling your instinctive scream.

It's the guy from before, his face now smeared with dirt, his eyes wide with terror. He holds his finger to his lips, a silent plea for you to stay quiet.

You can feel his hand trembling against your skin, his heavy breaths and anxious pants betraying his own fear.

When you finally calm down, you can sense his fear is even greater than your own. He slowly removes his hand, his eyes searching yours for understanding. Despite the terror, you feel a surge of determination. You nod at him, too terrified to speak.

He helps you to your feet, his grip firm but gentle, and guides you underneath a heavy, wooden table similar to the one you were sitting on earlier. The table's legs are sturdy, and it offers some measure of protection

Your eyes, blurred with tears and the strain of fear, lock with his. The dim light from a nearby, flickering emergency lantern casts deep shadows across his face, revealing the sheer magnitude of his terror. His expression reflects a fear that seems almost palpable, magnifying your own sense of dread.

Despite his visible fear, there’s an unwavering loyalty in his gaze while he presses his hands to a wound on your leg you haven't noticed until then.

You open your mouth, a silent gasp escaping as you instinctively want to speak. However, you remember the perilous situation and close it again, forcing yourself to remain silent. Your trembling hands fumble in your pockets, retrieving your phone.

The screen is cracked and spiderwebbed, but it still lights up, its soft glow a stark contrast to the oppressive darkness of the library. With a shaky breath, you type a message, each keystroke feeling like a thunderclap in the stillness.

You press the phone towards him, the words “What’s your name?” barely visible through your shaking hands.

He takes the phone from you with deliberate slowness, his movements calculated to avoid making any noise that might betray your hiding spot. Every creak of the wooden floorboards and distant, muffled noises from the library only heighten your anxiety.

The silence around you is almost tangible, filled with the collective holding of breaths from other hidden survivors. They are scattered throughout the library, huddled in various corners, doing their utmost to stay hidden and silent.

The fear of being discovered is a constant, oppressive presence, and no one knows how long they will need to remain in hiding—whether until help arrives or until they are discovered by the monsters stalking within the shadows.

He studies the screen briefly, his eyes flicking between the shattered glass and the message, before handing the phone back to you. The single word “Eric” is typed in, but the simple introduction does little to ease the tension.

The sincerity in his eyes is clear, though his own are brimming with tears that begin to trail down his cheeks silently.

You type your own name quickly and show it to him, your fingers trembling as you tap out the letters.

The strained smile he offers is far from comforting, and his tears make yours burn at your skin. The library remains eerily quiet, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of shifting survivors and the distant, ominous sounds of the monsters prowling outside.

That's when you realized, you were going to die here.

[corroded-hellfire]

Summary: Sam has noticed how much you look at Eric, and encourages you to go for what you want because no one knows how much time there is left.

Note: I hope you enjoy this story about my dear sweet wet boy 🥰

Warnings: movie canon violence

Words: 3.6k

What meds do you need?

With a shaky hand, Sam reaches out and takes her notebook and marker from Eric. She hastily scribbles down a few words, her eyes blinking every few seconds as if she’s fighting off sleep.

Her thin arm drops off the side of the bench, weakly offering the notebook back to Eric. You watch his doe eyes scan over the words before he tears the paper out of the book.

Eric nods as he folds up the sheet and slips it into his pocket. He gives you a terse smile that you don’t have the energy to return. Your eyes follow him as he steps through the rubble and debris towards the front door of the church. 

The moment he’s out of sight, you push yourself off the dirty floor, grab Sam’s Bai, and take a seat next to her head on the bench. The struggle to lift her head is apparent so you quickly slide closer so her head can rest on your lap. She gives you a look of thanks before she sips from the bottle.

Once she finishes, Sam gestures to the notebook on the top of her “I heart NY” tote. Luckily, you can reach it without jostling her head too much. 

The marker scratches against the paper as she writes. It takes her a minute longer than it did for her to write out the medication she needs, so you’re curious about what it says as she hands it to you over her head. 

I see how you keep looking at him. You going to say anything or what?

Heat floods your face, and you swear everyone else in the church is able to read the note over your shoulder. Doing your best to shake it off, you write back a quick message before handing the notebook back to Sam.

Not allowed to speak at all.

She reads what you wrote and drops the notebook onto her chest, letting her eyes roll up so she can give you the most unamused glare you’ve ever seen. 

As if Frodo is also unimpressed with your answer, he crawls out from beneath the bench, stretches his front legs out with his tail in the air, then heads towards the door. 

Funny. Pretty sure your eyes have left him all of twice since we left the apartment. 

It had been pure luck seeing Sam and Eric come into the apartment building last night. The distinctly human footsteps walked past the door of your apartment on the fourth floor and your curiosity got the better of you. You’d been held up in your home since the start of whatever kind of invasion this is and the need to see another live human being was too strong to deny. Though this was just last night it feels like another lifetime ago.

This is possibly the end of the world, and you want me to what? Tell Eric I think he’s cute?

You can’t help but see the twisted humor in the fact that you and Sam are sitting in a dilapidated old church, in the middle of what seems to be an alien invasion, and the two of you are writing notes back and forth to one another like high school girls gossiping. 

I’m saying to go for what you want. We could be dead in a minute for all we know. Don’t waste your time.

It’s hard to argue that point with someone you know has limited time left. It’s even harder to argue because you know she’s right. But even though you’re in survival mode now, you’re still you and don’t find things like this easy. Call it insecurity or trauma from high school when the guy you had a massive crush on found out about it and laughed in your face. Things like that don’t just go away—even in the apocalypse.

We’re focusing on staying alive right now, Sam. 

You’re deflecting.

It’s just the truth.

It’s still deflecting. 

What do you want me to say, huh? I’m already scared for my life, I don’t need heartache on top of everything else right now.

Why do you think it would be heartache?

Because guys like him aren’t interested in girls like me.

Guys like him? Girls like you?

Yeah. Handsome, smart, kind. And me, not those things. I don’t need to feel like the rejected high school girl again right now. 

Are you shitting me? This isn’t high school. Either tell Eric how you feel or agonize over what could have been. 

Again, trying to survive right now.

So afterwards. On the boat out of here.

Maybe.

If I had the strength to wring your neck, I would. Cancer has fucked up my life but one thing it did do is show me how useless shame is. There’s no time for being embarrassed, it’s just a waste. 

Why do you care so much?

What? You’re not getting my loving and nurturing vibe?

Ha. But really.

You’re both good people who deserve to be happy. If you can find that in each other then I think you should at least try. 

Fine. On the boat. I’ll say something to him there.

Swear on Frodo.

That’s not fair.

Do it.

Fine, I swear on Frodo.

Sam seems content after that and closes her notebook and rests it on her abdomen. 

It seems somewhat like emotional blackmail when the woman dying of cancer makes you swear on her sweet, adorable service cat. 

The arguing (if you could call it that) has drained some of Sam’s energy and you see her eyes start to flutter closed. But a spark lights in her eyes, and she opens the notebook once more. At first you think she has something else to say to you about the whole crushing on Eric thing, but this sentence is for her.

My dad played beautiful piano.

A bittersweet smile rests on your lips. 

Sam tries to put the notebook back down on her bag, but a wince tells you that the effort is hurting her. Gently, you take the notebook from her and set it down. She nods her head in thanks. 

For the better part of an hour, Sam dozes on and off. It doesn’t seem like a particularly restful sleep she’s getting, but you hope it’s doing something to help her. 

When Eric comes back, Frodo leading him in, he looks exhausted. Not that any of you were in top form these days, but Eric looks even more haggard than when he left. Still cute, though. Unfairly cute.

As he walks towards you and Sam on the bench, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box no bigger than a Polaroid picture. With a slight wince, Eric kneels next to Sam and begins getting the patch out and free from its adhesive. 

Sam tilts herself to the side and you help her turn enough that she can show Eric where to place it. 

Once it’s firmly on her skin and Sam is comfortably on her back again, it only takes a few minutes before the relief is visible. Her body has relaxed, her breathing down to a steady pace, and she looks the most at peace you've ever seen her. It feels like your heart has been run through with a sword when you think about all this poor woman must have gone through. 

“My dad played beautiful piano.”

Eric held Sam’s notebook in his hand, smiling at the few words. You just hope that’s the only page he stays on. He turns his head and meets Sam’s eyes.

“I loved it when he would bring me to watch him play,” Sam says, voice ragged and weak. “Then we’d get pizza at Patsy’s.”

That explains the odd insistence for pizza when the world is ending. 

“What happened to him?” you ask softly.

There are a few moments where Sam doesn’t speak, and you begin to think she’s not going to answer you. 

“He died,” she says. The pain in her watery eyes is palpable. You would want to wrap her up in a hug if she weren’t in so much pain. “Like I am now.”

The sad truth said out loud at last. You haven’t heard either of them say it up to this point. 

“Not before we get pizza,” Eric tells her. 

A small smile ticks up the corners of Sam’s mouth. 

“Not before we get pizza,” she agrees. 

The ship is leaving the port. It’s not too far out so it would be possible for you all to still secure passage on it. But then the dread in your stomach grows as you watch creature after creature step onto the sandy shore. They take great care to stay far enough away from the water, though. 

You, Sam, Eric, and Frodo trudge through the wreckage of cars and building debris scattered along the road. 

The four of you drop behind the carcass of an old van, all of you pressing your backs up against the tarnished metal. 

A shuddering breath comes from next to you and your head whips towards Eric, who is between you and Sam. His eyes tear up and he grits his teeth, trying to ward off the anxiety that’s creeping up.

Sam immediately presses a hand to Eric’s chest and in the lowest whisper possible says, “Breathe.”

You take one of Eric’s hands in your own and give it an encouraging squeeze. Hoping he’ll follow your lead, you take a large breath in, then let it out. It helps a bit, but the anxiety is so strong. How could it not be in the situation you’re all prisoners to?

Your eyes move from Eric to Sam as you watch her nuzzle her face against Frodo and press kisses to his black and white fur. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she’s saying goodbye to him. Then she hands Frodo to Eric, and it hits you. She was saying goodbye to Frodo. Instinct tells you to fight her on this, but how can you? One, you can’t speak. And two, who are you to tell her not to do this? If it were you, you’d rather go out trying to save the lives of your companions rather than let a vicious disease let you waste and wither away, slowly and painfully as the world ends around you. Sam is thinking that her life is almost up, and she’d rather buy yours and Eric’s lives with the short time she has left.

Sam pushes herself into a crouch as Eric clings to Frodo, holding him close to his chest. You let go of Eric’s hand so he can hold onto the cat better—Lord knows he’s already run away enough times. 

“Run,” Sam whispers. 

Before she takes off, you look her in the eye and nod your head once. Between that and the tears building in your eyes, you hope she sees your acknowledgment of what she’s doing and all the gratitude you can convey to her. 

Sam nods in return, telling you she knows. Then, she’s gone. You see her crouch down behind cars as she makes her way through the lot. She picks up a crowbar and smashes it through a still-intact window of a car.

The smashing glass catches the attention of the creatures, and you know the time to move is now. Looking at one another, both you and Eric take a deep breath before getting up from behind the car. 

Monsters rush past you, leaving you almost no room to dodge them as they race in the direction of the noise Sam is making. It seems like a miracle once the two of you see the dock ahead, no creatures between you and there.

Your sprint turns into a run, Eric keeping pace right beside you as he holds Frodo securely against him. A few steps onto the pier, Eric’s foot kicks a large metal can that skids a few feet away. It clangs as it tumbles, and the monsters hear it. 

There’s no need for you to look back; you know they’re coming. All energy reserves go into your legs as you run faster. The rail around the dock is broken in one place, giving you and Eric the perfect opportunity to jump into the water. 

But they’re getting closer.

You can hear the monsters gaining on you, and a quick glance shows one leaping in the air, aiming to land right on top of you, Eric, and Frodo. But you jump. The flash of yellow beside you brings immense relief as you hit the water—both of you jumped in time. 

As you surface, you look back and see a gang of creatures waiting at the exact spot you and Eric leapt from. Two heads pop up next to you, one human and one cat, both safe. If this were any other circumstance, you would probably chuckle at how Frodo looks all wet. 

Eric gazes back at the land with you and you both see Sam, standing between two dedicated cars.

Shouts come from the ship behind you, encouraging you to swim over to them. Without saying a word to each other though, both you and Eric take the time to look back at Sam. To watch her, this brave woman in every sense of the word. There could never be a way for either of you to thank her enough, but you hope she feels some semblance of it. 

Wide brown eyes meet yours as you turn towards Eric. The two of you bob in the water for a few moments, looking at each other as you attempt to catch your breaths. Now it’s time to get to the boat. It’s time to get to safety.

Once the three of you have made it to the boat, you’re helped on board and assured that you’re safe now. Blankets are brought to wrap around you, Eric, and one for Frodo as well. 

It seems impossible to attempt relaxation after the last few days’ events, but there’s nothing else to do as the ship sails slowly along. Where it’s headed, you don’t know. You don’t particularly care at the moment, either. 

You, Eric, and Frodo make yourself comfortable in a small alcove on deck. It feels like you fall in a heap together, collective exhaustion kicking in. You weren’t even aware of how tired you were until this moment. The adrenaline finally starts to wear off and you lay your head down on Eric’s shoulder. You don’t intend to, but you quickly fall asleep against him.

When you wake, your head is still on Eric. Slowly, you sit up straight and smile when you see Frodo sleeping on Eric’s chest, all curled up in his blanket. Eric’s gaze catches yours and the moment you look into the beautiful brown eyes that make your knees weak, you remember what you promised Sam. On the boat. I’ll say something to him there.

After everything you’ve been through, you now understand clearer than ever what Sam meant about there being no time for embarrassment. No one knows if the next moment is their last, and do you really want to regret keeping your feelings inside? No. Plus, there was absolutely no way you could break your word to Sam after what she just did for you. 

“Eric,” you start, unsure of how to phrase what you want to say. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. Gathering your nerve, you do. “I want…I have to tell you something.”

“Sure. Anything.”

Another deep breath. Sam’s voice whispers in your head, you can do this.

“I don’t, um, know where we’re going. Or what’s going to happen next. I can’t even begin to think about that, really. B-But I do know that I would like to stay with you for as long as you’ll let me. I like being with you.”

A shy smile grows on Eric’s face, and he nods his head. 

“I like being with you, too,” he says. “I’d love to stick with you.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. But can I ask you…is it because you think I’m cute?” Eric is trying his hardest not to smirk, but the look of surprise on your face threatens to overtake him.

“I-I…”

“Or well,” Eric says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and holds it between the two of you, “at least that’s what you told Sam.”

Your eyes dart down to the paper, and you recognize your and Sam’s handwriting. A gasp startles out of you as you realize it’s the note you and she passed back and forth in the church.

Eric is full on grinning when you look at his face again. His shoulders shake as he chuckles, and his laugh is infectious. You start giggling yourself and bring your hands up to cover your eyes.

“Oh my God, she ripped it out of the notebook and shoved it in her pocket? She thought I was gonna wimp out!”

Neither of you can stop laughing now. After being so scared and quiet for so long, it just feels so good. 

Eric pulls out another piece of paper and hands it to you.

“She also wrote us this sweet note.”

The letter from Sam makes you smile, cry, and oddly, feel some form of peace. She’s home. 

“Aw, Frodo,” you say as you fold the note back up. “You would be the handsomest boy even if you did get fat. But no, we’re not going to feed you too much.”

Eric chuckles and holds his arm open for you. You gladly accept the invite and curl up against his side. The scent of the salt water, wet cat, and the mustiness from the blankets do nothing to cover the scent that is pure Eric. You rest your forehead against his neck as he wraps his arm snugly around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“You know,” he says softly as he lays his head against yours, “I came very close to getting you and I killed multiple times.”

“What?” You frown as you reach your hand out to stroke the top of Frodo’s head. “How?”

“Well, when I first saw you, when you stepped out of your apartment, I didn’t say anything. Not only because I couldn’t, but I was speechless. You’re so pretty and I froze. Sam had to push me three or four times to get me to walk again. And then there were so many times I’d just look at you and almost blurt out how beautiful you are. Because your beauty is something that’s impossible to keep quiet about. Then I got to know how kind you are. So compassionate, brave, selfless. Your beauty runs farther than skin deep and it made me even more of a bumbling idiot.”

You can’t help but giggle as you bury your head farther into the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet. 

“But I do have a bone to pick with you,” Eric says.

Reluctantly, you pick your head up to look him in the eye.

“Why?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

He picks the note between you and Sam back up and begins to read a part aloud.

“Why do you think it would be heartache?

Because guys like him aren’t interested in girls like me.

Guys like him? Girls like you?

Yeah. Handsome, smart, kind. And me, not those things. I don’t need to feel like the rejected high school girl again right now.”

He lowers the note and shakes his head.

“Now, I don’t know what kind of absolute prats you went to high school with, but anyone who rejected you is, quite literally, insane. And I don’t like this talk about ‘girls like you.’ You make it seem like such a bad thing to be you. But you’re possibly one of the best people I’ve ever met. And I know that after only knowing you for about two days. And it didn’t take me more than four seconds to see how stunning you are. Frodo and I want you to see yourself the way we do. Right, boy?”

Both of you look down at the snoozing cat and you scratch between his ears with a chuckle.

“I’ll work on it,” you say earnestly. 

Frodo tilts his head and you let your hand drop. You lift your head and Eric is so close. It would barely take any movement for his lips to be on yours. So, you make that move. The hand that was petting Frodo comes up to cup Eric’s jaw as you lean in and press your lips against his.

