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granolawriting · 10 months

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⇢ ˗ˏˋ Just a few drinks: A Joel miller x reader (18+)

Summary: A complicated Joel gets tipsy at the same bar you're at. And when you try to leave, he's not keen to let you leave alone.

Tags to note: brief enemies to lovers, dom!Joel, petnames (tame), age gap (a given), uncharacteristic drunk

A/N: my first work for Joel, hello TLOU readers :)! leave me a message if you have any ideas for anything else I could write about <3 enjoy

word count: 3.3k

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Another clash of wood and hardened glass echoes throughout the small bar as you look over to see another shot downed by him.

There was some sort of drinking game, transpiring between him and his brother, though you’re one to care less. The sound of the noise, the groans that escaped him, and the slurred words that you heard coming from his companion were enough to anger you enough to want to shut them out at all costs. But, that was difficult since there wasn't really heavy pickings of what could constitute a bar in the state of things. They make do, they supply liquor, and it's too good an offer for you to let up.

You and Joel, have a bit of history, to say the least. Having worked side by side begrudgingly at certain points, all you’ve discerned from him is that he's good for nothing, at least when it doesn't involve his own self-interest. And sure, that's been a while ago since now but I doubt he's got any change in him. He's not the kind of man to change, and the entire time you’ve known him he's been an asshole to you, and right back to him have you been an asshole right back.

Another loud clunk interrupts your thoughts once more, and as it does you say the first thing that comes to mind. Raising yourself from your seat exclaim;

“Do you mind shutting the fuck up? Some people don't want to hear you getting drunk the whole night.”

It escapes your mouth without another thought. Quiet murmurs are shared around the room as all eyes are on you, including the dark brown ones that now meet your gaze.

Joel is a rough-looking man, about 30 years your senior, with salt and pepper hair slightly overgrown upon a tan face, littered with scars and an omnipresent pout upon his face coated with a layer of hair for his beard. His body is quite muscular, in a way that tells many stories with every muscle group providing a specific purpose to his very private, lone adventures or so you’ve come to learn. Covered only with a weathered plaid shirt rolled to his elbows, and equally worn jeans with shoes that have seen miles before your conception it was safe to say that he was decently experienced. You could tell just by looking at him.

But as he looked at you, you felt increasingly vulnerable at the sight of him eyeing you. Studying you. The seconds seem to pass like hours as he musters something to say in reply,

“How’s bout you make me then, sweetheart?”

Words that slur slightly from the mouth of a man clearly tipsy renders you speechless. A smirk upon his face that was uncharacteristic for his usual brood, you were flushed at the sight of it. This bold flirting wasn't something you were used to, and discerned it was a way to catch you off guard, and nothing more. You decide not to give him any more attention that he seems to want, and with a sucking of your teeth, you sit back down in your chair to have your back partially face him once more.

The night drags on as they seem to listen, but only partially. The clinks were still able to be heard, and if you tried hard enough you could tell which one was drunker. Not ideal, but it seems your words did at least a little bit of damage. Though ever since that moment, you felt as though eyes were on you most of the night's end. But as you gaze up at the moonlight shining from the window of the bar, it's decided that it's more than time enough to head back to your apartment. You didn't have anywhere to be the next morning, but you also didn't have the idea of listening to their nonsense for the next unknowable hours haunt your mind as you tried to think otherwise.

Lifting yourself up from your seat once more you casually walk out of the bar expecting nothing more than a simple walk home, but clearly, why would that ever happen to you? You make it a meer 12 paces out from the bar before you hear a raspy voice yell to you;

“Where’rya goin hm? We already miss our audience.”

“Home, Joel. And you should too. You’re making an embarrassment of yourself.”

“Aww but where's the fun in that hm?”

You hear shuffled legs grow louder along the dirt as they make their way closer to you.

“Just shut up and leave me alone. I don't care where you go.”

Your responses were short and crass. Just like he was to you every time but what seems to be this exact night.

“I already told ya, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to make me shut up. Haven’t so far yet have’ya?”

He purrs in a voice you can tell is laced with a smirk just by how he said it.

“You’re sick, Joel. What the hell do you want from me?”

You pivot your feet by the end of that question and turn around to watch him close the few feets gap between you two.

“Kiss me”

“What.”

“I said kiss me. Sure that'll make me shut up”

You stood shocked for a moment. This wasn't the Joel you knew, this wasn't the man who would bump into you during patrols because he didn't think you were awake enough. This wasn't the Joel that would work for whoever gave him the cash, and this especially wasn't the Joel who barely ever spoke. Especially to you. This was a man you did not recognize standing in front of you, intoxication peppering his cheeks red and he looked upon you, and an unrecognizable gaze in his eyes fixated on you. When you looked at him during this moment, he was almost handsome. Alluring. You'd never looked at him this way before, never given him the time of day but as you stood there. Basking in the moonlight and allowing its glow to reflect off of his skin there was something enticing about it. A yearning to feel the muscles coating his arms, a craving to feel his calloused hands around your body and above all-- an unshakeable desire to do exactly what he just asked of you. But you couldn't, not so easily, not so simply you can't just disregard everything that's happened between you two you don't like him god damn it! Why is he acting like this, why;

“Why the fuck would you want me to do that hm? Is this some bet for you and your buddy inside? Well, consider me not interested. Go kiss some other bitch.”