Eric’s body immediately sinks against yours, holding you tighter as he kisses you back with urgency. It’s as if he remembers the two of you have more time now and he can savor this moment as he slows the kiss down, enjoying exploring your mouth at a lazy speed. There’s no rush anymore. You’re safe and both here together. 

When you part, he rests his forehead against yours and you’re pretty sure there are identical grins on both of your faces. 

“I can’t wait to hear your laugh over and over again,” you tell him.

“I can’t wait to hear you say my name,” he replies.

“Eric.” It’s the first time you’ve been able to say it above the lowest of whispers. “Eric, Eric, Eric.”

His grin grows even larger, and he presses a quick kiss to your lips.

“God, I love the sound of that.”

[kitscutie]

hush (eric, a quiet place x fem!reader)

pairing: eric!aqp x reader

warnings: injuries, blood, just general pain but comfort too!!

summary: after you obtain an injury which requires stitches, you do your best to keep absolutely silent.

a/n: requests for eric open :)

word count: 744

You and Eric emerged from a hole in the ground beneath the church, the water you had just escaped seemed stained red as you turned, pulling yourself up and onto the marble flooring.

You knew you were hurt, would be stupid not too seeing as there was a burning coming from your shin though it was diluted through shock.

You were pulled from your focus on the pain as Erics arms wrapped under your armpits, lifting you until your legs were completely out of the ground.

You turned to face him as he lifted a hand to his lips, reminding you to be quiet. As if you'd forgotten.

He lay you down gently against a pile of rubble, quickly searching through the group of others in the church for help, 'doctor?' scribbled onto the back of his hand in the ink of a pen he found at the churches alter.

Finally after minutes of staring at the ceiling, eyes drifting in and out of consciousness he returned. Stood behind him wearily was an older woman, maybe sixty five-ish? In her past life she was a nurse, before the monsters came crashing onto New York City.

She seemingly collected a dust covered first-aid kit, hung on the wall near the entrance. You prayed there was actually enough in there to save your leg, though you doubted there would be blood- of which you were losing by the litre.

'The quicker it's closed, the better." He wrote onto a note pad, handwriting scribbled in his hurry.

"Closed?" You mouthed, under the impression you would simply need bandages. Lifting your head up you watched as the woman threaded string through a needle. You knew what that meant.

You began frantically shaking your head at Eric, 'No, no, no.' being mouthed repeatedly as your pupils dilated in panic.

"I'm sorry." He mouthed back moving you to lie between his legs, head in his lap. Your efforts to escape proved helpless as your pain emerged through any shock left over though you were confident stitches would hurt more.

He wrapped his own arms around yours, effectively tying them down. Your breathing turned rapid and shallow, panic setting in as you accepted all the pain you were about to feel.

The first time the needle went in you felt nothing. And then whit, hot burning pain. Your back shot up off the ground, a silent scream leaving your mouth as tears spilled from your eyes uncontrollably.

Eric did all he could, shushing you silently, eyes dark and filled with guilt. Though it didn't ease the pain- nothing could. No amount of sweet nothing and comfort that you couldn't actually hear would help.

He watched in his own emotional pain as your fists turned white, breathing only getting quicker, and quicker as each stitch pierced your skin.

He could no longer bear it, leaning down so his forehead touched yours in an attempt to give you solace. Your cries grew heavier, soft sobs leaving you. Panicked that soon enough they would become loud he put his mouth so close to your ear you could feel every hair on his chin as he spoke.

"You're okay, it's okay." He repeated like a prayer. Were you okay? It wasn't truly clear. Hearing it from him though, Eric with his soft British twang brought you back to reality, even if it did come in the form of a shaky whisper.

This time when he shushed you with gentle care it was audible and soothing. Your breathing slowed but the tears and pain never ended, you could only hope the stitches were almost complete.

He kept his forehead against your own but brought a hand away from your arm, instead reaching up to wipe your burning tears away, thumb moving back and forth smudging ash into your skin.

As he moved away, your eyes stayed locked with his, attempting to disassociate from this moment and focus instead on him. His curly hair, brown eyes, dirty collar which looked pristine and ironed fifteen hours ago. It all brought you pain to think of now- the simple things like clean clothes which didn't smell like smoke but nothing hurt more than the look on his face as he starred at you, as though you were broken.

You never liked that term, never like being viewed as weak or vulnerable though in this moment you had never been so grateful to have someone like him by your side, protecting you and you him.

[pasukiyo]

PERHAPS, PERHAPS, PERHAPS.

eric (a quiet place: day one) x f!reader word count: 2,894 warnings: a little bit of violence summary: perhaps it's chance. perhaps it's happenstance. but perhaps it is fate. perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

 Hands find the sleeve of her sweater and she’s pulled backwards, her lips parting in a gasp as she turns. A woman, with dark hair beginning to fade into gray, locks her hands around her wrist, trembling. 

 “Please!” The woman shrieks. “I don’t know where to go! I need help! Please! Help me!”

 She’s frozen, her mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out because the truth is, she’s just as helpless. She wishes she could help, she really does, but she’s alone in a foreign city while the world around her falls apart and all she knows to do is run. 

 She tries to shake off the woman, but she only tightens her grip, and it’s not until she screams again that she lets go. It happens in a blur. One moment the woman is on her arm and the next she’s taken away by one of those things. She can’t even process what they look like because they move so fast. 

 She stumbles backwards as a car alarm sounds and she only just manages to duck in enough time to avoid being crushed as the airborne vehicle flies overhead, crashing into the building behind her. Her teeth catch her bottom lip and she whimpers, holding her head in either of her hands. Screams sound and die, wheels screech, vehicles crash, windows shatter, people are torn apart and it’s all just too loud. 

 She sinks to her knees in the middle of the chaos-ridden street and covers her ears, the hot water in her eyes falling fast down the apples of her cheeks. She feels utterly alone and only now does the weight of her family’s abrupt deaths begin to seep in, like poison injecting itself into her veins and wearing down her bones. 

 She wonders if this is it— if today is the day she dies. 

 She wonders if she should just stay here: on the ground, unmoving, waiting for death to take her. 

 It’s harder to breathe than ever now and she can’t calm herself down, can’t even focus on inhaling a steady breath. The ground quakes below and she thinks something explodes, but it’s hard to hear over the ringing in her ears. She only thinks to duck until she faces the ground as smoke pervades the air and ash falls and all she can see is gray. Her hearing is only just coming back to her when she hears a scream— whether it was her own or somebody else’s, she’s uncertain— but all she knows is in the next moment, everything is black. 

 The world is still black when she hears her name. She stirs and thinks it must be death calling upon her but then she hears her name again and it sounds… real. Still, she does not open her eyes, lingering in that state between waking and oblivion. 

 The voice calls her name again and suddenly it sounds… familiar. She’s heard it before but she’s unsure where. She must be dead, she thinks. 

 But is the afterlife supposed to feel so… real? As in, she feels the warmth of fabric above her and thinks it must be a blanket, the cushion of what she can only think can be a pillow beneath her head. She can feel her feet, so she moves them, and she can feel something soft underneath them, something her entire body can feel. It must be a mattress she sleeps on but how when only a moment ago, her knees were on the asphalt of a crumbling street?

 Her name is called again and this time, she feels a weight on her shoulder, a hand. It suddenly registers that she isn’t in the city at all but rather somewhere else entirely different and her eyelids snap open at the realization. A shadow looks over her and she pushes herself to sit upright, her throat tightening as she tries to blink the blurriness away from her vision.

 “Hey!” The voice calls again, the hand on her shoulder firmer. The silhouette before her warps and moves and it must be the source of the voice but her muscles remain taut with panic. “It’s me! It’s just me.”

 She tries to draw air into her lungs but it’s hard when she can hardly make out where she is and the hand falls from her shoulder to instead find her cheek, pulling her face towards the shadow. Her chest rises and falls with her breaths as she continues trying to make out the face of the shadow before her. 

 “It’s me!” The voice says again. “It’s Eric!”

 Eric. 

 The shape in front of her finally materializes and indeed, it is Eric. His brows are drawn in concern, his big, signature doe eyes round and searching hers. Her mouth feels dry and it opens and closes multiple times before he places his hand on her chest, right over her pounding heart. She glances down to his palm, watching as it rises and falls with her breaths before his other hand reaches for her chin. 

 Their eyes meet and for a moment, it’s like the world stills and it is only him she can see. His eyes are so dark a brown that they seem to merge with the sea of black in its midst and she thinks she will lose herself if she stares too long. His lips move to form the words “breathe” and “it’s over now, you’re safe” and it seems easier now that she’s rapt in his eyes, shining like dark topaz. 

 Her chin rises as she inhales and she focuses on his hand on her chest as her head dips with her exhale. Air floods her lungs and the world begins to turn again.

 “Okay?” Eric asks carefully, his hand no longer on her chest but still hovering above just in case. She takes another deep breath before she nods, sniffing. It’s only now set in that she was sleeping and she was living a nightmare, or rather, reliving her nightmare. 

 It’s been three months since day one, since the nightmares began and every day since has been long, some longer than others. Every day since the first sort of happened in a blur, but she remembers the day she met Eric like it was yesterday. 

 She remembers the boat, the boy with the cat who she’d just watched escape death before he swam to his new beginning. She remembers the conversations they had on the (what felt like at the time) seemingly never-ending boat ride, the vow they didn’t speak aloud but seemed to silently agree on that they’d stick together, and they did, even when they arrived on the island. She remembers it all and so she pulls the boy in front of her into her until she can rest her head on his shoulder, fingers clutching his white t-shirt. 

 His arms wrap around her middle and hold her close, his breath warm as it threads through her hair, seeping down to her scalp. Her nails burrow into his shirt, deep enough to snag skin underneath and her heart pounds against her ribcage, dread creeping up her spine at the realization that she doesn’t want to let go. When he inevitably begins to pull away, she sinks her nails into his shoulders like the claws of a cat and a crease forms between his brows. 

 “What is it?” He asks and she swallows, brows pinched together. “Will you stay with me?” She questions and his expression softens, nodding as he lets go of one of her shoulders to gesture with his thumb behind him. 

 “Yeah, you know I’ll always be right over there,” he says, referring to the small sofa bed across the room. He gives her bicep a reassuring squeeze and turns, moving to pull away again but she finds his hand, clasping it between hers as tight as she possibly can. 

  “No, I mean will you…” she pauses, sighing as blood bites her cheeks, filling them with color. “…will you lay with me?” She finishes quieter, his hand growing warm in hers. 

 He turns to face her again and when their eyes meet, silence strings between them. She swears she can see him connecting the dots until realization washes over him and finally, he understands. He blinks again, once down to the bed and once to the open space beside her. On his next blink, color floods his cheeks and he nods, lifting up the blanket to slide underneath it. Their legs touch for the briefest of moments and either of their breaths hitch. His skin lingers for a heartbeat before it’s gone and she has to take in another deep breath through her nostrils to quell her quaking heart. 

 They both settle themselves down on the mattress and it creaks beneath either of their weight. She holds her breath again, still under the guise that one of those things will come snatch her away at the smallest of sounds, but the reminder that they are on the island, that they are safe fills her with some solace. Even though the relief never stays long. The past always comes back to haunt her, as if some sort of evil spirit has made it its sole mission to taunt her. 

 “Hey,” Eric whispers and she turns, realizing he was looking at her. “Are you alright?”

 She nods, sniffing again. “Sorry, I’m just… thinking,” she replies, blinking back towards the ceiling. “I had another nightmare.” He sighs beside her and she hears the sheets shift a little as he adjusts his weight. “It’s okay. I get them too.”

 It’s easy to forget she’s not the only one who experienced the horrors of the invasion, that she isn’t the only one who lost things, people. She forgets she’s not the only one who is haunted by what transpired that day and she peers back over towards Eric. He stares up at the ceiling, his hands neatly folded on top of his stomach and his lips pursed. He taps his fingers against the back of his hands a little awkwardly, as if he wants to speak but isn’t sure what to say. So instead, he remains silent, waiting for the moment he succumbs to sleep. 

 “Tell me about England,” her voice fills that void between them and he almost flinches, snapping his head towards her, an incredulous look upon his face. “What?” He says as if he hadn’t heard her the first time. The corners of her lips twitch, “tell me about England,” she repeats. “I’ve always wanted to go. And well… it doesn’t look like I’ll be going any time soon.”

 He exhales and it almost mimics a laugh but it dies as soon as he rolls his head to face the ceiling once again. He stares into the darkness above, sifting through the memories he has of home. The truth is, it’s been so long since he’s been home, the memories are already beginning to fade away. His mother, his father, his little sister, their cat, his childhood home, the town he grew up in. The more days that pass, the farther away all those things seem. He can still see them toward the horizon but they’re fading behind shadows. He fears that soon enough, they’ll be nothing more than black shapes out in the distance, too far away to make sense of what they are. 

 For a moment, she wonders if he’s going to speak at all. Frodo purrs as he leaps onto the bed, curling into a ball at their feet. And then, Eric finally speaks. 

 “Growing up, I never thought where I grew up was small until I came to the States,” he begins. “Did you know that the entire population of New York City is over four times the population of Kent?” 

 Her lips curve into a tight, genuine grin and she shakes her head. “No,” she replies and he scoffs. “It’s crazy,” he mutters. “I’d never seen so many people in one place before in my life.”

 She laughs again and this time, her grin splits her face and when Eric turns, his gaze lingers. She stares back, finding his eyes even in the darkness. Even in the dark, she can see the way they soften in searching. Whether it is her or his memories he is searching, she is not sure. She grows warm at the sudden awareness of their closeness and she has to turn away again to ease the erratic beating of her heart, folding her hands just beneath it, sucking in a deep breath. 

 Eric clears his throat. Then he continues, “there was this bakery around the corner from my house. My sister and I practically kept that place afloat all on our own with how many times we went.” 

 She turns and watches his side profile as a soft smile curves his lips and she thinks to herself, how can she possibly look away? Neither one of them ever really talked about their life before the invasion much, but maybe they should’ve tried sooner, if he was going to look the way he does now. It’s the brightest she’s ever seen him, the fastest he’s ever talked. His eyes gleam at just the mere mention of home and she wants to know more, wants to learn more about him. 

 “Have you ever had focaccia?” He asks, turning to find she’s already staring and she raises a brow. 

 “Ever had what?” 

 His brow furrows and he looks almost offended, a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Do the Americans not feed you focaccia?” She laughs, shrugging. “I honestly have no idea what you’re even talking about,” she replies and he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 “It’s only, like, the finest bread in the world,” he says. “But the best is at the bakery near home. It’s the focaccia of all focaccia. Their focaccia beats all focaccia.”

 She chuckles, “I’ll have to take your word for it then.”

 “Well, anyway, my sister and I would get focaccia from that bakery everyday after school,” he blinks, brow dipping. “Except Wednesdays. They were always closed Wednesdays. I always hated Wednesdays because of it.”

 She cannot help it anymore so she laughs, her shoulders wracking with the sheer power of the action. She clasps a hand over her mouth to attempt to suppress any embarrassing chortles and Eric sputters, the mere beginning of his own laugh. 

 It’s something she can’t remember doing last: laughing. At least, genuinely laughed. It must’ve been before the first day but that day feels so long ago that she can’t place a finger on nearly anything before it. 

 So this feels good. It feels like things can be almost perfect, because even if this lighthearted feeling is only fleeting, in the moment, it feels right. It feels right to be here with Eric, laughing over a life that neither one of them will ever have again. Laughing even as the world crumbles around them. Laughing as they pretend that everything is okay, if only temporarily. 

 There are tears in her eyes now from how hard she’s laughing and she blinks them away, peering over at Eric through her watercolor vision. He’s still coming down from the high his laughter gave him when she reaches over, fingers finding his arm. 

 “Eric?”

 He hiccups with laughter, “yeah?”

 She sniffs and bites back another laugh. “Can I kiss you?”

 Maybe it's the spur of the moment. Maybe it’s just happenstance. Or maybe, just maybe, it was meant to be. 

 She doesn’t know. 

 But none of it matters right now. 

 Because his gaze drops to her lips and when he looks up, she finds he wants her just as much as she realizes she wants him too. 

 Eric says nothing, only reaches for her, his hand finding the back of her head to pull her in and her arms wrap around his neck and then their lips are one. They fit together in the perfect mold, as if it truly was just as she thought: meant to be. 

 Perhaps, Eric was who she was meant to find all along. End of the world or not, life— at least on Eric’s end, it was more chance on hers— brought them both to New York at the same time and she can’t help but wonder, as his tongue swirls her mouth, whether she would’ve found him anyways. 

 Perhaps they would’ve run into each other on the street. Perhaps, even on the subway. Maybe they would’ve walked into the same restaurant at the same time and locked eyes. Or maybe they would’ve gone to the same shops, the same hotel, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. 

 An arm slithers around her waist and draws her into his chest and she knows that this is fate. It simply can’t not be. 

 She pulls away for a moment, just so either of them can catch their breaths, and their eyelids peel open and seemingly nothing else matters. There’s a sort of silent understanding between them— Eric must feel the same. 

 And that’s enough. It’s all she needs to be okay again, to want to live. 