You were proud of your rebuttal, repressing your urges wasn't hard for you, but for something like this, it seemed especially difficult. Though, without skipping a beat a Joel who seems to have only heard the first half of the question states through persisting smirk;

“Well why wouldnt’I want to, darling? Just look at you. You're close to one of the finest things I've seen here in a real long time. Ain't nothin’ wrong with askin now is there?”

The way his eyes dug into yours, the way he seemed to pierce yours with the unshakeable gaze only a drunkard full of liquid courage could attain. You were at a crossroads. You felt in your heart you weren't to be made a fool of if you did do this, from the pure hunger in his eyes you’re sure a kiss would be more than covered by that, but another part of you didn't want to give him this satisfaction. The flattery of his attraction to you was one thing, but to allow him to indulge in it on some one-off drunken night isn't really the reputation you want to have. You

Before you can process your next move, you watch him start walking away from you, and into the bar.

“Well, I’ll be seein you then.”

Lowly uttered with that raspy voice of his was about it for you. You couldn't be logical anymore, you wanted him and that was final. Before he can move another step you pull him towards you in a kiss. Tasting what you'd craved for what seems like your whole life between your lips you feel his smirk grow into a larger smile as he embraces you for more than a single kiss.

Soon a kiss turns into two, then six, then every other number that falls between the start and the first gasp of air between you two. And as you gasped for air you heard that same rugged voice whispered within your ear;

“Sure did shut the both of us right up, didn't you? Good girl.”

At this point, you were nothing but a flurry of emotions, all for him, all about him, all craving him. And as his hands trailed from your waist to your jaw, holding your soft skin within his calloused fingers as he yearned for more of your kiss like he'd been needing it his whole life. He was rough, sloppy, and needy with how he held you. Strands of your hair caught in his fingers as he gripped your face, all you could do in return was lay your arms over his shoulders and grip at his hair all the same. You were desperate for him, passionate to say the least.

You wanted more, and you could tell he did too. And as this fact was exchanged between dilated, impassioned eyes he offers, no, tells you;

“My places about a block up the street. Follow me.”

Butterflies invade your stomach at the prospect of what he just said. His demand, even to bring you home implies things that can't be done just steps away from an open bar. And as every heavy step of his boot trails ahead of you, it feels as though thousands of miles are between you, and the door to his apartment. You felt like you couldn't walk straight, as though the taste of whiskey on his lips had seeped deep into yours, that you could barely think straight anymore.

Though before you knew it there laid the door marked with his name, a sign it was his. Keys jingle as he fumbles with them all, finding the proper one after a moment's search and you hear the sound of an unlocked door parallel the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard, as your desperation grows incessantly.

Before you can process it, Joel has you pinned against the wall adjacent to his front door, moving it closed with his foot as he begins his assault on your lips again. His hands trace all over your body now, from your hair, holding clumps of it in his hand as he kisses you roughly, or his hands finding their way on your waist, but beneath the layer of fabric that covered your stomach from sight. His calloused hands gripping onto your bare waist, feeling every groove between your body did you simultaneously learn the indents on every finger's unique callous.

Sticking his tongue inside your mouth elicits a moan from you, and with that does he lift you from your legs as though you were nothing but a small toy. Without letting up for a moment, his hands wrap around your thighs, hoist you up and carry you to the top of his bed, where he swiftly drops you as a means to crawl on top of you.

At this point, he groans at every slight movement you do, a bite to his lip, a tug to his hair, and most especially a quick deviation from his lips to trace his neck with kisses and bites was enough to buck his head back in frenzy. But as he straddles on top of you, arms and legs caging you in as his hands hold your wrists onto the mattress and his legs, much stronger than yours keep you inside his space he makes it clear that he wants much more.

“God I can't fucking stand you darlin, you know that?”

Words groaned almost into your mouth as you let up from another myriad of kisses, he steadies himself on top of you on his knees now, glancing down at you through uneven breaths.

“You’re even better than id’ve hoped for eh? You don't fucking know how long it's been, you don't wanna know honey.”

As he speaks his belt is undone by his hands, hearing the clank of metal drop on the floor next to his bed.

“What do ya want from me now hm? I wanna hear it from’ya”

He looks down on you with a much more purposeful, sadistic smirk as he awaits your words. Your beg, for him to fuck you. He knows what you want, he knows what he wants and he especially knows it's the same damn thing. But he gets off on having you say it, asking for his cock that you can feel throbbing right above you as he loosens his pants.

“I,”

You’re getting choked up on words, barely having caught your breath from what he’d just done to you, and even more choked on the words you have to say.

“Be a good girl, and spit it out wontcha?”

You buck your hips at that simple phrase, feeling his heat press against yours in the process are you even more dizzied by the simple touch of it through the fabric, the friction alone could drive you insane.

“P, please Joel..”

“Please fuck me.”

The words almost moaned out of your voice as you take another chance to grind on his cock, taking in the friction, the pure size of it to get you off feels so easy and so intense. He chuckles slightly,

“I can't say no to a lady when she asks nicely now can I?”

A voice even deeper than his usual is what utters that sentence, something deeply sexual has overtaken him. Bits seen in the way he treated you before but you feel like now that with a simple tonal shift, you’re being exposed to a well-versed, since-forgotten part of Joel. and as he takes his jeans off with ease, and yours with even greater-- letting them slide down your hips slowly as he takes in the unveiling of the rest of your body beneath him, you could tell that fact was more true than you could ever imagine.

So there you two were, in but underwear to control how tense he was, and to withhold how wet you were. However that didn't last for long as he felt his fingers past the lining of your underwear to your heat;

“God, sweetheart. All this for me hm?”

And as he moves close to your ear, with a dark rugged tone,

“You want me cock so fucking bad don't you?”

Lifting himself back up again to look down on you, his posture slightly bent to keep his hands feeling you up you can't do anything but moan and whimper over it. Grinding on his fingers that barely touch your clit you desperately ride him for any speck of sensation to overtake you.

“I can't wait any fucking longer. God, you’re a sight don't ya’know that? When you're not talking up my ear, when you’re obedient, I can't fucking resist you darling.”

He takes his fingers away from where they once were to your disapproving whines and begging with your body. Though soon after you feel something much larger than a finger feel your heat. His hands find your body once more but only to slide your underwear past your hip, and give his cock more room to feel the mess you made for it.

Sliding it up and down your clit carefully, between your folds did you find the teasing unbearable. Feeling him twitching against you, hearing his groans at the slightest traction his cock would find between the wetness in between you, you couldn't do anything but moan his name. Asking him to please fuck you.

After a few more pulses outside you, he lifts your legs to be upon his shoulders before going inside of you. His head knocked back in a deep groan as he slowly entered you, A bite to his lip and a feeling of tight grip around your legs was almost simultaneous as he finally gave himself exactly what he’d been throbbing for the moment he stepped out of that bar. Your legs shake at mere impact, feeling them suppressed by the grip of his rough hands around you, There's no more that you can do but grip the sheets covering the bed for some semblance of support through neverending moans as he goes out as slowly as he went in.

“Fuck you’re perfect for me arent’ya”

Escapes him through groans as he holds back as much as he can as he goes in and out of you. Savoring every inch of you by the pace of every pulse. Though as he reaches to a certain point, he stops flush against you, entirely inside of you. In the seconds he spent like that you could feel him absolutely fill you. He was perfect, just enough to hit the exact spots you never could yourself. But as he almost exits you once again he enters with a great deal more intensity. Quickness. He can't hold himself back anymore, and as the thrusts get more uneven and his groans become louder; clashing with moans that go in unison with every move inside of you you feel your whole body move with his cock. As he gripped you by your thighs and held your body to thrust into him, you felt every inch of himself through every nerve in your body. Every part of your body was coated with pleasure at the sight of him almost manhandling you like this. Sweating, groaning, panting, and cursing over how fucking good you felt made you feel like you were going to cum.

And almost like he read your mind, he moves one of his arms to your clit, and places his thumb right on top of it;

“I'm going to make you finish the same time as me, think you can do that darling?”

He was close too, and you didn't care where he did it.

As his words grow jumbled under mutters and covered groans of pleasure as his breath became unsteady at the feeling of you wrapped around him more and more as his fingers pleasured you even more than you can imagine, you feel yourself climaxing right on his cock, feeling your walls contract over him that felt so hard inside of you it made it feel even better to finish on.

That was more than enough for him, as your screams for his name echoed through his walls he hammered straight into you, sweat coating his peppered hair as he watches you orgasm right below him, he groans your name with a final shove deep inside of you, letting his cum drip down every part of you.

Slowly he removed himself from you, leaving behind a trail of white to seep down from inside of you, to the mattress you lay on.

“You were such a good girl, I'll get us some stuff to clean up. Why don't you stay here a while.”

Is whispered into the only ear uncovered as your head tilts to lay on the mattress in exhaustion, as gruff as ever but with a softness to his voice that bore kindness that felt so needed after a night like that.

You stay lying there for a bit, as Joel goes to clean himself up then you, and then to gather some blankets for the two of you as you dip in and out of slumber.

That night, of course, was the first of many nights thereafter. All underlying with the screams for his pleasure, and ended with his body wrapped around yours til night's end. And through that, he slowly warmed up to you.

#the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel smut #pedro pascal #pedro x reader #enemies to lovers

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in-my-loki-feels · 5 months

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Indianapolis Bones and the Very Annoyed God of Mischief

In this post I proposed the idea of a President Loki + Mobius variant based on Owen's Dr. Indianapolis Bones SNL skit, and then I couldn't stop thinking about it so here's a bit of flash fiction based on that. Enjoy!

ETA: There's now a 4+1 expanded version of this on AO3!

“It’s such an honor to have you here, sir.”

Since Loki had walked in, the restaurant's manager had been practically falling over himself with praise. He'd nearly wept when Loki handed out "Vote Loki" pins for the staff to wear. The Midgardians were finally treating him as he deserved, even if he wasn't their king...yet.

A woman ran up to whisper something in the manager's ear and he brightened.

“Your table is ready, sir. Right this way.”

Loki followed the man deeper into the restaurant, smirking as every head in the place turned to watch him and his collection of black-suited bodyguards. He didn’t need their protection but it amused him to think of humans throwing themselves at other humans at his behest.

Loki caught the eye of one elegantly dressed woman and winked, causing her to flush prettily. Her date seemed entirely unamused at the “come hither” look she was sending Loki’s way. The only people who didn’t turn to watch Loki’s entrance were a group seated at a long table at the center of the room. They appeared to be in a heated discussion.

The manager paused by a small table next a window with what looked like a decent view of the river, even if Loki found Midgard’s scenery somewhat lacking compared to Asgard. Before Loki could sit, there was a clatter of dishware and both he and the restaurant's manager turned to see the source.