 They crash into one another again, like two stars in a stellar collision. She burns brighter than she ever has before and they melt into one another and relish the notion that this is enough. 

a/n; saw a quiet place day one the other day and i think writing an eric fic was inevitable so... HERE YOU GO! i hope you all enjoy this one and let me know if you'd like for me to write up more eric fics! i'd love to explore this character some more :)

🤍 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! ✨

[jksprincess10]

Storm || Eric x reader

A/N: I fear I'm back in my Joe Quinn phase after watching a quiet place day one, don't look at me.

Summary: There's a thunderstorm and you can finally make noise.

CW: fluff, smut, eric is kinda shy and soft, reader has a bush, pre-established relationship implied, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, eric loves eating pussy, protected p in v, reader is a tad more dominant, minimal editing.

(1.3k words)

divider by @saradika-graphics

There is only one way to make love when any sound could lead to death: silently.

But when the outside is louder, when thunder tears the sky apart, when rain pitter-patters loudly against the asphalt, you can be as loud as you want.

In the darkness of your apartment, the first flash of thunder and the trickle of the rain provokes immediate joy. He knows too, his usually big, innocent eyes veiled by lust. Like Pavlov’s dog, Eric knows how to react when the outside sounds get louder and louder.

“Yes.” You immediately confirm what you want, and he gives in to you.

You wrap your hands around his neck as he brings you into a soaring kiss that makes you moan against his plush lips. You feel like you’re outside in the rain, drowning. Your fingers trail down his neck until you come across his first buttons, that you undo expertly, along with tossing aside his ridiculous tie. Despite everything, Eric still insisted on dressing like the lawyer student he once was.

Under the soft candlelight, you discover his pale skin, his soft body like it’s the first time. He takes care of your sweater, pulling it over your head.

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper, out of habit.

“Stop.” Eric reacts, his voice under the flow of his British accent. “You are.”

His arms are around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles your breasts that you hadn’t bothered covering up with a bra (who cares it’s the fucking end of the world, right?). The tip of his tongue shyly teases the tip of a hard nipple. Too used of being gentle, quiet.

“More, please.” You beg softly.

He sucks the flesh into his warm mouth, and your body arches against his chest, pushing your ass into his careful hands. Eric’s right hand come up to your other breast, caressing and squeezing the fat until you’re letting out pretty moans for him. 

Your hands come down to his leather belt, that you’re soon discarding on the floor with a loud metal clank. But you don’t care, as the thunder is already responding even louder. You’re both taking each other’s pants off embarrassingly fast, and he’s pushing you on your couch until you’re splayed out for him, a beautiful painting under a warm glow, occasional cold light revealing more. His nose traces your covered mound, inhaling the soft laundry scent of your floral panties.

The rain is still pouring, taping violently against your apartment windows as he pulls down your panties, freeing the dark curls and the wetness of your slit.

“You never told me if it bothered you –”

“What? This?” He’s asking as a finger curls around some of the untamed hair. His tone is almost mocking, and you feel your cheeks heating up.

“Yes.”

“I quite like it, actually. You look like a woman. And this is what I want. ” He punctuates his words with an index trailing over your slit, making you shudder. Your fingers tangle in his unruly, soft brown curls, pushing him closer to where you want him. You know he can never resist eating pussy, it’s probably his favorite meal. He spreads your lips with his fingers, keeping you open for him as his pink tongue lays flat against your slit, caressing and experimenting.

As the thunder growls, you remember you can show him your appreciation freely. Your mouth hangs open, and as his plush lips latch around your clit, you moan his name. And it’s the most beautiful song he has ever heard.

“You’re always so good to me, Eric.” You praise him softly, the tips of his ears reddening when you compliment him.

Eric sucks even harder before letting go to caress all of you with the flat of his tongue. Your ass lifts off the couch without really wanting too, pushing more of you into his mouth. He licks and sucks messily, wet sounds filling the air. You like him like this, free and disheveled. One of his fingers breach your hole, stretching you slowly. You want to tell him you won’t break, but you don’t know how, your mind blurry with pleasure.

A strangled “more” is all you can let out, and he listens, pushing another finger in. He thrusts them almost all the way out, then in, curling them at the right angle as his numb tongue keeps sucking. You fall apart just in time for the next thunder crack, a cry coming out of your throat as you gush around Eric’s fingers. His lips are wet with your juices as he comes up for air, climbing on the couch to kiss you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him on top of you as you lay down.

“Make love to me.” You whisper against his lips, your hands trailing down his body to take off his boxer briefs. Your hand circles the base, teasing his cock with a slow movement of up-and-down, momentarily distracting you from your wish.

“Don’t you want me to make love to you?” He whispers in your hair in an amused tone.

“Yes. But I like this. I like touching you.”

Eric chuckles and pushes your hand away. “Stop. I want you.”

 He gets up momentarily to get a condom and covers his cock with it, pumping himself as he gazes down at the perfection that you are, laid peacefully on the couch. You rarely look as relaxed, and he cherishes those moments when you’re not fearing for your life.

You beckon him closer with a movement of your fingers, and he lays on top of you. He’s always so careful with you.

“Hold me.” You wrap your legs around his middle and push him closer. His arms wrap around your neck as he fills you up, slowly, inch by inch. Your eyes flutter closed; you can barely see the violent lightning anymore; you can only hear it. But you try to concentrate on Eric’s heavy breathing in your ear. He stops when his hips are flush with yours, just holding you peacefully.

“I love you.”

You don’t know if you’ll live to see another day, but you love him and it’s the only certainty.

“I love you, too.” He kisses your brow, your nose, and your lips. You keep him there, your tongue tangling with his as he starts moving gently.  Your moans die in his mouth, and you realize how much you crave him, harder, faster. You push him off you and he looks at you with concern until climb on top of him.

“You won’t break me. Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me like it’s our last day alive.”

You align him with your pussy, and you sink down. His reprieve is short, as you’re already bouncing on top of him. He moans obscenities, covered by the sound of the rain. His hands wrap tightly around your hips and his thrusts meet yours in a chaotic, unsynchronized dance that you both make work. The two of you are letting out cries freely, and it’s somehow liberating.

“Come for me, Eric.” You let out between strangled moans.

He slows down, thrusting harder and deeper.

“Not before you, love. Touch yourself.”

You anchor yourself to the couch with a hand on the leather underneath your bodies, your free hand coming down to play with your clit. You try not to fall as he keeps fucking up into you, in a slow but rough pace.

“That’s it baby. God, you’re so hot.” He says it like it’s physically hurting him.

With another one of his deep thrusts, your walls tighten around him and you come with a final moan. You then let him use you, until he’s also done. Your body falls on top of his, and you caress his sweaty curls as he whispers sweet nothings to you.

You love storms.

[justmeinadaze]

3, 2, 1... (Eric from AQPD1 & You)

A/N: Some people asked if I was going to write for Eric and its about time I do something for one of Joe's other characters. Please enjoy this treat I bear you! <3

Warnings: Eric from A Quiet Place: Day One and Fem Y/N, SMUT, very loving, FLUFF, established relationship, ANGST, obviously apocalypse, anxiety and PTSD mentioned, nothing too drastic (but I can make a part 2 that's more angsty if you want 😈 )

Word Count: 3240

Donate to me :)

You missed so many things since the world went quiet. 

You missed the bustle of students arriving on campus for class at the law school you attended. You missed the sound of the music playing at the café where you studied for exams or case notes for your internship. You missed watching movies at the drive in you took your boyfriend to on the rural side of New York and the way his eyes lit up at the sights around him. The way he would laugh with a loud “HA!” that had you giggling at the noise. 

But more than anything… you missed the sound of Eric’s voice. 

The way he would excitedly tell his parents about his day at school over the phone or when he would answer a question the professor asked with a little nervous stutter afraid to get the answer the wrong. The anxious little flutter of his lips when he would tell you that you were beautiful before blushing even though you two had already been together for over a year. You missed the soft way he would whisper to you in bed every morning as he tenderly pet your head and kissed your face. 

Hell, you even missed the shouting matches during a fight when he would scream about something that hardly matters now before a few hours later sliding into your bedroom so you two could talk it out. 

Now neither of you said a word as you roamed the streets of the city looking for supplies and a safe place to stay. 

Ironically, last night you found a library to rest in and woke up early to read one of the books you found on a shelf nearby. It took you a moment to realize Eric was watching you and when you did you beamed his way as he quietly stretched and rubbed his eyes. 

Nodding his head your way towards the book in your hand, you flashed him the cover.

“Sign Language for Beginners.”

Your boyfriend smiled wide as he reached for the whiteboard beside him you two had been using to communicate. 

“What have you learned so far?”

As you slowly sign with your hands, he watches you carefully as you mouth along with the movements while spelling out your name. Without his palms touching, he claps seemingly impressed with your new skills. After grabbing your own whiteboard from your backpack, you scoot closer to him till your knees are touching as your cross your legs. 

“Want to see another thing I learned?”

When he nods, you take his hand in yours, maneuvering his fingers till they’re the way you want, and your eyes meet his as you silently mouth what it means. 

“I love you.”

A gentle smile paints his lips as his other palm cups your cheek and brings your mouth to his own. Matching your fingers to his, you press them together as he mouths his love for you in return.  

After eating and getting your things together, hand in hand you moved about the city. Pharmacies were something you insisted you two always go into because not only did it have medication you may need down the line but it had supplies like batteries, everyday essentials, and water. 

Eric most of the time just followed your lead but occasionally he would slip away when he found something he thought would make you smile. One day while exploring, he tapped your shoulder and bowed before handing you a rose that had you grinning. Another day, he found some of your favorite chocolates that you loved, immediately devouring it as he silently laughed at your eagerness. 

Normally when he detached from you, he didn’t go far but when you turned to leave the area he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Your instinct was to shout his name but you couldn’t. Fear flooded your body as you panickily looked around for any sign of him and finding nothing. 

Your brain began to shut down as tears fell down your cheeks and you collapsed to your knees. Your chest was hyperventilating at the notion of being alone in this chaos…being alone in a world where Eric didn’t exist… 

As you heavily inhaled, a palm covered your mouth and you opened your wide eyes to meet your boyfriend’s equally terrified gaze.

You were so overjoyed to see him but your internal panic was still on overdrive. That’s one thing you and Eric had in common. You had PTSD from certain events in your life that only he knew about that left you debellated sometimes. Eric had massive anxiety that was exacerbated after he moved down here from London to attend law school. You both hated being alone and depended on each other at times when things got bad enough. 

Placing his finger over his mouth in a shushing motion, he carefully dug into his bag and pulled out a little prescription bottle, handing you a tiny pill and some water that you eagerly accepted. Miming with his hands, he signaled for you to slow your breathing and when you were finally calm enough to focus he hugged you tightly to his chest. 

#################

Even as you clung to his arm, he could tell you were still fuming. You two had learned a while ago that you could make noise under other sounds like rain and running water so unbeknownst to you, Eric took a detour to a building you two had been a couple of times on dates before the end of the world. 

Gently opening the door, he guided you in and as soon as you entered you heard the sound of water falling. Glancing around, you noticed he had taken you to a greenhouse as the strong smell of flowers hit your nose. 

After taking a quick look around, he brought you to the waterfall fountain that was in the middle of the room under a glass dome illuminating the sky above. His doe eyes followed you as you took a seat beside the falls and stared at the ripples that flowed. 

As he sat beside you, it took him a moment before he finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”, he whispered. 

Your glassy eyes met his but instead of verbally replying, you hand loudly smacked his arm. You continued to hit his bicep as the tears fell and he allowed it knowing he fucked up. 

“We’re supposed to tell each other where we go!”, you murmur heatedly. “What was so important that you had to have it now and scare me half to death?”

Digging into his backpack, he produced a little blue box and opened it for you displaying a beautiful silver, diamond stud engagement ring that had your eye lids flutter at the sight. 

“Before all this bullshit, I had begun saving to buy you something like this… I should have started saving sooner.”, Eric shrugged as he shifted his gaze away from yours. “I don’t know why I even risked scarring you to get this. I don’t think there are any priests or anything. Plus, you deserve a white dress and—”

When he turned back to focus on you again he was met with your lips. 

“I love you, you idiot.”

He smiles wide as he pulls you into his embrace and kisses your forehead. 

***

A couple of hours later, Eric awoke to your hand gently jostling his arm. Prepared for the worst, his eyes anxiously glanced from left to right looking for the threat before landing on your beautiful face in front of him. 

Standing to your full height, you showed off the white sundress you found when you snuck to the clothing store beside the building you two were in. As you tilted your head at an angle, you gestured towards the veil that was held in place by a headband. Utilizing the water in the greenhouse, you had washed your face and put on some make up you found as well illuminating all your best features that he loved so much. 

Since you were a bit further away from the fountain than before, Eric lifted his whiteboard, scrolling across it before displaying a message. 

“You look gorgeous.”

Falling to your knees, you took the marker from his grasp and he waits as you write your reply. 

“Thank you. I got you something to.”

His chocolate eyes follow your finger as you point towards a suit on a chair nearby.

Excitedly, he jumps up and hastily begins removing his clothes making you silently laugh at his earnest energy. The outfit was a bit too big on him but you didn’t care. To you, he looked absolutely perfect.

Placing himself in front of you, his amused irises watch with anticipation as he waits for you to show him what you’re writing. 

“Family and friends, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Eric and Y/N…blah blah blah.”

The man’s smile widens as you smile back, erasing what you put and continuing your ceremony. 

“Eric, I have loved you since the moment I saw you shyly answer Professor Flick’s question in our ethics class. You were always a bit nervous but your heart was always so big. You were the sweetest person I had ever met. Even before the end of the world, I felt safe with you and I hope you know that your body and your heart are safe with me. I love you.”

As he read your vows, a tear left his eye before he leaned towards you to kiss your lips and take back his board. As he wrote, you imagined what it would have been like to have a real wedding. His parents would have wanted him to go back to Kent to have a massive sized ceremony there. Eric told you his parents always had high expectations especially coming out of “high society”. They would have invited a ton of people their son didn’t know and most likely not even consult with you about the arrangements and wedding itself. 

Your parents hadn’t been in your life in a long while and since then you always avoided thoughts like who would walk you down the aisle or who would you have in your family section. You didn’t have a lot of money nor come from any so you wouldn’t be able to have a big wedding or even a tiny wedding with friends especially not here in New York where everything cost a fortune. 

You imagined it would have most likely been a stressful situation for you both and you didn’t want that; not only for you but for the man you loved. It would be his day to and he deserved to look as happy as he did now as he turned the whiteboard to face you. 

“Y/N, I remember that day when you offered to study with me so I wouldn’t feel so nervous. I couldn’t understand why a beautiful woman like you was offering to help a dork like me. The first time I heard you laugh I knew I wanted to marry you. I miss the sound… but I love that you’re still here with me and marrying me. I promise I’ll ALWAYS keep you safe, baby. I love you to.”

Beaming up at him, you kiss his lips as his hand cups your face and his thumb wipes away the one tear that had escaped down your cheek.

After taking the board back, you hand him the blue box with the rings and hastily scroll on the board. 

“Do you Eric take Y/N as your wife to have and to hold for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, and other things I can’t remember, till death do us part?”

Tenderly smiling, he takes out the diamond ring and places it on your finger as he leans forward till his lips are right by the shell of your ear. 

“I do.”, he whispers so softly that a tingle runs through your body, biting your bottom lip as he kisses your cheek before playfully tugging the board from your grasp. 

Replacing the names, he flips it your way and you retrieve the gold wedding band and place it on his finger as you tilt up on your toes to reach his ear. 

“I do.”

You don’t bother taking the board back as he scribbles something quickly down, flashing it your way when he finishes. 

“By the power vested in me by the end of the world, I now pronounce us husband and wife and now I’m gonna kiss my bride.”

You stifle your giggles into his lips as they crash to your own and he lifts you off your feet into his strong arms. 

#####################

Eric continues to sneak love filled glances your way as you both share the cake you had found in a bakery within the building. Jerking your head his way, you nod, silently asking what’s running through his mind. 

Smiling, his pointer finger touches your chest followed by the rest of them swishing around his face, mouthing along as he signs. 

“You are beautiful.”

Quietly laughing, you find your whiteboard and scribble across it with your marker. 

“Have you been looking at my book?”

“Maybe.”, he writes back. 

After placing his fingers on his chin, he brings them down before gesturing at the area around you both.

“Thank you for this.”

The sound of thunder makes you both jump before silently exhaling as you lean your head on his shoulder and hug his arm that had promptly shot out to protect you. Images of dates to movie theaters where you would squeak and cling to him as something scary popped out on screen filled your mind. The warm fuzzy feeling it gave you when his palm would grip your thigh as if to say, “I got you.” Before his gorgeous eyes would glance down at you like they were now. 

Placing your palm over the back of his, you guided his fingertips along your thighs taking part of your dress up with it before disappearing under the fabric. Eric shifted his body closer to yours as his lips softly kissed your temple and trailed down to your cheek. Biting your lip, you stifled your moan as his fingers moved the cotton blocking your core to the side and effortlessly glided through your folds to slowly massage your clit.

It had been so long since you were able to be intimate with each other with the fear of death always looming in your minds but when heavy rain loudly tapped against the glass above you, your eyes rolled back as your mouths connected and all you could think about was the man you loved. 

Eric panted against your tongue as your palm rubbed against the growing bulge in his slacks and you groaned in response when in return two of his thick fingers slid into your heat. 

“Eric.”

“Fuck—I missed the way you moaned my name.”, he whispered as he thrust his digits into you at a steady pace, slowing only for a moment when you hastily unbutton his pants to pull out his cock. His big, lust filled eyes watch as you run your tongue along your hand and wrap it around him, mewling as you begin to stroke his length. “Feels so fucking good, baby. I h-hope this rain lasts because I don’t wa-want to hold back too much on our wedding night.”

A pant mixes in with your low laugh as he smiles against your lips at his comment. His kisses travel to your neck and your pussy tightens around his fingers as he pumps into you, tapping into that sweet spot inside you that only he has ever been able to reach. 

Thunder bangs above you both as your climax washes over you and you moan as your free hand grasps desperately at his button up shirt, trying to pull him as close to you as you can. 

“Fuck…please, Eric… I need you…”

Quickly moving away from you, he reaches for his suit jacket and places it behind you as you peel off your panties. With his hand on your lower back, he guides you on top of the fabric and after positioning his body on yours, you help push his pants further down till their resting just under his ass. 

As you craned your neck to watch between your bodies, his humid breath fanned your face as he gradually guided his cock into your entrance. 

“Oh my Gooooood, Y/N, baby.”

Eric’s head fell into the nook between your neck and shoulder as he did little thrusts to allow you both time to absorb the feeling of each other again as he stretched you open and your fingers threaded through his hair as your legs circled around his waist. 

Through the glass above you saw the lightening flash brightly almost blinding you as you began to count. 

“3, 2, 1.”

Eric stilled for a moment as he listened to you whisper before thunder shook the building surrounding you. His palm slid down your side to your hip, holding you as his maneuvered his waist till just his tip was inside you.

“3, 2, 1…”

As soon as the thunder clapped, his hips snapped into yours pushing his cock deep inside you causing a loud moan to leave your lips matching the sound of the rumbles in the sky. You both worked in tandem as you watched the lightening and counted as he waited for the thunder so you could scream as loud as you needed to. 

Even he knew though that storms wouldn’t last forever and he desperately wanted to hear you come undone. Pushing up onto his forearms, he pounded into you as his eyes remained locked with yours.

He didn’t need to say anything…. You knew what he wanted without saying a word. 

After nodding your head, his forehead leans against your sweaty one and you cling to his shoulders as you wait, fending off your orgasm as best you can until you finally see the flash of light. Eric takes note of it as well as it reflects off the floor around you but he waits for your count.

“E-Eric…3…2-2…1.”

The thunder crashes so loud it was as if mother nature was on your side as you scream his name again and the coil snaps as you cum. A loud grunt mixes with your shout of pleasure before Eric pulls his cock out of your quivering cunt and strokes his hand quickly along his shaft, milking his release as it lands on your thigh. 

Grabbing the napkins from the bag nearby, he cleans you both and collapses at your side. Rolling to face him, your husband reaches over to move your hair behind your ear. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, are you?”, you whisper back.

“Yeah.”, he murmurs as he listens to the rain begin to lighten outside. Extending his arm for you to use as a pillow, you smile as you move closer to him and his utilizes his other arm to rest his on your side. “I love you, Y/N.”

It was so low he didn’t think you heard him but when your own palm landed on his lower back and your nose grazed his, he melted into you when he heard your equally quiet, “I love you to, Eric.”

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

A/N: Just a little blurb to kickstart my writing for this character off ;)

Pairings: Eric x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, vaginal fingering, NSFW.

He’s always like this with you. Gentle, clarifying your wants and desires without words — your consent. That’s never changed, even when the silence has to begin again, when no one knows how safe this island can be. There’s a stillness to your candlelit nights - this one being no different. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve settled into your small tent, most residences being established for those that have come a new.

But having a skylight zip in the roof of your tent and a relatively soft mattress, knowing you’ll have fresh water and food, light conversation in the mornings, a sunrise above water, and a makeshift family — you consider yourself amongst heavenly luck.

With Frodo out frolicking tonight with your neighbor’s cat Prudence, it leaves you and Eric alone in the tent for an hour. He’s been reading his book by the candle light, alternating between drawing his fingers down the wooden sconce, to staring at you through hooded, enriching pools of chocolate. All of this is still new, your two year long online relationship, various letters and video chats, with the arrangement to meet in New York in person, only to receive a text that sounded like a goodbye, hours after landing, but then the invasion happened and you had zero time to look for him, assuming the worst, to ultimately meeting again on the boat. He still looks at you as if he’s known you his whole life, in person. With newly shared trauma, to old shared conditions - you’re honestly not sure you’d be sane right now.

Tap. Tap.

A warm hand pinches the skin of your calve. It causes you to look up from your mindless doodling. He’s got that little soft smile, the flame of the candle dancing in the blown expanse of his pupils. His brows pinch together, his curls drooping over his forehead as he nods for a confirmation in his request. He comes closer and your agreement, knees rustling the sheets and the comforter.

He props himself beside you, one hand cupping your jaw, bringing you in to nuzzle your nose. With the exception of fires crackling, crickets chirping, some residents still up, and the distant sound of the water lapping at the shoreline — all remains a comfortable kind of tranquil. You feel his mouth on your jawline first, fingers tilting you to maintain direction. You push your book aside, listening to the light smacks of his lips as he sucks in the flesh of your neck, lightly biting down, only to release and soothe. His spare hand, it finds its way up your nightdress, resting on your knees, kneading, rolling his palm, until it splays, his dipping fingers tapping your skin.

He pulls away from the divide between your neck and shoulder, mouth red and panting, licking his teeth as his hand leaves your land and his pointer and middle finger make a spreading motion. Your heart drops into your guts, entangled and stifling the air in your lungs. You can’t tug your panties down fast enough, sliding against his chest, taking his own stubble bitten chin into your grip for a kiss as he lets his hand cup your heat, a groan slipping into your mouth. It gets harder to cover when you feel him press at your entrance, teasing the muscle, getting you so worked up that you have to stare him down with your pleading eyes that he’s so fond of. You take two digits with ease, rocking your hips, taking what you need from him, letting him spoil you.

It’s a lewd sound, one that someone couldn’t miss if they were to pass your tent. Eric’s breaths are coming out choppy across your lips, his lap swollen with need. But sometimes, it’s about giving you pleasure that gets him off the most. And you, you’re sure every creature across the world can hear how fast your heart is beating. Your body zoned out, only honing in on Eric, facing him as you near your climax.

It’s going to be strong, you both know it. He sees through his haze enough to cup your mouth with his spare hand as you tighten around his fingers, crying into his rapid pulse, that is buried beneath his wrist. You’re trembling, whimpering, and it attacks that aching fire in his belly, licking, and causes him lower his face into your jugular, warmth spurting from between his thighs and into his boxers. You hold one another through it, smiling against a sweaty daze, and he kisses you again, one finger dropping to write I Love You inside of your wrist.

[kingsteve-more-like-dadsteve]

Yall already knew I was gonna say this but Im watching A Quiet Place: Day One with Joseph Quinn. Obviously yall know I love him, but also you’re telling me to see him as he is but also AS A MAN WHO ISNT AFRAID TO CRY AND BE SCARED?!

The Subway scene bro? Mans having a panic attack? Hey that’s my babygirl

Hey, I need to be put down. I need to hug and kiss this man while he cries about being scared to die

[babybluebex]

needs and wants | eric aqpdo x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in the direct aftermath of the apocalypse, you meet a man who's worse for wear in just about every regard. even though you can't do too much to heal his injuries, it's possible that you can heal his heart. wc 10.6k (she's a doozy) 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: eric (a quiet place: day one, 2024) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: SPOILERS FOR AQPDO, DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T WANT THE FILM SPOILED!, mentions of death/general apocalypse things, panic attacks, mentions of suicidal thoughts/actions (if you know eric's backstory that ended up cut from the film, he talks ab it), far too much intimacy for what this is, smut (minors dni): p in v, tit sucking, condom use 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: umm... i have no excuse for this... other than i need eric on a carnal level lol. hope you enjoy!!

It was funny how your whole world could change in a single day. And it was supposed to be a good day too; you had racked up enough PTO to allow yourself a full day off of work, and you had plans. You were going to brunch with your girlies that you hadn’t seen since nursing school, you were going to rent a movie at home, watch rom-coms in your underwear— you looked forward to sleeping in, taking a bubble bath, going to sleep early. You only achieved one part of that: you hadn’t even received the mimosa pitcher you had ordered when you heard the noise outside, as loud as a rocket taking off on the street just outside the hip brunch place, and you had hardly turned to look out the window when your world fell apart. 

Silence became your norm. Fear overtook you at every turn, giving your hands a perpetual shake that you weren’t certain would ever wear off. You didn’t know too much psychological or neurological stuff— you were a trauma nurse, emergency room and ICU type stuff, you were more concerned with stopping the blood flow and stabilizing vitals than ever caring about the after-effects of shit— but you wondered if the shaking of your hands was forever part of you now. You were good under pressure, never scared, but whatever the fuck those creatures were out there had changed the makeup of your being in a single second. 

When the helicopters buzzed overhead, drawing the monsters toward them and away from the city, and they announced that boats were departing from a nearby dock, you knew you had to go. More than saving yourself, you knew some very hurt and very sick people would gather there. You were sure that FEMA people would be swarming the boats to take care of the sick and injured, but you didn’t know what else to do. Your brain went on a sort-of autopilot, and you did the only thing you could think to do: you followed the crowd out to the docks. 

You had never gone that long without talking. Your throat was so dry from debris and dust anyway that you weren’t even sure that you could talk. Your clothes were torn, various small injuries that weren’t anything some disinfectant and a Band-Aid couldn’t fix, along with a gash on your calf that you had determined would be fine for now but could definitely use some tending-to once on the boat, plus your shaky hands, but otherwise you were fine. When the windows shattered and the monsters invaded, your table had overturned from the force of the sonic blast, and your animal instincts kicked in, throwing yourself behind the table and barricading there. You were one of the lucky ones— you lived. Sure, glass cut up your knees and palms, and you couldn’t even breathe without worrying that your breaths would alert the monsters, but you had lived. That was more than some could say. 

You felt packed out like sardines on the boat. Standing room only, except for the few exceptions of the people who were hurt or passed out. You had meager belongings in your pockets, although you weren’t sure how helpful your dead cell phone or essentially-useless credit cards would be in a time like this, but at least you had your work badge in your purse when you went to brunch. You found someone who looked like they were in charge, dressed in all-grey, not a military uniform but not civilian clothes either, and you silently showed them your badge, declaring yourself as a trauma nurse at a hospital in Brooklyn, and you gestured around, trying to ask if there was anything you could do to help. The woman shook her head, but folded her hands in a sort of ‘thank-you’ gesture.

You managed to stand towards the back of the ship, against the railing, next to the ladder, and you flinched at the loud chug of the boat casting off from the dock. Surely the monsters heard that. Everybody around you seemed to hold a deep breath, anticipatory, awaiting the worst to come at your final moments of salvation, but thankfully the monsters weren’t concerned with you all— maybe you were too far out in the water and, if the announcements from the helicopters were to be believed, the monsters couldn’t swim, so they didn’t care too much about the boat. Or maybe, the sudden sound of glass shattering from the shore, followed by shrill car alarms, captured their attention better. 

You watched, horrified, as you spotted a woman racing down the street, hardly noticeable from the distance, but the sun glinted off of a silver metal pipe in her hand as she raised it in the air, and she smashed the window of the car next to her as she raced away. 

“Hell’s she doing…?” The man next to you mumbled, and you instinctively put your hand on his shoulder to silence him, even though there was no need. The world had changed in a day, habits had formed in 24 hours, and you wondered how long it would take to shake the new habits. You watched the woman flit between cars, trying to outpace the monsters as she smashed windows, but then something else caught your attention. On the dock, there was a man. Wearing a yellow sweater, carrying something that you couldn’t identify, running like his life depended on it towards the edge of the dock. And maybe it did; a few straggling monsters had started after him instead of the woman, and he had to have known as well as you did that the water was safe. 

Your heart rammed up into your throat as he ran, faster and faster, white sneakers hitting the metal dock, and he looked over his shoulder for a moment at the monster that was meters, feet, away from him, before he righted himself forward and hurtled himself off the edge of the dock. Everyone on the boat was watching now as he flew for a brief moment, suspended in the air as time stood still, and then plummeted into the water below. The monsters skidded to a halt at the edge of the dock, one curled claw extended out, a scrap of yellow cardigan stuck on its talon. 

By now, everyone had come to the same conclusion, and started to gather at the ladder onboarding right next to you— the man would need help coming aboard. You all watched anxiously as he surfaced from the water, frantically looking around and gulping air as he tried to keep his head above water and orient himself. Finally, he looked towards the boat, and you could have sworn that he looked at you instead of anybody else. He gained his senses quickly, starting to swim out towards the boat, and you caught sight of the little white whatever-it-was he was holding: a cat. The cat seemed safe and unharmed, definitely soggy but no worse for wear, and you crouched down, extending your arm down the ladder to meet him. 

You didn’t have the strength to help pull him aboard, but the man who had spoken next to you gently moved you, and he grasped the wet man’s arm and pulled him up the last few rungs of the ladder. He heaved breaths, his eyes all big and round as he took in his surroundings. Then, if you were unsure whether he was looking at you before or not, he extinguished any doubts you had this time around, because his eyeline landed on you. He was startled, hurt, traumatized— those wet eyes had seen some things, worse than you had seen. 

You helped him move away from the ladder and back towards a more secluded part of the boat, and the FEMA woman you had “talked” to before came to your side, a first aid kit in one hand and a heavy wool blanket in the other. 

“Sir?” you croaked. Jesus Christ, speaking really was a challenge. You cleared your throat, hoping that would improve things, and you said, “Sir, are you hurt?” 

He shook his head quickly, clutching the cat in his arms, and you spotted the gash on his shin. The leg of his pants was torn and shredded, and you could bet that the wound was pretty fresh. “You can speak,” you told him gently. “We’re safe here.” 

He looked at you, tears streaming down his face, and in a hushed voice, said, “How can you be so sure?” 

They said the boat ride would last through the day and you would arrive by nightfall, but FEMA assured you that the destination would be worth it. A little island, they said, off the northern coast of the state, that used to house a summer camp but was abandoned however long ago. The buildings there, houses, old camp cabins, would take some sprucing up, they told you, but it was safe, and it could turn into home. As night fell, factions were made, and people divided as best as possible— the vulnerable ones, the hurt ones, the kids, went to the inside part of the boat, and the healthy stayed outside, huddled under the wool blankets and trying to forget the cold November ocean air berating their faces. 

The yellow-cardiganed man was moved inside, and you moved through the small crowd in there, doing what you could to help. Passing out crackers and water bottles, winding gauze around bloody injuries, squeezing hands and offering small words of encouragement. It wasn’t a lot, but it felt good to help. 

Eventually, you couldn’t ignore your fatigue anymore, and you sat down on the floor against the back wall with a sigh. It was a low din inside there, so you felt relatively safe making a little bit of noise, and you sniffled and zipped open the inside pocket of your coat. The stuff you had stashed from your purse was in there, and you frowned down at your brick of a cell phone, the screen shattered. You cast it aside, then pulled out your wallet, rifling through it to see what went missing. Thankfully, your license was still there, so if anybody needed identification at any point, you had that covered; an old fast food gift card that you were sure still had money on it but was useless now; and an old paper movie ticket that you had saved with the intention of putting it in a scrapbook. Your heart panged with hurt, and you checked every other section of your wallet, but it was empty. 

Your house keys were certainly back on the floor of the restaurant, and you thought about the key to your mother’s house that lived on the ring. You hadn’t been able to contact her since the monsters came— the last thing you said to her was a text the morning of brunch, telling her to have a good day, and she had sent the classic mom :-) emoticon to you. Was she still alive? Had she managed to escape the monsters? Even though she didn’t live in the city, you wondered how far the monsters had traveled. Her neighbors were a family, with a high-school age son who played basketball and mowed your mother’s lawn; for your sanity, you chose to believe that they had taken her in (along with her prized African violets). 

A little noise came from in front of you, someone clearing their throat, and you looked up through your welling tears to see him. Damp yellow cardigan, wool blanket loose around his shoulders, curls wet and flat to his forehead. He stood still, watching you for a moment, before he spoke, a little louder than the first time but still a whisper. “Never caught your name,” he said. An accent. Not a native New Yorker. 

You told him with a shrug. Your eyes canvassed his frame, watching him shiver a little in what was probably an adrenaline rush, and your eyes landed on that nasty cut on his shin. It wasn’t actively bleeding, but still very red. It looked maybe a little inflamed, a tiny bit swollen, and you started to reach out for it, but stopped yourself. Your hands were filthy and, if infection was already setting in the way you suspected it was, whatever germs you had probably weren’t good for the wound. You withdrew your hand and settled in your lap, and you cleared your throat. “One of the FEMA people can help with that,” you told him, nodding towards his leg. “Bandages and anti-inflammatories and shit.” 

“Aren’t you a nurse?” the man asked, now his turn to nod at you. You had clipped your badge to the collar of your coat and, even though the plastic flower that had once surrounded the metal clip was shattered and long gone, the clip still served its purpose. 

“I am,” you said. “But I don’t have bandages.” You cracked a loose smile, and you winced at the bottle of water and pile of crackers next to you on the floor. “I’ve got crackers and water.” 

“I’m starving,” he told you, returning the small smile. “May I?” 

You nodded, and he worked himself down to the floor (he seemed to be favoring his left ankle a little, the same leg with the gash). He settled back against the wall, sighing heavily, and he took a pack of crackers into his hands and read the label for a moment. “‘Peanut butter’,” he read. “D’ya like these?” 