An extremely nervous-looking waiter had dropped the stack of dishes they were collecting onto a nearby table. Their attention was focused on a different waiter, or at least someone dressed as such, who stood at the far end of the long table, holding a gun. Loki raised an eyebrow. This was an interesting development.

The waiter with the gun was pointing it at an unassuming man seated at the end of the table. The man’s blonde hair was on the long side and, paired with his beard, gave him an unkempt look in Loki’s opinion. The horrible beige plaid blazer he wore wasn’t helping.

Loki blinked and suddenly everyone else at the table had a gun out, all pointed at the man, who only smiled in response. Everyone in the dining room seemed to be holding their breath as the man took a brown fedora out from under the table and settled it on his head.

"Now, now, let's not be too hasty." His voice had a pleasant drawl to it. He held his hands up as he stood slowly.

“Just give us the map!” snapped one of the women at the table.

“Sorry, can't do that,” the man replied and winked. He was either incredibly brave or very stupid given the circumstances.

When the man slowly lowered his hand to his hip, Loki felt a brief spike of excitement. Was he about to witness a bloodbath? Unexpectedly, the man freed a long whip. With two quick cracks, he took out the light on the table and the chandelier overhead, bringing it crashing down and plunging the room into darkness.

At least two of the guns went off after that, which made Loki roll his eyes. For how frail they were, Midgardians were always so reckless with their weapons.

“Sir! Get down!” That was one of his men. They knew better than to grab him and simply lunged past, likely intending to tackle and disarm the gun wielders. Loki heard the sound of scuffling and was about to fling up a light—waiting in the dark was tedious—when someone did bump into him.

“You look important and I'd hate for you to get hurt, so probably best to come along with me.” The easy drawl was recognizable, though the man with the whip sounded slightly winded now. Then he wrapped an arm around Loki's waist and hurried them both away from the sounds of fighting.

Loki was so stunned at the audacity of being manhandled, he was outside before he fully registered what had happened. He tried to shove the man off but he’d already stepped away. Inexplicably, the man now wore a leather jacket instead of the plaid blazer. Now able to get a better look at the man, Loki was dismayed to find the bright blue eyes and lopsided smile were annoyingly attractive.

“Hey, are those a family heirloom?” the man asked, gesturing to Loki’s golden horns. “They look pretty good for an antique.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki snapped. “Do you have any idea who I am?!”

“Of course! How could I forget with the horns and all.” The man waved again and a long silence followed his words. Then a huge grin split his face. “Actually, I don't, but hopefully you won’t hold it against me. I’m Indy by the way, short for Indianapolis. My parents were kind of kooky.”

Before Loki had a chance to inform this ridiculous Midgardian that he didn't care what his name was, or what his parents were like, the back door of the restaurant slammed open.

“There he is!”

It was the diners who’d pulled guns in the restaurant.

“Oops, gotta go. See you around, friend!” The man—Indy, apparently—clapped a hand to his hat to keep it from flying off and ran into the night. Gunshots rang out in response and the bullets whizzed by Loki, close enough to further annoy him. He gestured at the gaggle of people spilling out of the restaurant and, with a flash of green light, they vanished. Seconds later, Loki's bodyguards came rushing out.

Loki wasn't impressed by their delay in finding him, but he had something more important to address.

He pointed at the fleeing man in the fedora. “Find that man—Indianapolis…something—and bring him to me.”

The people who’d been chasing Indy might have been able to answer his questions, but Loki had sent them elsewhere without giving much thought as to where. As half of the bodyguards took off in pursuit, Loki stalked back inside, followed by the rest. He would get his answers one way or another.

#president loki #mobius m mobius #lokius #lokius au #dr indianapolis bones #don't think too hard about this it was only meant to be fun #i had A Scene™️ in my head and i just had to get it out #maaaaybe i could expand on this someday?#but for now back to the OTHER president loki fic I was writing (lol)#i'd love to see anyone else's ideas for this au!#mobius #wanderingflame fic

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the-fiction-witch · 6 months

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My Mistake to make

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Angry / Angsty

I smiled so widely as I lay wrapped up in my sheets, the cotton covers around me tightly. My head sweetly rested on Jack's warm chest, He had been here all night as usual and we had spent most of the night not slept in the throws of ecstasy between my sheets.

I sighed a moment my fingers stroked his stomach,

"You alright?" he asked his hand plaid with my hair,

"Ummm, Perfect." I cooed,

"You always get so... blissful after."

"I can't help it, I feel so blissful and joyous having spent so long with my mind reaching the stars" I giggled as I leant up and kissed his soft lips, He kissed back and tightened his arms around me, our kisses so long and passionate I high expected him to shift his weight across the bed and move back on top of me again,

But suddenly my bedroom door opened and my mother marched in, Immediately I grabbed the sheets to try and cover us both better as we tried to conceal ourselves and what we had been doing.

"Y/N!" She yelled in shock,

"...Hi Mother." I gulped,

Her face read of utter disgust and rage as she returned to the door, "Doctor Dawkins, please follow me to the office." She demanded, she shut my door and waited outside it for him,

"Holy Hell... were in trouble," I gulped,

"So much trouble." He gulped too, He climbed out of bed and got himself dressed again,

"Jack, I don't think going down there is a good idea," I told him as I took his hand,

"I know pet, but I don't really have a choice, do I?" he sighed, "I'll be back as soon as I can I promise," he reassured me as he kissed my forehead,

"Just... be careful."

"I will do," he nodded before going out to meet with my mother, who led him down to the office.

I sat on my bed fearful and nervous, I could only imagine the things that would be said. I felt so guilty that Jack was to take the fall for this when I was as much to blame as him, but at the same time what did my mother expect? we are engaged! And she was fine with him sometimes staying the night... Yes granted she thought he slept on the window seat bed but that's not the point! Come on my mother was young once surely she knew... right? She must have known that 'yes he's sleeping in my room by on the window seat bed' really meant 'yes he's sleeping in my bed', we have been engaged for six months now surely she's not foolish enough to think all that time every time Jack's visited he's staid on the window seat? Isn't it obvious that even a few times he'd come and sneak into my bed for a nice morning cuddle? Then again I imagine it's not the cuddling she has the objection to... I imagine it's Jack's pants or lack thereof.

I couldn't wait up here the tension was killing me, so I slipped on my nightie and scampered down as quietly as I could to the office, the door open a crack for me to listen.

"How dare you!"

"I was just-"

"Do you have no respect for this family! for me! for my daughter!"

"You don't understand it wasn't-"

"I shall see to it your job at the hospital is removed immediately"

"No! Please you can't!"

"I can, I will have the prof fire you this instant! You're employment your benefits your pay all of it I shall remove."

"Please just let me explain-"

"I do not want to hear your excuses! I shall send word to Prof immediately to empty your room onto the street!"

"Please, I care for your daughter, I love your daughter, and I want to make her my wife, please this was just a mistake I-"

"I should call the captain and have you hung!"

"For what?!"

"Deflowering my daughter,"

"I'm her fiance"

"Not anymore!"

"Y-You don't mean that."

"I do! The wedding is off!"

"No! Please. please you can't do this!"

"There shall be no wedding! there is no chance in this lifetime I will wed my daughter to you!"

"But I-"

"I don't want to hear it!"

"You have been banished from this house immediately Doctor Dawkins!"

"What- No! Please!"

"I want you out! this minute!"

"Can't I at least say goodbye to her?"

"No! You are to leave immediately! and I shall see to it you shall never see Y/n again."

"Nooo, please! Please Mrs Y/l/n Please throw me out, fire me if you wish but please you can't take Y/n from me I'm begging you,"

"Get out!" she demanded,

I couldn't allow this to continue I forced my way in and saw My mother at the desk angrily, Jack in the chair pleaded with her his hands on the desk to beg her,

"Y/n..." Jack muttered desperately,

"What is going on," I demanded,

She could not hide her disgust as she looked at me, "Nothing you ought to concern yourself about dear."

"I want to know," I ordered,

She let out a sigh, "Doctor Dawkins, Was taking advantage of you."

"I wasn't-" He began,

"He must have slipped something in your drink, or gotten you drunk last night, for him to intact his monstrous desires on you."

"Advantage of me?"

"Yes..." she said,

"The fact you think Jack could do something so heinous,"

"Well it appears he has doesn't it."

"I didn't. Please Y/n you know I didn't." Jack begged,

"It's alright Jack," I told him as I held him to my chest a moment which calmed him and soothed his tears, "You promise me, you-"

"You know I would never do such a thing to you pet."

"I know, I trust you," I told him as I kissed his head, "Mother, you really think so little of the man I am to marry that he would do such a thing? do you have no faith in him? In me?"

"He is a man!" She scoffed

"He is my Fience." I corrected, "He is the man I love how dare you accuse him of such things."

"My dear, you are immature and innocent, you do not know the tricks he plays on you."

"I don't play anything on you I swear I-" he began,

"I know, I know," I told him,

"I Never want you to see him again," she ordered,

I let out a breath, I patted Jack's blonde head before I slowly moved across the office towards my mother, I did not run, I did not threaten, I did not punch or kick or anything else I merely walked slowly which forced her to back away into the corner of the room, anything in my way was merely moved forcefully tossing chairs, books, decor onto the office floor. "I am a grown woman."

"You are still my child. I get to make these decisions. And I am making this one. You are not to marry him. Not to see him anymore. Do you understand me?"

"You do not get to decide that!" I screamed my voice shook the room

"You are my child! My daughter! You will listen to me!"

"I am an adult woman, you do not get to decide the man I spend my time with let alone spend the rest of my life with. That decision is mine."

"Yes, I do! I am your mother!" She screamed, "You are just a foolish girl to nieve to see his tricks and advances!"

"I let him didn't I!"

"I don't know what you're thinking marrying him!"

"I'm trying not to end up in a loveless sham of a marriage like you!"

"You shut your mouth young lady I am trying to protect you!"

"From what! Joy? Happiness?"

"You listen to me. you do not know true happiness and if you marry a man like that you never will. I know what is best for you!"

"Do you?" I glared,

"Damn right I do!" she yelled her fury in her voice, "I know you better than anyone, I know what is best for you!"

For a moment I backed away and gave her space, which falsely made her think she had won me over but I let out a breath, "What's my favourite book, Mother?"

Her face softened and her tone shifted, "How is this relevant?"

"Answer. the. damn. question. mother."

"Tales from Shakespear, of course."

"Mother I haven't read that book since I was seven." I told her, "So I'll ask again, What's my favourite book, Mother?"

"I... I don't... I don't know dear." She admits,

"what's my favourite food?"

she struggled for a few seconds, "Well, I suppose you have always liked your apple pie..."

"No, not my favourite," I told her

"Then I... I don't know..."

"What is it mother, that I say when I get flustered about something?"