“They’re alright,” you said. “I used to buy the same ones, shove ‘em in my work bag to eat between patients. Kinda bland and gross, but they get the job done.” 

He nodded, and he tore the corner of the plastic sleeve and extracted a peanut butter cracker. “I used to like the ones with, erm, cream cheese and chives,” he said. “A quick snack at work. S’never what I wanted to eat, but sometimes I’d be at the office ‘til late, and at that point, take what you can get, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “What did you do?” 

“Lawyer,” he said, popping one of the crackers into his mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” you chuckled. “Yeah, you had some long nights… My sister’s husband is a paralegal, he used to tell me all about it.” 

“Cool,” he told you. “And you, Miss Nurse?”

“And me what?” you asked.

“What’s your husband do?” he asked. 

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. “I’d have to have one of those for him to have a job,” you said. “No, being a nurse is very, like… If you’re not married by the time you leave nursing school, all hope is lost. You won’t ever have any free time to go on dates or even think about that sorta stuff.” 

“Same with law school,” he told you. “All my mates were engaged or married when we graduated, and everyone always told me, ‘Oh, Eric, you’ll find the right girl! She’s out there somewhere’, and it’s like… If she’s not in my office building or on the subway home at 2AM, I’m not meeting her.” 

“You went to school around here?” you asked, and he (you assumed his name was Eric, based on his anecdote) nodded, then shrugged. 

“Cornell,” he said. “Then got hired at a firm in the city, and just… Never left.” 

“Well, that’s cool,” you said lightly. “I’m assuming you’re not from around here?”

He shook his head. “Kent,” he said. “About an hour out from London.”

“Wow,” you said softly. “That change must’ve been… A lot.”

Eric shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “It was alright, I suppose. At that time, I was sorta fighting with my dad all the time, really wanting to leave and go somewhere but he didn’t want that…” He trailed off, letting the conclusion form by itself. “Haven’t seen ‘em in-person since then. I always said I was busy, or it was too expensive, or… I was supposed to go back home at Christmas… My sister had a baby and I was supposed to meet him then…” He trailed off, obviously at a loss for what else to say, and you sighed.

“I’m sure they’re okay,” you told him, even though you yourself doubted it. “I mean, maybe the monsters are only here. They don’t like water; if they came from here, they can’t get over there.”

Eric nodded slowly. His eyes scanned the room, looking and listening, and he reached his hand out in front of him, making a small noise with his tongue against his teeth. You followed his gaze and found his cat, all furry with white and black spots, being adored and pet by a little boy sitting on a cot close by, and Eric tutted at the cat again. The cat turned their big dark eyes to their owner, and dutifully trotted over, snuggling in-between Eric’s criss-cross-applesauce legs.

“Who’s this?” you asked.

“Frodo,” Eric said, stroking the cat between his ears. Frodo began to purr, his eyes closing blissfully, and Eric said, “He was my friend’s, but she… She told me to take care of him.”

Your mind brought back the image of the woman running, distracting the monsters away from Eric. “Was that the one who…?” you started, and Eric nodded.

“He was her service animal,” he said. “She had cancer, he sort-of alerted her whenever her pain medication was going out… Also kept her company in hospice. He’s quiet, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Well, none of us have to worry about that,” you said, and Eric took in a breath. “Not anymore. Not with the island.”

“Right,” Eric sighed. “Almost forgot.”

“I’m worried I’ll never go back to normal,” you admitted. “Even just two days of thinking like this… Trauma’s so fucking weird.”

Eric nodded in agreement. You caught him staring at your hands, shaking and shivering as they laid in your lap, and he started to unwind the blanket from around himself to settle over you, but you shook your head. “M’not cold,” you told him. “Just… Nervous. Y’know?”

Eric watched you for a moment, making sure that you weren’t bullshitting him (you were a little; your coat was wet through, and you definitely could do with a dry coat, but you would live), and he said, “I think you need to pet my cat.”

“Do I?” you asked with a chuckle.

“You sure do,” Eric nodded. “He doesn’t bite or scratch— he might nibble your fingers a little, but only ‘cause he’s curious.”

You reached out for Frodo, letting him sniff your hand a little before he shoved his solid little head under your fingers, squinting his eyes as you started to scratch behind his ears. You couldn’t help the smile that overtook your face, and you said, “He’s very sweet.”

“He’s smart too,” Eric said. “He can do maths. Look’it: Frodo, what’s one minus one?”

Frodo, of course, responded in silence, and Eric smiled, cocking his head. “I think that’s impressive,” he said, and you huffed out a laugh.

“Silly,” you mumbled under your breath, moving to scratch Frodo on his chin. “When’s the last time he’s eaten? I can try to find something for him.”

“Last night,” Eric said, his smile faltering. “Sam might’ve given him something earlier this morning, but I didn’t wake up until later.”

That’s how you greeted the island, petting Frodo and sharing light stories about your past lives. Nothing too heavy or sad or emotional, even though it felt like any story about your past life held an air of sadness and mourning. You could try to go back to normal, but normal was long gone. As everyone departed the boat under the dusky stars, there was a large team of FEMA workers to greet you with big, heavy bags and send you to an empty cabin for the night. You and Eric (and Frodo) stuck together, and you received your bags and moved down to a cabin. To your surprise, the lights worked, as did a small space heater in the corner, but you can tell it had been running for some time, because the inside was already warm. Several beds were set up and made with thin, government-issued bedsheets, but it was far better than nothing.

You went about unpacking the bag as Eric moved to the small bathroom and shut the door. There was a change of clothes, sweatshirt and pants and underwear and socks, basic toiletries like a toothbrush and shampoo and a small bar of soap, two bottles of water, a plastic packaged MRE (you had Menu 3, “chicken, egg noodles, and vegetables in sauce”), and some things like Band-Aids and small packages of Advil like what you kept stocked in the ER, along with a sanitary napkin, and, the piece de resistance (courtesy of the American government, you’re very welcome), a condom. You frowned at the last thing and slid it into your toiletries bag underneath the bar of soap to hide it; to be frank, sex was the last thing you wanted or needed. Your brain was still in survival mode, and you didn’t even feel like you could settle down enough to sleep, let alone to fuck. Could anybody here?

You heard the shower squeak on in the bathroom, and the pipes creaked as water rushed through. You stripped off your clothes, exchanging them for the warmer and drier and less dirty option, and you sniffled as your fingers began to warm up, becoming less stiff but considerably more sweaty. The bed creaked under you as you sat down, the springs screaming at you, and you rubbed the paper-thin blanket between your fingers. It reminded you of the quality of the hospital, where you might as well be using copy paper instead of fabric. If you had known that your last night in your bed, with your memory foam pillow and weighted blanket, would truly be your last, you would have savored the experience far more. Would you even be warm enough under those blankets?

You couldn’t ponder it any longer, because Frodo suddenly caught a bee in his bonnet, and he skittered from atop the second bed, where Eric had settled his things before he went to the shower. He careened to the closed bathroom door, and he got up on his hind legs, pawing at the door handle. Wordlessly, he craned his tiny head to look at you, and he made the first cat noise you heard him make, a sort of “mrrow” chirping groan. As you got up and went to grab him (“Eric’s just taking a shower, Fro, he’ll be right back”), Frodo turned back to the door and began to bat at the handle, like he was attempting to turn it.

And then you remembered. Frodo was a service cat. He had been trained to alert for certain things, and Eric had mentioned rising pain levels, but what else could Frodo alert for? Suddenly, your heart jumped into your throat, and you knocked on the door. “Eric? You okay?” you asked, but you received no answer. “Eric? Hey, man, Frodo’s freaking out, are you alright in there?”

It was hard to hear too much over the sound of the running shower, but you heard the unmistakable shaking breath of a gasping sob, and, maybe against your better judgement, you turned the door handle. The door wasn’t locked, and the hinges squeaked as you opened the door. Eric had shed his blanket and cardigan and loosened his tie, but he was backed into the far corner of the bathroom, staring at the porcelain bathtub with eyes as big as dinner plates. The faucet was running, the tub filling up, but Eric was frozen. Quickly, you turned the tap and shut off the water, and you gave him his space as you asked “What’s wrong? Can you tell me what happened?”

Eric shook his head, his mouth contorting into an ugly sob, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked out, and he just kept shaking his head over and over. “No, no,” he mumbled. “No!”

“Hey, easy,” you told him gently. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

“Th-The water,” Eric gasped. “I—I—” His knees gave out, and he slumped against the wall with a sob. He began to claw at his shirt, at the topmost button; even though it was undone, he still seemed to want it looser.

You rushed to his aid, pushing his hands aside and starting at his shirt buttons. His eyes were still shut tight, but you needed to see his pupils— if he was in shock, or if something else was happening, the dilation of his pupils could help tell you. “Eric,” you said softly. “Open your eyes, please. Please? I need to see your eyes.”

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and you saw his pupils so big and dark, they almost overtook the brown of his iris. His face was pale, his chest heaving as you undid his buttons, and you pressed your fingers to the side of his neck to check his pulse. Fast, hard, heavy. You had been by his side all night, he hadn’t taken any medication that he could be having a reaction to, and he had been eating the same crackers and water that you had. There weren’t many other conclusions to come to— a panic attack. But at what?

Eric sank down to the floor, sobbing and shaking, and you followed him, putting a gentle but controlling grip on his wrists. You didn’t think he would, but you needed to control him if he started to get violent. “Eric, take a breath,” you told him. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Nothing’s going to hurt you, okay? Everything is alright.”

Eric sucked in a breath and doubled over on himself, and you kept your hands on his wrists as you shifted away— if he got sick, you didn’t want it on your clothes. Although, you were sure you could get different ones somehow. But he didn’t get sick, he just kept crying. You felt awful and tasted bitter in your mouth. Typically, at this point, you would be paging the mental health wing to come by and evaluate him, and you’d move on to the next person waiting in the ER. You didn’t know how to talk someone down from a panic attack. You didn’t even know how to do that for yourself, let alone for Eric.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Okay, it’s okay. What happened? Did something happen?”

Eric’s eyes glazed over you and settled behind your shoulder, and you looked back to see the bathtub. It was hardly half-full, but everything clicked into place. “The water,” you said. “You’re afraid of the water. Is that it?”

Eric sniffled and nodded weakly, and you blinked away tears. “That’s okay,” you whispered. “That’s totally okay. I mean, you had to jump into the water to get away from the monsters, I don’t blame you for being afraid—”

“I was down in the subway,” Eric blurted out. “When the monsters came. I was there, and I couldn’t stop thinking, I just kept thinking, and I… I didn’t have the guts to do it. I wanted to do it, I wanted to! But I was too scared that it would hurt. Was scared I’d looked too fucked up and they wouldn’t be able to tell who I was, and my-my mum, thinking about my mum being told, it would kill her, and I was just thinking… And the water came rushing in. Filled everything up, there was no air… I had to swim, and I can’t swim, I never learned really, but I was swimming and I just thought ‘I don’t actually want to die’. But I started feeling spotty, all lightheaded and fairy, and I think I was starting to drown, but I saw the light and came up…”

You were at a loss for words. If you were understanding him, he had been trying to kill himself before the monsters. It sounded like he was moments away from stepping in front of a train. His saving grace was the flood in the tunnels. You had trouble swallowing as your throat went thick, and you lowered your eyes for a minute before you loosened your grip on his wrists. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re gonna be alright. Do you want to take a shower instead?”

Eric shook his head. “Doesn’t work,” he mumbled. “Only the tub does.”

You sighed heavily. “Do you want me to stay?” you asked. “Or I can wait outside the door?”

Eric seemed edging into a catatonic state, just shivering and blinking, and you frowned. You finished your abandoned job of undoing his shirt buttons, and you loosened his tie until it came off completely, and you gently pushed off his stained and ragged buttoned shirt. His undershirt wasn’t in much better shape, the underarms and neck stained with sweat, and you started to take it off, but paused. “Is this okay?” you asked. He didn’t react to your question, just staring at your neck, and you carefully angled his head up to look you in the face. “Eric. Is it okay if I undress you and put you in the bath? I’ll be right here the whole time, I won’t leave you alone.”

Eric weakly nodded, shifting his arms a little to better help you pull his undershirt over his head, and his hands went down to his pants to finish the job. You quickly considered what the next steps were as Eric fished his belt from his pants loops, and you pushed the sleeves of your sweatshirt up to your elbows to free up your hands. Eric, now only in his boxers, gave you a pathetic look, and you took him by the hand and helped him to his feet. You figured that he had forgone removing his boxers for a reason, so you didn’t push it, and you held him stable as he lifted a shaking foot over the edge of the bathtub. He was silent, but you watched tears run down his cheeks as he settled both feet in the water, his grip on your hand so tight that it almost hurt.

Slowly, he sat down in the tub, and the water splashed your hand. It was warm but not hot enough to hurt, and you sat by the edge of the bathtub, watching Eric as he sniffled. He certainly was dirty after two days in an apocalyptic city, and you were sure that you weren’t any better off, and you started to get up to retrieve the toiletry bag that he had brought in with him, settled by the sink, but his tight grip only became more vice-like as you tried to depart. “Don’t—” he choked out, and you shushed him gently.

“I’m not leaving,” you told him. “Just getting the shampoo and stuff, just by the sink.”

“Can you get in?” Eric asked softly, almost at a whisper. “When you come back?”

“I-In?” you repeated. “Like, in the bath?”

Eric nodded. He was watching you with his big, intense eyes, and a shiver ran down your back.

“Okay,” you told him. “Umm… I don’t know if I can. I don’t have any other clothes, and I can’t get these wet.”

“Please?” Eric whimpered. “Need… Just need help.”

Maybe it was because you felt bad for him, or maybe you were feeling something that you didn’t want to consider yet, but regardless of the reason, you nodded. You got up from the floor and retrieved the bag from the sink counter, and you came back to the tub. The sides of the tub were curved, not allowing for you to settle the stuff on the edge, and you quickly handed the shampoo and soap to him. He held them gingerly, and he averted his eyes down to the water as you put the bag down and started to pull off the sweatshirt. “Eric,” you said softly. “You can look. You’re gonna see everything in the next few minutes anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

Slowly, Eric raised his eyes up, but he still didn’t look staright at you. At least now it wasn’t obvious that he was avoiding looking at you like before, where it felt like he would be burned alive if he looked. You carefully pulled the sweatshirt over your head and set it by your feet, then you pulled down the sweatpants and stepped out of them. Your heart was beating quickly as you lowered yourself into the bathtub, sitting with your back to Eric, and he nudged his legs a little wider to allow you to sit comfortably. The water felt good on your aching muscles, especially your back, and you sighed lightly. You sat for a moment, trying to drum up enough courage to turn to him and start to help, but he beat you to it.

Eric’s hands were warm, his palm a little rough, as he touched your shoulder, sliding his hand down a little to reach your back. His fingers played with the ends of your hair, and he lowered his hand back to the water. He cupped his palm and let water flow in, then he brought it up to you and wet your hair. Was this his definition of help? To help himself, he had to help others? It made sense, but it still took you a little by surprise. You don’t think anybody had ever washed your hair for you, not since you were a kid. But this was different, in just about every way possible. It was intimate in a way that made your breath catch in your throat, and you swallowed thickly as Eric lifted a hand and tilted your head back to lightly pour water over the front of your hair. He was careful in his work, making sure not to get it on your face or in your ears, and you listened to his breathing even out as he diligently did his task.

The shampoo was some cheap, basic crap, didn’t smell like anything and was only good for getting the oil out of your hair, but the way that Eric worked it into your hair made it seem like it was made by the gods. You felt relaxed, the first time in a long time, and your eyes slipped close as his fingertips worked into your scalp. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt that good, especially by someone else’s hands— maybe years, it was hard to say. You knew that, no matter how good it felt, you couldn’t sink too hard into the feeling of it. Eric just needed to help you, and this was his help; nothing more, nothing less.

He gently poured water from his palms over your hair, rinsing it out as best as possible, and you felt that hot streak shoot up your nose. You wanted to cry. You hadn’t cried in… You had no idea. It certainly had been a long time, and you frowned and gulped as you held down the tears. Unluckily for you (or maybe luckily; it was nice to know Eric was so attentive), he noticed your catched breathing, and his hands gently settled on your shoulders. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Are you?” you answered, almost a knee-jerk reaction. Don’t worry about yourself, worry about your patient, your friend, anybody else. You came last in your mind, everybody else was more important than you.

“That’s not what I asked you,” Eric said firmly. “Are you okay?”

“I…” you started. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that nothing was wrong. He didn’t need to worry about you, you were tough, you could handle yourself. You watched as water filtered through your own fingers, pooling in your palm but escaping out of every little break and crevice possible, and you pursed your lips as you slowly rubbed your face, trying to wash away to grime and dirt. You shook your head lightly, trying to come up with any words to express yourself, and you wiped off your cheeks as you sniffled. “I don’t know.” You couldn’t come up with any better explanation; you just didn’t know if you were okay or not. Your hands slid down your face and flattened up against your neck, and you sighed. “Are you okay?” you tried again.

“I’ll be okay,” Eric told you. His hands smoothed down your shoulders to your arms, and he squeezed your upper arm for a moment before he went for the soap, starting up a lather between his palms.

“Well, sure, we’ll all be okay eventually,” you replied. “But are you okay right now?”

Eric waited until he was washing your back to answer. His sudsy hands slipped over your skin easily, but he dug his fingertips into your muscles, offering relief. “I’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I don’t know what I am right now, to be honest. Head’s just full of… I don’t know. A whole lot of noise, but not any one thing. It’s all quiet out here, but in there, it’s just…” He sighed, and his hands halted at your sides. He obviously had been on track to move to your front, doing his job on autopilot, and he only thought about what he was doing as he was about to do it.

Silently, you shifted your weight back just a hint, closer to him, trying to tell him that it was alright without saying the words. He quickly caught on to what you were telling him, and his hands slid around your body to your front. To your relief, he avoided where you had expected his hands to go, instead wrapping his arms around your shoulders and hugging himself to you, setting his chin on your shoulder. “You make it quiet up there,” Eric whispered, barely above a breath, like he was afraid of saying it out loud. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why… But you start talking, and it’s like everything else fades away.”

That was your breaking point. Tears started to fall from your eyes, and you sniffled as your hands reached up to your neck and clutched his wrists, looking for anything tangible to hold on to while you cried. And cried you did, your face contorted as you sobbed, your shoulders shaking and chest heaving, and you squeezed Eric’s wrists. He was quick to move impossibly closer, molding his front to your back, and his arms slipped down to your middle, squeezing you tightly as he buried his face in your neck and began to cry as well. He was much quieter than you, not having nearly as much that he held back and needed to get rid of, but it felt good to have someone commiserate with you.

You weren’t sure who moved first— maybe there wasn’t a first to move, maybe you both moved at the same time— but somehow your foreheads came to touch, and your crying pettered down to a sniffle and watery eyes. Your hand came up to touch his cheek, scruffy with a few days’ old beard trying to grow in, and your thumb stroked his cheekbone. He keened into your touch, his eyes fluttering open to look at you. His big brown eyes, so full of every emotion, hidden just so but easy to see if you knew where to look, locked on yours, and your lips fell open in anticipation of his mouth on yours.

Instantly, though, you shifted away and lightly cleared your throat. This wasn’t the time for that. You didn’t know if there would ever be a time for that again. Quietly, you splashed water on your face, and stood up, carefully getting out of the bathtub and going after the towel that sat on the countertop. You scooped your clothes up off the floor as well, and you escaped from the bathroom without a word. You were sure he was confused, maybe even wounded, but you didn’t care. On some level, you did want that— you wanted to feel wanted, to feel adored, cared about, and Eric was a great guy for that, but you didn’t want just that. You wanted a life, you wanted a partner, you wanted love— not just some trauma-borne fuck that you forgot about as soon as it happened.

You dried your body and slipped into your full outfit, pants and sweatshirt and underwear and socks, and you sat on your bed as you dried your hair. You listened as, inside the bathroom, the water sloshed against the side of the tub while Eric moved around, and you watched as Frodo calmly stalked the perimeter of the room, seeming to check every nook and cranny. You put your damp towel to the side and tutted out at the cat, and Frodo looked up at you for a moment before he scampered over to you, hopping up onto the bed and settling himself in your lap. “You’re a good boy, Fro,” you whispered, stroking his back. “Such a good boy.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Eric’s voice floated to you, and you turned to him. He was now all clean as well, his hair soggy and his face free of grime, wearing the sweatpants and sweatshirt. His hair was pushed away from his face, and you could see, even in the dim light, freckles dotting his forehead.

You sighed. “No,” you replied. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

“Did you not want me to…?” Eric began.

“No, no, it’s not that,” you told him quickly. “Not that at all, I did want you to, I just… I don’t know if I can do all that.”

“All what?” Eric asked. “What did you think was going to happen if I kissed you?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “I don’t know, I assumed more would come of it. And I just don’t know if I’m ready for more. Even before the world came crashing down, I wasn’t ready for more. That’s why I didn’t have anyone; not because I didn’t have time, although that was true. I’m just… Scared.”

Eric quietly moved towards you, bypassing his bed and settling at the extreme edge of yours, as far away as possible while still occupying the same space. Frodo looked at him with thin eyes and he slowly blinked at Eric, and his tail flopped in an indignant half-wag. “Scared of what?” Eric asked.

You sighed. “That I won’t be right for anyone,” you said. “Even back when I was on the market, people always… I don’t know. Wanted more, and for whatever reason, I could never give more to them. I was always so afraid of what would happen when I finally gave all of myself to someone that I never did, and by the time I figured out that someone did want all of me, it was too late and I’d already lost them. I can never win— I’m always never enough or I’m too much. I’m never just right.”

Eric thought on your words for a few moments, and he moved closer to you, just an inch. “Yeah,” he said. “But that was back then. Everything has changed. Everything is different now. You don’t need to be afraid of being what’s right, because what used to be right is just… All sorts of fucked up now. Nobody knows anything anymore. I certainly don’t. But I know what I want, more than I ever have before.”

“And let me guess,” you said. “You want me?”

You hoped that calling him out on his cheesy cliché would have him back down. You liked that he wanted you, and you wanted him too, you wanted him so badly that it hurt, but you didn’t want him to mistake wanting you for wanting a connection with someone.

“I want to be okay again,” Eric told you. “But I need you.”

That was the most magical word of all. Need. It punched a hole in your heart and took your breath away, and you watched him as he watched you, just seeing who would dare to break first. Frodo seemed to know something you didn’t, because he jumped up out of your lap and skittered across the room with an uncharacteristic yowl, and you frowned as he sped away, but your frown was quickly wiped off your face as Eric bridged the gap and kissed you.

You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. He held your face as his lips moulded to yours, a perfect fit as you kissed back, and you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It felt good to kiss someone, to hold someone and be held by someone. You forgot how much you missed the feeling of another person, and you melted into his body as he claimed your hips in his strong hands. His knuckles were scuffed up, but he held you so gently, and you easily fell back onto the bed. He followed you, settling over you like he had done it a thousand times before, but the way his hands slowly slid up the sides of your shirt to touch your bare skin showed you how much it meant to him. Slow and gentle and sweet, he was everything you had wanted from a partner and a lover for as long as you could remember.

But you could tell, even though he was being sweet, how badly he wanted to have you. His kiss was greedy, shifting away from your mouth to kiss your chin and jaw and neck, almost feral with his need for you, but you welcomed it. Strong emotions like that were flattering, especially here and now, and you didn’t waste much time before sliding your hand past the elastic waistband of the sweatpants nestled around his hips. Your palm found his cock instantly, and you held in your gasp of surprise at his size— he definitely had something to be proud of. His skin was warm through the layer of his underwear, and you paused and widened your eyes at him, a quiet question of how far he wanted you to go.

“You don’t have to be quiet anymore,” Eric whispered. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You shivered underneath him at the sweet name he had bestowed on you, and you quietly asked, “Do you want me to…?”

“God, yes,” he moaned. “Haven’t done this in so long…”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile as you slipped under his briefs, and your fingers wrapped around his thick length. His skin was hot to the touch, his cock rock-hard, and he moaned softly into your neck at the contact. Whether he meant to or not, his hips rolled forward, pushing himself further into your grip, and he quickly whispered, “M’sorry, fuck—”

“Don’t apologize,” you told him. Your free hand went to cradle his cheek, and you shifted his face so that you could kiss his plush lips again. “It’s hot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eric asked. “It’s hot how…” He paused to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip with his front teeth, and he continued. “How desperate I am?”

“I am too,” you told him. “I just hide it better.”

Almost as if he was checking if you were lying, his hand skated down from your side and into your pants, letting his fingers mold to your cunt, and he chuckled lightly. “God, you’re wet,” he smiled. “That makes me feel better.”

“Were you worried I wasn’t?” you asked.

“Just a little,” Eric whispered, wrinkling his nose. “But I figured you’d tell me if something wasn’t working for you.”

“I’ll let you know,” you told him. You chased him into another kiss, and his tongue invaded your mouth. It had been so long since you had someone make you feel like that, and you whined softly into his mouth. “Eric, please.”

“What do you want?” he asked. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

“Anything,” you whimpered. Your legs shifted, coming up to anchor around his waist, and you slowly started to stroke his cock, teasing his soft head, just to see his reaction.

Thankfully, his cheeks went red, and that pretty pink mouth of his opened in a moan, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he mumbled, “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m already too close for you to be doing that.”

“Already?” you asked. You sounded a little more surprised than you meant to, and you quickly added, “That’s really attractive, Eric, I hope you know that.”

“What is?” he chuckled. “That I’ve got a short fuse?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged sheepishly. “I think it is, anyway. How can I help you?”

“Umm,” Eric said, then swallowed thickly. “Can I… Tits?”

You smiled at him, and you laid a gentle kiss on his lips before he shifted away, letting you pull up your sweatshirt. Your little survival packs hadn’t provided you with a bra of any kind, and you watched Eric’s already-wide eyes flare out at the sight of your chest. He didn’t say a word before he moved down your body and started to kiss everywhere he could reach, taking time and care on your tits. Your hand fell out of his pants at the angle shift, and you settled your fingers to twist in his damp curls as his own hand replaced yours, jerking himself off as he gently licked at your hardening nipple.

“S’that okay?” he whispered, casting his doe eyes up at you, and you nodded quickly. “’Cause if it’s not, I can stop—”

“I promise it’s okay,” you whispered. “I swear.”

Eric smiled. “She swears,” he whispered under his breath, and you giggled. “She swears she likes when I suck her tits. Aren’t I a lucky guy?”

You could hardly ignore the hot pressure between your legs, and you snaked your hand in-between your bodies and started to push down your sweatpants, but Eric noticed what you were up to, and he tugged his hand out of his own pants to capture the waistband of your sweatpants in his grasp. “Please,” he said. “Allow me.” You could tell that he intended to be funny, but his flushed face and fucked-out pupils made it seem a lot more pathetic than you’re sure he meant to be, but that just made a rush of heat strike your core, and your head fell back in bliss as you felt your hot skin slowly exposed to the air.

When you lifted your head back up to look at him, you watched as he shed his own clothes, finally matching you, and you bit your lip as his heavy cock rose to lay against his tummy. He had the thinnest trail of hair coming from down his belly button, smatterings of hair on his chest, a nicely-groomed bush of hair at the base of his cock; he clearly cared about the way he looked, and you loved that. You wondered if the Eric you knew was anything like the Eric before the monsters came, and you watched as he leaned back and began to gently place kisses down the length of your body. He was soft and gentle with you, although you were nearly certain he wanted to take you then and there, and you wiggled a little under his lips. “Can we…” you started. “Do that later?”

“Do what?” Eric asked.

“The whole ‘sweet and kissy’ thing,” you said. “Not to sound, like, sex-starved or anything, but I am, and I think my heart’s gonna explode if you’re not inside me soon.”

Eric chuckled, obviously not expecting that level of honesty out of you, and he pushed his damp curls off of his forehead. “Whatever you’d like, sweetheart,” he told you. “As long as you promise to let me eat your cunt eventually. I can only go so long seeing you like this and be expected to not put my mouth on you.”

“Sure,” you replied, secretly excited that he was expecting a second time.

Eric swiped a quick kiss on your mouth, and then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Umm…” he began. “I— Do you… Are you on any birth control or anything?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “No,” you sighed. “I was, but all that’s back in my apartment in Brooklyn. Haven’t taken my pill since, like, three nights ago, so I’m basically fucked for the whole month.”

“Fuck,” Eric whispered, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. “I guess, are you alright with this, then? We can figure something else out—”

“There’s, umm,” you winced. “A condom, in the bag with the shampoo and everything. There’s one in mine, and I bet there’s a second one in yours too.”

“Oh, shit, really?” Eric laughed. “That’s… That’s pretty funny.”

“Apparently, FEMA knows what people do in times of crisis,” you smiled.

“So, what I’m hearing,” Eric started, moving himself off the bed and going to your toiletries bag on the floor. His back turned to you, and you felt your eyes widen in shock at the state of his ass. Jesus Christ, this guy had a great ass, smooth and plump and perfectly rounded; you almost wanted to reach out and bite it. “Is that we can fuck twice, and then we’ll need to figure something else out.”

“Is that so?” you asked, and Eric came back to the bed, deftly tearing open the condom wrapper. You leaned up on your elbows to watch as he got back up on his knees, caging you between his thick thighs, and he made quick work of rolling the condom down his thick length, making a quiet grunt as he got it situated the way he wanted. “What makes you think there’ll be a third time? Or a second, for that matter?”

“Won’t there?” Eric asked. “You seem pretty into it right now. Or least your cunt is; look at how wet she is for me.”

“Well, yeah, now,” you teased him, biting the tip of your tongue, trying to will your thundering heart to go back to normal. “But what if, when everything is said and done, you’re actually a terrible fuck and I don’t want anything else to do with you?”

He laughed deep in his chest, and he took your thighs in his strong hands and opened your legs, smoothly settling himself so he could rub his hard cock against your weeping cunt. You felt blood thrumming under your skin, making every inch of you pulse and surge, and you whined high in your throat when the head of his cock caught at your hole, threatening to slip in with ease. “I doubt that, sweetheart,” he told you. “I’ve been told I’m a fantastic fuck.”

“Are you sure they weren’t trying to keep your ego intact?” you asked, and Eric tilted his head curiously at you.

“Well, they weren’t telling me much of anything,” he said. “Usually, by the end, they’re so fucked-out and brainless that they can hardly string a sentence together.”

Then, without a word of warning, he gripped your hips and slid himself inside of you, and you gasped. It had been so long that you had almost forgotten what sex felt like, but this was something entirely new and different. You could feel every ridge and vein on his cock, even through the condom, and he gave a delicious throb as you tightened your thighs around his hips. “Fuck!” you yelped, and a shade of worry passed over his face for just a moment. “I-I’m okay,” you told him quickly. “Just… Fuck, Eric, you’re so big.”

“You flatter me,” he chuckled. Slowly, he began to rock his hips into you, moving shallowly at first, just letting you get used to his size, and his dull fingernails buried into the flesh of your hip. You couldn’t help all the little noises he caused you to make— you could feel every inch of him, burying deep within you, stretching you and filling you like he was made for you, and he leaned down and ghosted against your lips with his. “Feel good?” he whispered, and you nodded quickly.

“Do I?” you asked softly. Your arms went around him, holding him close to you, and you pressed your fingers into his shoulders. He felt like a lifeline, his warm skin keeping you grounded, and you didn’t even care if you sounded pathetic or insecure. He made you feel good and safe, and that’s all that you cared about.

“Fuck, so good,” he grunted out. He was picking up speed, gaining a good rhythm that made you wonder how prolific he had been before his career got in the way, and you listened to the bed squeak under you as he mumbled, “So warm… So wet… You feel like a dream… Remember that short fuse I talked about?”

“Really?” you smiled. “Already?”

“Listen, woman,” Eric started, and you dragged him into a messy kiss. You loved him talking like that, and it made you realize just how close you were as well. He tugged away from the kiss to take a deep breath, and he went in to kiss you again, hungry and wanting you. He was going fast now, pumping in and out of you, leaving pleasure and sparks in his wake, and your legs twitched and tightened as the knot in your belly twisted closer and closer to its end. “I haven’t had sex in years,” Eric continued, finally tearing himself away from your lips. “And my right hand can only do so much after a while. So excuse me for being a little quick to the draw tonight.”

“How many years?” you asked.

Eric sighed. “I dunno,” he said. “At least since I graduated law school, so… Five years, maybe?”

“God,” you chuckled. “That’s… A while.”

“No, wait,” Eric said. “Three years. My birthday a few years ago, my mates took me out to a bar, and I met a girl, I spent the night at her place… And she never answered my texts after that.”

“Ouch,” you hissed. “That must’ve hurt that ego of yours.”

“Not gonna lie, it did,” Eric laughed. “But it’s for the best. I didn’t have time for a girlfriend anyway, I would’ve been an awful boyfriend to her. Or to anyone, not just her… What about you?”

“Umm…” you started. “Sex… Yes, I know what that is. Definitely a thing I’ve had before now.”

“Don’t play with me like that,” Eric started, jokingly wide-eyed and startled, and you laughed.

“About the same, I guess,” you said. “Three-ish years… It was back a few years ago, I was feeling bad about getting older and having a career but no partner, so I… I went on a dating app, found a guy, and we talked for a little bit and hooked up, but I got a bad vibe from him, so I broke it off.”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said. “Did you like him?”

“Not really,” you sighed. “And he wasn’t even that great in bed.”

“So, I’ve got him beat in every category, right?” Eric asked.

You kissed him again, cupping your hand across the back of his neck, and he smoothed his hands up your body lovingly. “You’ve got everyone beat, baby,” you told him.

“I think you’re an angel, actually,” Eric told you, and you shyly shook your head. “No, no, I think so. I don’t care if you don’t agree, that’s what I think.”

“Whatever you say,” you told him. “Can you, umm… Maybe a little faster?”

Eric obliged, pistoning his hips quicker to fuck you to your liking, and his hand floated to your pussy, his thumb gently rubbing at your throbbing little clit. You whined and scratched at his back, tightening your legs and digging your heel into that ass he had, and the electric shocks that ran up your toes and into the rest of your body started to become too good, too much. “Eric!” you gasped. “Eric, fuck!”

“I’ve got you, angel,” Eric whispered in your ear. “I’ve got you. Let me see that pretty face when you cum, yeah? Wanna feel your cunt squeeze me, fuck, I need it.”