"I ... I don't know dear."

"No. You don't." I answered, "You know so little about me... how could you possibly know what is good for me when you don't even know me? How can you dictate the life I should have when you don't even know the woman I have become."

"And he knows you better does he?"

"...I know myself." I answered, "But for kicks, Jack? what is the phrase I say when I get flustered?"

"What when you're not trying to swear?" he asked,

"Yes," I giggled,

"You swear!" My mother argued,

"Yes, But anyway..."

"You say fizzlewicks... for some reason, It is really adorable though." He explained,

I smiled, "what's my favourite food?"

"harsh browns in the morning, the rest of the time Jacket potato with two different strength cheeses allowed to melt on top, Or ice cream but only ice cream when your sad and not too much else you get a poor tummy." He explained,

I giggled, "And my favourite book?"

"... uhh The Hunchback of Notre Dame? at the moment anyway... I'm sure it'll change again by next week." He said, "Aren't you reading Frankenstein again after this?"

"That is my plan yes." I giggled, "You see how much he knows me, how much he cares about the tiny little things that make up me."

"But... I... I am your mother dear."

"yes you're my mother and I will always love you, always care for you, always have respect for you and the work you did to raise me... no matter how horrible you are to me. But as much as you may disagree I do not owe you anything. I never asked to be brought into this world but you still brought me. I do not owe you love, respect or obedience. Your job as my mother has only ever been to prepare me and protect me for being an adult where I could go and make my way... I am an adult now and if Jack is the route I choose it is not up to you to deny me this"

Her heart broke from my words, "But you're making a mistake..."

"Maybe I am." I nodded, "But it's my mistake to make. Not yours." I told her, "And as my mother, all you can do is advise and support no matter what happens."

"But... what if I know he is not good for you?"

"he loves me, and that on its own is enough" she nodded, "but he knows my favourite books and we cuddle as we read them, he knows my favourite foods and how I like them Cooked we spent our time learning new recipes together, he knows all the little things I say and does when I'm frustrated, stressed happy and he's made himself reactive and a part of my responses to these things, all stupid in-jokes and complicated things that would take a lifetime to truly explain most of them we don't even understand ourselves." I explained, "he has changed his life for me, and if there is one thing you taught me is that men do not change for no reason if he was willing to do all this for me, then I should change for him and if that makes me a woman you no longer recognize... shouldn't you be happy at least that I am happy?"

"Is...is all that true?"

I nodded,

"You, you really do love one another?"

I smiled and moved to where Jack now stood, I wrapped my arms around his torso and he too wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head, "More than anything, truly I would bend the world for him, Mother."

"You know I would bend the world in a hundred loops just to see you smile for me pet." He cooed,

"You really do love him?"

"I do, and I hope he loves me too?" I asked as I looked up to him expectantly,

"With all my heart."

"And whether you allow it or not, I am going to love him, and I am going to marry him. With or without your permission." I told her,

For a moment she was speechless, "Very well." she nodded,

"Thank you, mother," I smiled

"Thank you so much Mrs. Y/l/n."

"But, you sleep in separate rooms till the wedding." She glared,

"Fine," I sighed as this was the only way to appease her, we went to leave the office but she stopped me before I could go,

"What... were you doing before I came in?"

"...Mother, you don't wanna know," I told her as I tapped her hand,

"I do."

"you really don't."

"Tell me. now."

"... Let's put it as, we were practising for making you a grandmother," I told her before I took Jack's hand and scampered off back to my room.

#tbs smut #tbs imagine #thomas sangster imagine #tbs imagines #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas sangster #thomasbrodiesangster #thomas brodie sangster #thomas brodie sangster smut #tbs #jackdawkins #jack #jack dawkins #thearttfuldodger #theartfuldogger #the artful dodger

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deerlottie · 2 months

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Those Billie Eilish pictures where she's dressed like a fucking redneck and covered in dirt or sludge or whatever just will NOT leave my mind and I cannot stop myself from imagining Natalie like that. Mechanic Natalie...

Mechanic Natalie who skips last period so she can start work early because she likes to catcall you when your dad stops at the gas station to fill up the car. Your parents ask you to bring their old SUV over to the mechanic and you complain cause that creep Natalie is working there and she's always giving you a hard time but you go anyway and she's being a fucking dork and she's adorable actually and the catcalling doesn't get on your nerves as much anymore.

Car needs to stay there a couple nights while they order in this part. Nat offers to drive you home and you take her up on that. She put her hand on your thigh and wriggled her brows and told you she could make some arrangements about the car and fix it for you for free if you scratch her back. You call her a dumbass and laugh it off.

It ends up being a few more days than you thought and Natalie picks you up from school and takes your lil sister to ballet practice or whatever. All Nat wants in exchange is to see YOU in a tutu. You offer dinner instead and Nat takes it. End up going steady cause she's genuinely such a good fucking person.

Fucks you in the back of your dad's SUV. Ever since this happened you've been coming home with oily, dirty clothes and your mom tells you that you might as well get a job at the gas station since you spend so much time there. Little does she know you're not under cars, you're under Nat, and she's the one getting serviced.

Taking your overalls and plaid all the way off to keep them from getting dirty. You put them in the front seat of your dad's SUV with the tinted windows. Natalie's washed her hands a dozen times but the oil seems to be seeping out of every pore at this point. Your tits are covered in black streaks and so are your sides and your thighs as she pounds you into oblivion. The SUV rocking in place as you fuck like rabbits in the back of it.