You looked down at yourself, watching as his hard cock plunged in and out of your hole, leaving a creamy ring at the base of his cock, and your whining and whimpering almost had the wet squelch of your bodies together beat. Then, almost against your will, your whole body relaxed, every muscle feeling like it went slack, and you sobbed out your final moan, your head falling back as your nails went hard into his freckled shoulders. You felt your wet cover your inner thighs, and you panted as Eric chased his own end. You didn’t have to wait too long before you heard him choke back a moan, and he spilled himself inside the condom. You felt the warmth of his spend inside you, and he slowly pulled out of you with a hiss at the sensation on his sensitive, softening cock.

He was quick to take care of the condom, and he came back to the bed and settled in the small, empty space beside you. His red chest was heaving, his cheeks flooded with pink color, and he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you close to him. You melted into his warmth, mashing your cheek against his hard chest, and he let out a breathy laugh. “Fuck,” he gasped. “I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten real food all day or what, but I’m exhausted.”

“Me too,” you giggled. “I think you were just that good.”

“Once again, angel,” Eric whispered, settling a soft kiss on your head. “You flatter me.”

You fell into a comfortable silence then, listening to each other’s breathing even out, and Eric cleared his throat after a while. “Typically, at this point,” he started. “I’d be smoking a cigarette.”

“Oh my God, Eric, no,” you groaned. “Don’t you know how unhealthy that is?”

“Oh, right,” Eric chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Miss Nurse. So concerned for my health.”

“Right,” you told him. “I care about you, and I don’t want you to have breathing complications or worse early in life from smoking.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Eric told you. “I think I need another shower after that, though.”

“You do sorta stink,” you giggled, and Eric rolled his eyes. “If you shower, I can be making food.”

“Food?” Eric asked. “There’s food?”

“Yeah, an MRE,” you told him, and you grunted as you got out of bed, going in search of the plastic-packaged meal. “Chicken and noodles. I didn’t see what yours was.”

“Fuck,” he laughed. “I’ve got a sexy woman making dinner for me? I might keep you around after all.”

“You have to keep me around,” you told him. “Who else is supposed to help you raise your cat?”

Frodo seemed to know his cue, because he revealed himself from behind a bookshelf, batting a bit of cobweb on his nose, and Eric smiled. “I suppose you’re right,” Eric said. “Just don’t feed him too much; he’ll get fat. He’ll also try to attack your hand if you pet his belly, so don’t do that either.”

“Noted,” you told him. “Go shower, handsome, this should be done by then.”

Eric took a moment to wrap his arms around you and press a kiss to your temple, and he softly said, “I wish we could have met any other way. But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Me too,” you told him, turning in his arms to give him a real, genuine kiss. “I’m so glad you found me.”

[calllmepau]

Silence in the rain

› 𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗰 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

› 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 : Trying to flee after the rush of people, you run into a boy who doesn't seem to want to stop following you after helping him.

› 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 : I watched this movie yesterday and as a fan of Joseph Quinn, I simply fell in love with Eric, I need more of him. + English is not my first language, sorry if there are any mistakes 😿

› 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 : 2.7k

The large and loud raindrops fell with no intention of stopping. Minutes earlier, the helicopters had asked us to move to the water's edge, supposedly to be rescued, but it seemed everything went wrong. The creatures emerged from their hiding places and attacked us. The brief moment of calm vanished in less than five seconds. People were screaming and running in all directions. To be honest, I doubted we would get out of here.

I hid under a car, waiting for whoever was still around to leave. Carefully, I started to emerge from my hiding place, praying that I wouldn't make any loud noises and attract those things again.

As soon as I came out, I couldn't help but look at the sky. It had been a long time since I had felt the rain, and despite the circumstances, I still loved it. I decided to walk toward a sheltered place, taking slow and cautious steps while hugging myself. I looked around; not a single human was nearby, only destruction—or so I thought until I saw a white cat with small black spots in front of me. It looked so unreal that I didn't know if I was hallucinating or not, so with some fear, I abandoned my plan to find shelter and approached the cute kitten.

The rain seemed to intensify more and more. I could hear a couple of thunderclaps in the distance, but I still didn't stop following the kitten, which had stayed still in what appeared to be a flooded subway entrance. The little cat turned to look at me, appearing so calm with its big, bright eyes. It then turned back to the water and bent down to drink. I took this opportunity to sit beside it, simply admiring it.

Everything was peaceful—just the kitten and me—until something emerged from the water, startling us. I jumped back, not caring much about the bump I would get, and quickly covered my mouth with my hands to stifle a possible scream. My heart was racing at an impressive speed. I didn't even want to breathe, thinking it might be one of those creatures. But all the fear vanished when I heard what sounded like heavy breathing. Slowly, I removed my hands from my mouth and approached the bars, looking down at the flooded stairs and seeing a boy.

He looked somewhat scared. I couldn't imagine how long he had been underwater. The boy looked at me, tilting his head slightly as if examining me. I frowned, and shortly after, he turned to look at the cat. The little feline was beside me, so he looked at both of us before emerging from the water.

I moved from my spot to help him, extending my hand, hoping he would take it. Though he hesitated at first, he eventually took my hand and accepted my help. Once he was out, I looked around, searching for the cat, but it seemed to have gone. However, I quickly spotted it again; it had moved three or four spots ahead, seemingly heading to an alley.

I dusted off my clothes a bit and started following the cat, but I could hear a pair of "stealthy" footsteps behind me. I knew it was him, so taking advantage of a small café's awning, I stopped and turned around, frowning at him. "Go away," I said in a low voice, to which he just shook his head.

"Why are you following me?" The boy still didn't answer, so with the little patience I had, I moved a bit closer and spoke again, this time a bit louder, "What's your name?" This time, it took him a bit longer to even make a gesture. I waited a bit before he finally spoke in almost the same tone as me, "Eric, my name is Eric."

[sunsburns]

fallen fruit

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x reader

summary: you and eric go on a supply run to help aid the mother and her child at your safe spot, where dozens of other survivors are hiding. it isn't too far of a journey, and travelling in groups is better than alone, however, when the military starts bombing the bridges in new york city, the two of you are forced to go into hiding after being chased by a death angel.

—or: you're being hunted by a death angel

word count: 1.8k+

contains: angst, horror elements, alien invasion, the-end-of-the-world kind of scenario, blood, graphic gore & violence, injury, tending to wounds, kinda intimate

author’s note: got a lot of requests for eric and i'm bouncing off the walls with excitement yayaya!!! anyways i'm killing two birds with one stone with this one since this is based on this request and this one!

They've started bombing the bridges.

You and Eric had ventured out on a supply run for food, hoping to bring back something for the mother and her baby you were hiding with. Fighter jets roar through the skies, their engines a deafening sound of impending doom.

The ground shakes violently with each explosion.

The monsters below, drawn to the cacophony, scramble chaotically, their massive forms casting monstrous shadows against the darkening, orange-tinged sky.

The city is plunged into chaos once more as the explosions ripple through the air, sending shockwaves down the deserted streets, the military making a desperate bid to contain the aliens. The once-bustling bridges of New York are now targets, their obliteration aimed at preventing the spread of the monsters, trapping them in the islands.

The monsters can't swim, the authorities have been broadcasting that for hours, and patrol helicopters circle periodically. But the creatures' relentless pursuit on land paints a grim picture to the people who are trapped with them.

You and Eric move quickly, ducking into narrow alleyways and through crumbling abandoned buildings, always staying vigilant and out of sight. The sounds of explosions reverberate around you, and your heart hammers in your chest, adrenaline propelling you forward even as fear gnaws at your insides.

Every step is fraught with tension, the city's eerie silence punctuated by distant roars and the relentless thudding of your own heartbeat. The glow from the fires casts an otherworldly hue over the desolate streets, transforming familiar landmarks into sinister silhouettes.

Eric glances back at you, his face a mask of determination and barely concealed fear. Despite the terror coursing through you, you draw strength from his presence, a silent promise that you will protect each other no matter what. The bond between you feels unbreakable, forged in the crucible of shared danger and whispered confidences in the dark.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion tears through the air, the ground beneath you trembling violently. You both stumble, barely keeping your balance as the shockwave reverberates through the streets.

The nearby bridge finally collapses in a plume of fire and debris, the impact sending a massive cloud of dust and smoke billowing into the air. The monsters react instantly, their shrieks piercing the commotion of destruction.

A stampede of the creatures surges through the city, their massive forms silhouetted against the fiery skies. They leap from building to building with alarming agility, their claws tearing through concrete and metal as if it were paper. The sheer speed and ferocity of their movement send waves of panic crashing through you.

Eric grabs your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Run!" you whisper over the noise, and he doesn't need to be told twice. The two of you sprint together, weaving through the debris-laden streets as you desperately search for shelter. Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the chaos around you. The air is thick with smoke and the smell of burning.

One of the monsters, massive and swift, barrels through the alley behind you, knocking over everything in its path. The ground shakes with each of its steps, the noise deafening. You glance over your shoulder, eyes widening in horror as it closes the distance. Panic surges through you, lending speed to your legs.

A fire escape, dislodged by the creature's brute force, comes crashing down with a deafening clang. The metal twists and bends as it falls, and you both duck instinctively. Desperate, You push yourself harder, lungs burning as you sprint toward the faintly glowing orange street lights ahead.

But in the chaos, your footing slips. Eric's hand, slick with sweat, slips from yours as you suddenly drop to the ground. Pain explodes in your leg as one of the rusty staircases from the fire escape crashes heavily on top of it.

A scream of agony tears from your throat before you can stop it, the sound raw and desperate. You bite down hard, trying to stifle the noise, but the agony is excruciating. You look down at your leg, and even in the darkness you can see that something is wrong—the unnatural angle, the blood soaking into the fabric of your pants.

The monster pauses, its head whipping around at the sound.

Eric's eyes widen in terror. He skids to a halt, eyes sweeping with horror as he realizes what's happened. He drops to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as he covers your mouth, his own breathing ragged with fear. "Shhh, please, you have to stay quiet," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart and the pained groan that slips from you, muffled by his hands.

The creature sniffs the air, its head tilting as it listens.

You can feel its presence, a looming shadow of death inching closer, its low growl reverberating through the narrow alley. The scent of your blood in the air draws it nearer, each step making your heart race faster.

You feel as if your entire body is aflame, the pain in your leg mingling with the terror gripping your heart. Eric holds you closely, his trembling hands gentle but firm, a lifeline amid chaos.

The tears finally break free, rolling down your cheeks and wetting his hands. He holds you tighter, his own fear palpable, but his determination unwavering. "I'm here," he mouths against the shell of your ear, "I'm not leaving you."

Its footsteps grow louder, and you can spot its shadow against the brick wall, inching closer, its low growl coming deep within it.

The seconds stretch into an eternity, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in your ears. The creature's claws scrape against the ground, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

Finally, drawn by the louder sounds of the explosions, it moves on, leaving you both in a shaken silence.

The moment it’s gone, Eric scrambles to help pull you out from under the metal. He shakes with effort, his muscles straining, and you’re scrambling to get out from under it once he lifts it high enough for you to move. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood as he finally frees your leg. The pain is blinding, but you hold back any sound, tears streaming down your face.

The broken glass beneath you shifts quietly with your movements, and Eric tries his hardest to lower the railing back to the ground without making a sound. His breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and he glances nervously at the shadows, every small noise making him flinch.

Eric helps you to your feet, his arm around your waist supporting your weight. Together, you move as quickly as you can, each step sending fresh waves of pain through your leg. You lean heavily on him, your breaths coming in short, pained bursts as you feel blood rolling down your leg, soaking your sock and shoe.

His grip stays firm, urging you to stay with him a little longer.

You duck into a nearby building that offers some semblance of shelter. The air inside is stale, and the dim light barely illuminates the scattered debris.

Once inside, Eric lowers you gently to the ground, his face pale and drawn. He crouches beside you, his hands brushing your hair from your face.

His breath trembles as he looks at you, then your leg, a silent plea for you to let him help.

You nod, giving him the permission he seeks.

Eric carefully rolls up the bottom of your pants, revealing a long gash on your calf where blood steadily seeps out along with his quiet and panicked mutters of 'okay, okay, okay'.

He examines your leg, his hands gentle but efficient, his fingers trembling slightly as he works. You see the worry in his eyes, the fear that mirrors your own.

Eric looks up at you with sad eyes rimmed with pity. The silence between you speaks volumes, a shared understanding of the dire situation. You want to tell him to leave you there, that you would only slow him down before he could get back to the safe spot where you had been hiding with other survivors, but the words catch in your throat.

He starts to tear a strip from his own pants, creating a makeshift tourniquet to wrap around your injured leg. The pain is fierce, but his touch is soothing.

He then reaches into the small backpack you had been carrying, pulling out some of the supplies you had gathered for the mother and her baby. He uses a small bottle of antiseptic to clean the wound, his movements careful and precise. The sting is sharp and you bite your lip, trying to focus on his face rather than the pain.

Eric’s eyes never leave yours, and in them, you see the depth of his concern, the unspoken promise that he won’t let anything happen to you. He uses a cloth to gently dab at the wound, his touch light but sure. Despite the agony, you trust into his presence, seeking comfort in his closeness.

As he works, you find yourself leaning closer to Eric, your need for comfort outweighing the pain. He lets you rest your head against him, holding you steady as he finishes bandaging your leg. His breath is warm against your hair, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your cheek.

Eric finishes tending to your leg and looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

Without thinking, he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a tender, desperate kiss. It’s quick, almost hesitant, but it sends a rush of warmth through you, momentarily distracting you from the pain. He pulls back, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection, but you smile weakly, the gesture enough to reassure him.

You move closer, cupping his face with your hands. You press your lips to his again, this time with more urgency, pouring all your fear, relief, and gratitude into the kiss. It's deeper, filled with the unspoken words and emotions that have been building between you.

Eric responds in kind, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. The kiss is a promise, a shared understanding that in this world turned upside down, you have each other.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you rest your forehead against his, the connection between you more palpable than ever.

The chaos outside is relentless, but here, in this moment, there is a quiet familiarity between you. Eric's fingers brush against your cheek, and you lean into his touch, finding solace in the warmth of his company.

In the silence that follows, you rest your head against his shoulder, the day's horrors fading into the background. Eric's hand strokes your hair gently, and you find yourself relaxing into his touch.

The world outside may be falling apart, but here there is a flicker of hope, a promise of survival forged in the bond between you. The air is filled with the distant sounds of chaos, but within this small sanctuary, there is a sense of peace, a momentary reprieve from the nightmare outside.

You take a deep breath, feeling the rise and fall of Eric's chest beneath your head. His presence is a grounding force, a reminder that you are not alone in this.

There is a flicker of hope, a promise of survival forged.

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[corroded-hellfire]

Summary: You help Eric through an anxiety attack

Note: Obsessed with Eric and I need to protect him from the world, please and thank you. Also, Frodo divider created by me 😊

Warnings: anxiety, panic

Words: 1.5k

The carved out hull of the decimated subway car offers little in the way of protection, but with the power out it seems likely not to cause any unwarranted noise. 

Eric ushers you in before himself, the light from the fluorescents of the station giving the two of you just enough to see by. The seats and bent handrails cast gruesome shadows across the small space, and you decide to take advantage of one particularly large pocket of darkness in the corner. 

Your back presses up against the cool metal, dented from God only knows what. Slowly, you slide down to the floor and Eric lowers himself down beside you. Both of you are caked with dirt and there’s blood smeared against one leg of your jeans. Luckily, it doesn’t seem to belong to either one of you. 

A steady stream of water is somewhere near, the comforting sound letting you breathe just a little easier. Eric must feel the same because he dares to lean in towards you and speak softly.

“Are you okay?”

Never did that seem more complex of a question. You’re not okay in the grand scheme of things, but you’re currently still alive and, for the most part, unharmed. 

“I think so,” you whisper in reply. “Are you?”

Eric nods, rubbing his hands up and down his shins, the worn brown material wearing even thinner in a few spots now. 

The two of you were fortunate to run into one another in an alleyway between two buildings—the only stroke of luck either of you have had lately. A natural ease quickly proved that you worked well together and seeing as neither of you wanted to be alone, the choice was obvious. 

Even though it’s only been roughly twenty-four hours since you’ve met, with all you’ve been through in that time, it feels as if you’ve known Eric for ages. There was no denying how cute he was either, but your brain barely had time for fleeting thoughts like that when your focus is on staying alive. 

“How’s your hand?” Eric asks.

You look at the offending appendage, purple from bruising, slightly swollen, and throbbing. Though, it’s slightly better since you’d found that bodega and swiped all the Tylenol and ibuprofen they had. 

During the initial chaos of the invasion—is that what to call it? —your back was up against the brick wall of an apartment building and a man was sent hurtling in the air towards you. Your hand had the misfortune to get crushed between the high velocity man and the brick wall. Ever since you’ve met Eric, he’s been helping you wrap your hand and always checking in on it. 

“It’s sore,” you admit. 

“Let me see?” Eric extends his hand.

Taking a deep breath, you place your injured hand in his. 

Warm, calloused fingers undo the binding currently covering the wound and toss them to the subway floor. It feels nice to let your hand breathe a bit, get some air. With just a featherlight touch, Eric traces his index finger around the mottled skin. The delicate touch sends goosebumps up your arm. If he notices them, he doesn’t say. 

A sense of disappointment fills your gut when he releases your hand to get fresh bandages. You chew on your chapped bottom lip as you watch Eric rummage through the Phantom of the Opera tote bag you’d snagged from one of those tourist gift shops. 