And you know it's big because of her dick print on her sweatpants but you have no idea it's as thick as a Goodyear tyre. She waits til shop closes down and she rolls out one of those creepers and uses it to fuck you.

-🦪

she corners you against the car while your parents are inside paying and intentionally leaves her grease marks on your thighs :3 you think she's such an asshole at first but whenever she's busy with another customer, aka too busy to catcall you, you feel sad and miss her 😣

after you get the car fixed, you start driving it more and always find yourself at the shop to see nat. even when you know she's working and cant chat, you're just there 'browsing'. ur like a little stalker and she definitely brings it up when you take legit 30 mins to pick out some snacks while watching her fix a car. and maybe you have a friend 'accidentally' break a window or scratch it up a bit so you can go back and see her muscles glisten with sweat as she bends down and fixes it for you. u cant take her eyes off her bulge when she's under the car either :( u swear you can see it twitch sometimes when you speak too.

goddd her getting you all greasy and dirty which just riles her up for some reason...cumming all over your tits and smearing it around with the oil stains @__@ she'd offer to take you back to her place and clean you up before you go back home because she has "realllly good soap" that gets all the dirt off or some shit and so what if its just an excuse to fuck you again? and ohhhh mechanic nat who puts her hat on you while you ride her....and her flannel :(

#🦪#natalie scatorccio thoughts 💭

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mochiwrites · 7 months

Text

an mmau drabble.

( mentions of unconfirmed character death )

reblogs do more than likes!

Scar sits in a park.

His cane rests against the bench beside him as he leans back into the seat, eyes taking in the scenery around him. He watches the happenings of natural life, seeing families out with their children, couples going for a stroll on the path. A man plays frisbee with his dog, and Scar nearly becomes well acquainted with said frisbee as it nearly smacks his head. He catches it in time, the man running up to him with an apologetic smile as Scar returns it.

The man has sandy blond hair, and for a moment, Scar’s eyes play a little trick on him.

He sees brown instead of green, a red sweater instead of the plaid button up.

Scar feels a bit numb as he passes the frisbee off to the stranger, who runs back to his dog and throws it in the air again. Scar’s eyes follow the movements of the frisbee, watching how it soars through the air.

He entertains a fantasy, just for a little bit. One where he’s watching not a stranger, but someone he knows very well. Someone who is his other half. He entertains a world in which nothing ever happened to them, and Scar never needed a cane on the hard days. He entertains a world in which there is still a plastic ring on his finger, maybe even a real gold one, and he is the happiest man on Earth.

The frisbee is caught midair by the dog, who happily runs back over to its owner, the plastic firmly between its teeth.

It’s been eight months since everything happened. Two months since Scar tried to find Grian with no luck. It’s been two hundred and forty-three days since Scar was left behind, and sixty days since he was forced to face the very possible truth that Grian was dead.

He hasn’t heard anything about the apartment, no sight of Grian anywhere even remotely nearby. There hasn’t been a single trace, not even a small clue. The thread is gone, and Scar might have missed his window of opportunity forever.

Nearby, a group of pigeons land on the ground, picking through some crumbs spilling from bags on the ground. They coo and jerk their heads, and Scar looks over at them. Something tugs at his chest as he sees one of the pigeons lift its wing to poke its beak through the silver-gray feathers.

It feels like grief.

(“What do you say to getting a cat one day?” Scar looked down at the man curling into his arm, a curious expression on his face. “A new home, new pet. A lovely little companion for us!”

Grian snorted as he pulled the blanket up to cover his bare skin from the chilly air. He rested his head on Scar’s arm, looking up at him. “I think you’d spoil that cat absolutely rotten.”

“What?!” Scar made a playfully offended gasp. “I would never do such a thing!”

“You would.” Grian grinned at him. “There’d have to be a limit on treats though. The cat’s health is important.”

“Of course, of course!” Scar nodded along before his face softened. “You’d get a cat with me?” He didn’t mean for his voice to sound so wobbly, but sue him, he was an emotional guy! The idea of getting a cat with his boyfriend made him happy!

Grian looked at him with a look that on the surface screamed annoyed, but Scar knew better. He could see the fondness in those brown eyes, the slight quirk of his lips. “Obviously. Someone’s got to be the responsible Cat Dad.”

“Cat Dad!” Scar couldn’t help but gasp before bursting into tiny giggles. “And hey! I’d be a very responsible Cat Dad!” He playfully squeezed Grian’s side in retaliation. Grian laughed in return, getting comfortable against Scar as he was pulled closer to him. Scar moved to rest his chin on Grian’s hair, pressing a kiss there first. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Mhm. Do you have any animals you’d want to adopt?”

Grian moved his head to rest more comfortably under Scar’s own as he hummed in thought. And then, “A parrot.”

Scar chuckled, “I should’ve seen that one coming.” He was fully aware of Grian’s love for birds, how much they meant to him.

“We’d have to keep Professor Beak away from the cat though,” Grian replied, and Scar couldn’t help his fond little laugh at the bird’s name.

“Professor Beak?” he questioned. “Gosh G, has anyone told you how cute you are? I can feel my little heart just melting!”

“Professor Beak is a perfect name for a bird!” Grian exclaimed defensively, moving to look at him. Scar could see how pink his face was. “It’s sophisticated and elegant.”

Scar only melted into further laughter. Grian grew more embarrassed by the man’s reaction, squawking some kind of defense for himself. Yet all Scar could focus on was how much he loved the man in his arms.