He sprays a bit of disinfectant spray on your hand, the mist feeling doubly cold after having the warmth of his large hand enveloping yours. Next comes a fresh bandage. Eric always applies them so carefully, making sure it’s not too tight but gives your hand some support. You watch him as he works, your eyes taking in the small details of his face while he’s busy focusing on something else.

His dark eyelashes are so long that they kiss his cheeks with every blink. The curls on the top of his head are messy from everything they’ve been through, but it’s unkempt in a charming way. It amazes you how dry his lips are from dehydration, yet they still look so pink and inviting. 

Eric secures the bandage on your hand, and you momentarily move on to admiring the color and depth of his eyes when you realize he’s finished and no longer distracted. 

Heat comes to your face, so you lift your injury up to inspect it, hoping to give you a minute to cool down. 

“Thank you,” you whisper when you lay your hand back down in your lap. 

“Of course.”

The good thing about needing to keep quiet during all of this is that none of the silences could be interpreted as awkward. It’s just self-preservation. 

It goes on that way for about ten minutes before you feel your head get heavy and decide to lean it against Eric’s shoulder. It’s not long before he gently rests his head on top of yours. Despite the circumstances around you, a small smile grows on your lips.

But your peace doesn’t last long. A groaning of metal and the now too-familiar skittering of legs or pincers or whatever they’re called. 

By the sound of it, you guess that the creature is coming from your left, somewhere down the subway track. But there’s no reason for it to know you’re here. As long as you can remain quiet, the monster should just pass you by without trouble. 

A hitch in breath from beside you grabs your attention though. Your head jerks in the direction of Eric to find his breathing speed up and his eyes widen in that recognizable panic. 

Pressing one hand to his shoulder, you get his attention and his head whips to face you. With your other, injured hand, you hold up a finger to your mouth for him to stay quiet.

Eric nods but the rate of his breathing only increases. You shake your head and lean in towards him. 

“Breathe.” The words could barely be considered a full whisper. 

You’ve helped him through these anxiety attacks a few times now so you try to tell yourself you can do it again. You can’t blame the poor guy for being so scared, either. 

The clicking of the approaching monster comes closer then stops. It feels as if time pauses while you wait to see what will happen now. 

Smashing the play button, the creature falls from where it must have been crawling on the ceiling, to land on the subway platform.

Eric jumps and you see his teeth clench together as he tries to keep the panic at bay. 

Step by crunching step, the being stalks closer to your subway car. Even though it can’t see you, instinct tells you to get further out of sight.

As silently as possible, you scoot over so there’s enough room for you to lay flat on the floor of the car. Eric glances down at you and you motion for him to do the same. He gives you a quick nod and with shaking hands, moves to lay down next to you.

Within the cramped space it’s hard for two adults to lay flat, side by side, so Eric ends up on his side, facing you. If you turned your head to look at him, your noses would brush. 

One long black limb stretches out from the creature and crushes a piece of metal right outside your car—probably the remains of an adjoining car. 

Eric’s anxiety spikes again and before you can think about it, you wrap your arm around his shoulders and bring his body down on top of yours. 

It’s not the most comfortable angle for either of you, almost awkward. But Eric wastes no time grabbing onto your waist, his head falling to the juncture between your neck and shoulder. 

Consciously, you slow your breathing down in hopes that Eric’s will follow your lead. 

Another crunch of metal rents the air and you both jump, clinging tighter to one another. Eric’s grip on your body changed positions slightly, and now his head is resting right over your heart. 

You glance down and watch as Eric visibly calms. He takes a few deep breaths and lets his eyes slip closed as he lays against you. 

It takes you a few moments to realize what caused the change. Eric’s head is on its side, his right ear directly over your heart. He’s listening to your heartbeat. And it’s calming him. The thought alone makes your heart rate speed up. 

Slowly, you reach up and gently rest your hand in his hair. He tilts his chin up so he can see your face and you give him a small smile. The one he gives you in return brings forward the confidence to begin running your fingers through Eric’s soft curls. 

The two of you stay that way, listening as the creature moves farther and farther away, until you can’t hear it at all anymore.

But even then, after the immediate threat is gone and everything seems peaceful and calm around you, you both still stay that way. His hands holding onto your body, his head over your heart, and you carding your fingers through his curls. 

Maybe this subway car is a better place to be than you originally thought. 

[eddiesxangel]

Be Quiet Darling | Eric x Reader

Cw: aqpdo, porn with an end of the world plot. Oral (m receiving), p in v, use of breeding, no use of pronouns for reader but reader has breasts and a vagina.

Wc: 2k

The city loomed in darkness; its once vibrant streets were now shrouded in an oppressive shade of gray. Following the invasion of New York City, layers of ash and soot blanketed every surface. Despite the efforts of millions to escape, a few thousand souls remained trapped within its confines.

You were among the few thousand who were not so lucky to be stranded in the city, hiding underground in the basements and parking garages.

The bunker was the only place you could call home. It was a sealed-off parking garage located on the lower levels of a towering skyscraper. Months had passed since you had seen the light of day, and the absence of natural light had become the new normal. Quietness enveloped the bunker, and you longed for the sounds of the outside world. Anything but the rumbles of the military battling those creatures. Those aliens who had ultrasonic hearing could still hear you even though you were deep in the ground.

Even if you couldn't speak, you bonded with the people around you, mainly the law student you met named Eric. He had made an impression on you. An ever-growing crush was forming, and you didn’t know how to deal with it. The world was ending, but Eric was in your mind twenty-four-seven. You wanted to be near him; you longed to hear his voice; you wanted him to hold you and tell you everything would work out, that you’d escape this place and live happily ever after with the white picket fence.

Only in your fantasy would that happen, but it was nice to hold onto that dream as you learned the military was on its way to the last remaining survivors. They radioed the bunker to say it wouldn’t be easy, and you may die as the death angels were waiting and hunting still. There were thousands of them in New York State; even up north near the Canadian border was invaded.

The plan was to move everyone at dawn; it was going smoothly, and you and Eric stuck together throughout the march. Holding hands as you silently made your way through the rubbled streets that once held so much life, then the worst happened. Someone sneezed, and they were on you in an instant. Eric pulled you, and you ran with him. Neither of you knew where you were going; the subway was your best bet. You found a staircase that wasn’t barricaded and stumbled your way down as quietly as possible.

It must have been hours. You and Eric were hiding in an isle of an abandoned shop, munching on a bag of cookies that hadn’t been broken. Half an hour ago, you heard the sirens warning you to stay put. It sounded awful in the streets above. The sounds of guns and bombs, the shrieks of the creatures, echoed through the underground tunnels.

You mouthed, “I’m scared,” tears breaching your lash lines.

Eric nods, and you can see his eyes are wet before he reaches over and cups your head into the crook of his neck. You both silently cry before you lift your head and do the unthinkable at a time like this. You kiss him.

Surprisingly, Eric kisses you back, but you’ll take anything from him that he will give.

The moment your lips touched, you felt his weight sink into you, like he wanted this just as badly as you did. You desperately wanted Eric to hold you, tell you everything would be okay, and protect you from the abovementioned monsters.

Your hands found his waistband and tugged on the belt loops to pull you in closer. You knew it would be so stupid to do anything else; you could die in an instant, but your primal need to procreate and survive was taking over.

His hands grabbed your waist as he pulled you closer to him as well, so close you could feel how hard his cock had gotten. You both have wanted this for so long, but you dare not utter a sound as the passion grew stronger.

Your hands bravely went lower, and Eric pulled away, looking at you with those eyes that make your heart race. He bobbed slowly to confirm this was okay, and you slowly pulled the zip to make as little noise as possible.

Eric’s chest fell up and down with each breath of anticipation as he watched you so close to where he wanted you to touch him the most. Through all of this madness, he had fallen deep and had for you and yearned for your affection. All he wanted was to hold you, for you to tell him that it would be okay, that you both would survive this and live happily ever after.

You fold down his dress pants and hold back a giggle when you see his cowboy boxers. He rolls his eyes in embarrassment; of course, these were the only other pair of underwear he could find this morning. However, that didn’t deter you from kissing him deeply. You kissed him passionately, letting your tongue slip past his plush pink lips as your hand ran the outline of his cock through his corny boxers. His endearing ways made you want him much more now that you’re alone, hiding from what was above.

Eric wanted to let out a moan so badly when your fingertip grazed the head of his cock through the thin cotton. He was already leaking so much precum there was a little wet patch that had formed. You circled it with your thumb before you slipped your hand under the waistband and pulled it out.

The lighting in the small store was dim, but your eyes had adjusted so you could see what you were working with. You smiled to yourself as you observed the thick shaft in your hands. Your pussy clenched around nothing as visions of him stretching you out flooded your thoughts.

“So big,” you mouthed, and Eric bashfully looked down, shaking his head. You hooked your index finger under his chin for him to look at you again, and you nodded yes while biting your lip.

You don’t break eye contact as you sink down to take him in your mouth.

The moment your hot, wet tongue touches his head with a kitten lick, he has his fist in his mouth to stifle the noise he was about to make. You would have begged him to hear those moans in any other situation, but you’ll now yearn in silence.

You want to praise him, tell him how good he was for being so quiet, and tell him how strong and handsome he is.

Eric ran his hand over the top of your head, gripping your hair l, surprising you a little. Your soft sweet teddy bear of a man taking a little bit of charge on how you sucked his cock was so hot. He only puts a little pressure on your head to take him further and releases the tension when you take him the furthest you can. The velvety walls of his shaft guided against your tongue so smoothly that you loved feeling him in your mouth. You couldn’t wait for him to split open your pussy.

A small gasp escaped his throat that sounded like a “fuck,” but you stopped and froze in place to make sure that nothing heard it.

You looked at him through your lashes, and he mouthed a “sorry.”

You pulled up off him, and he thought he had ruined it, thought you no bother trusted him to continue, but when he saw you were unbuttoning your jeans and lifting up your top, he relaxed his tense shoulders.

“Please,” you mouthed, as sores your legs wide for him to come between. You wanted to feel him inside of you, and you didn’t know how much longer you had.

Eric nodded his head percussively as he crawled towards you, and you lay down, resting your head on an unopened cardboard box.

You hold in a moan as Eric kisses your exposed body. He started at your lips and worked his way down your neck, to your shoulders, to your breasts, staying as he paid close attention to each nipple. He looked up at you with those big brown eyes as he sucked and flicked your sensitive buds. Your pussy grew wetter by the seconds as he kissed your tummy and stopped right above the tufts of hair that led to your needy pussy. You wanted nothing more than to have him go down on you, but your need to be filled was stronger.

You shake your head before he can move an inch closer, and he looks at you in confusion. Eric knows he gives amazing head. He wants to feel you cuming on his tongue for him, to taste him, but when he sees your plead for him to fuck you, he can’t say no.

You watch as Eric nods and aligns his cock yo to your entrance. You watch his face as he slowly sinks into you, your pussy aiming him in so tight that he lets his mouth fall open but doesn’t dare let out a sound as you kiss him. With an elbow propped up beside your head, he takes your face in the other as he ungulates his hips to thirst up into you with such precision.

The way he slowly rolled his hips so that he couldn’t make a sound made you want to cry out. It felt so good. You haven’t felt good in weeks. You slowly leaked a few tears as it was all so much to handle. You break as you hold back a sniffle, and Eric kisses your tears away; he coos you silently, whispering so lowly that he’s got you, that you’re doing so well for him, how you’re taking his cock so good.

You wanted to beg him to fill you with his cum, that you’ll be so good for him, that you love him, that he’s all you have left in this world. You want to be his so severely that it hurts. Even now, as his hips roll into yours, as his cock is hitting that spot deep up inside you, you want to scream that you want him to mark you, claim you, breed you.

But you can’t. All you can do is kiss him and pull him in closer; your feet wrap around him, making his thrusts sharper as your pussy clamps down on his thick hard cock that is making you see stars.

Your wet pussy threatens to echo throughout the tunnels of the subway, but Eric slows down and reaches down between you to circle your clit. You let in a sharp breath as he massages your swollen bud. You’re so close you can feel it. You stare at him, not daring to look away to break you into reality.

Right now, it was you and him. Nothing else mattered. You both needed this to feel something other than fright and loneliness.

As you unfold for him, you and Eric stare into one another’s eyes. A silent scream of pleasure doesn’t dare leave your throat, but you let your jaw fall open and arch up into your orgasm. Eric wants to tell you so badly that you did so good for him that your pussy feels so delicious as you cum on his cock. The way you clamp down on him has his head spinning as well, your hot spend coating his cock, making your wet walls all that much warmer, tighter and wetter for him. He can’t help but release himself deep inside of you.

With heavy breath, you both lay there in silence, unable to say anything, but you both know that it was good, great, fantastic sex. Eric kisses you again for confirmation, and you gladly roll your hips into his softening cock before he pulls out.

What could be between the two of you with words could be amazing, but for now, this is what you have to survive.

[psychotic-nonsense]

"I'm sorry."

It's the first thing Steve says after everything.

After getting Vecna Cursed. After nearly dying. After a hallucination of Eddie saved him. After running through a looped forest. After finding sanctuary in Steve's memory of that Starcourt bathroom. After Eddie reveals himself as Eddie.

It's the only thing he can think of. It's not big enough to fit everything, but it's the only thing that fits in his mouth.

"Don't be."

Maybe that's the only thing Eddie can think of too. The only thing Eddie can bear to say.

Because don't be can't stop Steve's eyes from watering when he sees the vest in his closet. Don't be can't stop Steve's feet from dragging him to the cemetery every evening to clean Eddie's graffiti-covered tombstone. Don't be can't stop Steve from sitting beside Wayne and listening to him talk about the Eddie he remembers. Don't be can't stop Eddie's body from showing up in Steve's dreams, nor Eddie's corpse from his nightmares. Don't be couldn't keep the pain away enough, didn't stop Vecna from latching onto it while Steve was walking alone in the woods.

Don't be isn't enough for what Steve wants to hear. But even stuck here waiting, hoping, for someone to get Steve out, there just isn't enough time.

"I miss you."

"...Why?"

Eddie says it back so quickly, so quietly, like it's just unfathomable to him. Maybe it is, considering their last memories. But their eyes meet and he looks just as sad, just as longing, as Steve.

"You were my friend."

Steve can't help but say it like that. Like they were friends for years instead of days. Like Eddie was that important to him in their final moments. Like his heart really aches for Eddie every second of the apocalypse.

Can't help but say it like he means it.

"I wish we could've had more time..."

Steve's voice cracks a little there as he turns away, hiding. It's all he wants. It's all Vecna used to entice him with. It's all that's keeping him going, to finally fulfill the last request Eddie made. It's all he has left to feel close to Eddie.

The Eddie that's sitting right next to him, silent, his sight weighing on Steve's skin. Conscious and aware and the real Eddie. Trapped in Vecna's head as a backup power source, yet who still risked everything to come save Steve. Who Steve will never see again because killing Vecna means killing Eddie for good, and his heart doesn't want it, is begging for another solution...

But for once, his broken head overpowers his shattered heart.

"Maybe we did."

Eddie takes Steve's hand. Meets Steve's surprised look with his own small smile of hope. They're both suddenly tearing up, eyes glistening with life in this gray stall.

"Maybe in another world, we got a second first chance. A first second chance. Maybe even a third, or fourth. Maybe in a different life, we had everything we wanted. Because you, Steve Harrington, are too good for me to be doomed to meet just once."

And for a moment, Steve sees it. Feels it. Versions of them connected through the universe.

Little kids playing in the lake. One with bruised skin and shaved hair, loud but unfathomably lonely. One with a bruised heart and soft eyes, timid but stubbornly hopeful.

A rockstar with glittering chains, center stage in the spotlight. A set of eyes in the crowd or behind the curtain, watching only him.

A werewolf and a vampire, two cryptids of horror, meeting in the dead of a full moon night to feel safe with the only other one who understands.

A future where they won, where the only death was the one that mattered. A process of healing and learning, coming home to a family every single day.

A world without pain, without their hell, where two high schoolers found freedom from their shackles and company in each other. Hiding away together in the dark corners of the town.

Steve even sees other versions of them. Versions that he knows were originally never supposed to meet, yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together.

A metalhead drug dealer, constantly getting into trouble with one nail-bat-weilding cop.

A criminal's fugitive nature leading him to a rugged trailer park, and the dangerous owner within one such home.

An eccentric king in an old coliseum, always choosing one particular warrior as his champion.

A young programmer being pulled away from his work by sobs above his apartment, running upstairs to check on the law student that recently moved in.

Two actors, finding an easy friendship in the months of filming one season of a show that would change their lives.

In that moment, Steve's overwhelmed by the closeness he suddenly feels with the soul beside him. Falling into tears, he pulls Eddie into a tight hug, holding him so so close to convey everything he can't say. Feeling Eddie hold him back, hearing everything Eddie can't say in return.

Familiar music comes on outside the stall. Robin's voice calls out to him, telling him to come home.

And when he does leave, Steve hopes that someone out there will understand that he never can. Because here in Eddie's arms is the only place that will ever truly feel like home.

"Thank you... for everything, Eddie."

Thank you, Steve. For everything and more..."

--------------------

- List of AUs, in order, after, "Versions of them connected through the universe": Childhood Friends / Rockstar!Eddie / Werewolf!Steve & Vampire!Eddie / Eddie Survives / No Upside Down & High School

- List of Multiverse Steddie AUs, in order, after, "...yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together": Eddie x Gator / Baron x Michael / Geta x Sean / Keys x Eric / Quinn and Keery