Silencing Grian, he used the arm around him to pull him forward until he could kiss him. It was something sweet, loving, and light. Grian sighed against him, a content noise as Scar held him within his arms.

When they pulled apart, Scar grinned, “A cat and a bird then.”)

They never got the bird. Scar never got Grian, and he probably never will, with the man quite possibly being dead.

It’s not something he’d put past Them.

He watches as one of the pigeons takes flight, seemingly uninterested in the pile of garbage on the ground. Scar follows the bird as it flies, and he can’t help but wonder. If Grian really is dead, perhaps in his next life he’ll be a bird. It’d be a beautiful gift, for the man to finally have the wings he envied so much.

It was something Grian used to talk about a lot, having the ability to just fly anywhere, any time. He was envious of it, of that much Scar was certain. Grian had always seemed so trapped, and not even Scar’s shitty apartment could break him free of his cage. There were nights where Scar often wondered who held the key to Grian’s chains, who kept him grounded and clipped his wings.

Maybe such kindness shouldn’t be offered to the man who left him to die. Who betrayed him. Yet Scar found himself giving it to him anyway. He’d give Grian a lot of things, he thinks. Forgiveness could be one of them, depending on the reason. Besides, Scar is too tired to hate. He’s too tired to be angry and hold contempt. He doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to.

Besides, he thinks he let it all go the moment he realized Grian could very well be dead. He still held out hope for the man, but two months and… maybe it was time to move on (Scar knows he never will. Not when a piece of him will always belong to Grian. Maybe it shouldn’t, but Scar is a man in love, even now).

He’ll just have to bury his need for answers and live.

As he watches more of the pigeons fly away, he hopes that Grian is among them. He hopes that Grian has his own flock to call his family, and that he is able to soar in the skies like he’s always wanted. Scar hopes that wherever Grian is now, he is happy. He hopes it’s a lot better than where he was.

Scar certainly knows he’s much better than where he was.

And even if it’s not with him, there’s a part of him that hopes Grian can finally fly free.

#mochi writes #mmau #scarian #trafficshipping #:3 #I was talking about a concept and then was possessed and wrote this #I’m totally okay about mmau!scarian #soooooo okay #anyways hiiiii :3 #come scream in my inbox :3c

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hippiegoth97 · 20 days

Text

Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story Pt. 11

Collage by me :)

Master List

Part 10

Tag List: @rafescurtainbangz @voyeurmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @mediocredreams

@slowandsteddie @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @babygorewhore

@rattkween86 @violetpixiedust @bimbobaggins69 @purplehazed-h @morning-rituals

@eddie-van-munson @msgexymunson @munsoneightysixx @impmunson @mysticalstar30

@jenniquinn @oneforthemunny @succubusmunson @ddeadly-succubus @prettyboyeddiemunson

@sanctumdemunson @stalactitekilla @s6raphic @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne

@ohmeg @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever @ahoyyharrington @micheledawn1975

@costellation-hunter @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @yourdailymemedelivery @spacedoutdaydreamer

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, tobacco/alcohol references, vomit, illness, anxiety, intense anger, crying, arguing, meltdown, parental issues/resentment, mentions of death, angst, teasing, smut, handjob, intimate kissing, sexual frustration

Word Count: 15.1k

Divider by @strangergraphics

Part 11.1: Here Comes The Rain Again

Saturday, April 8th, 1989

You wake up the next morning, head absolutely pounding. You groan at the sun shining in through the window, rolling over to snuggle against Eddie. But you realize he's not lying next to you. You hear him outside of the van and the back door is sitting open. "Eds?" You call him, realizing you're hearing him make some strange noises. You crawl over to the door, and see Eddie vomiting onto the ground. "Oh, baby." You coo sympathetically, hopping out to help him. You walk over, putting a comforting hand on his back as he's bent over. He would speak, but his stomach has other ideas. He throws up again, violently painting the ground with the wine and sandwich he had last night. He's trembling, coated in sweat as he's standing in his underwear. "It's alright, let it out. I'm right here." You try your best to soothe him, there's not much else that can be done until he stops puking.

He finishes a couple minutes later, turning to lean against the side of the van. He's very pale, looking like he might pass out. He smiles weakly at you, wiping his mouth. "Sorry, angel. I can't imagine that's very attractive to look at. It seems whatever Wayne's got has passed on to me. I feel like absolute death right now."

"You sure you're not just hung over? We did get pretty drunk." You step closer to him, pressing your lips to his forehead. He's burning up, definitely not a hangover. "You've got a fever, Eddie. We gotta get you home and into bed, okay?"

"’Kay, I think you're gonna have to drive though. I'm seeing two of you right now, so that can't be good." He chuckles wryly, trying to steady his dizzied head.

"Oh, Eds." You tut at him, helping him sit down in the open doorway for a moment while you gather his clothes. You hardly think you can take him home only in his boxers, you doubt Wayne would like to see that. You grab his pants, shimmying them onto his trembling legs. You don't bother with the shoes, but you help him put his shirt back on, doing up most of the buttons. Eddie abruptly pushes you backwards, which you find odd. That is, until you see him bend over to throw up again. You let him be, shimmying back into your dress and slipping your heels off. You also sort out the mess of items you hastily bundled up in the plaid blanket last night. You don't want anything to get broken while you drive him home.

"God, I swear my stomach is turning inside out." Eddie whimpers, and your heart sinks. You hate to see him like this, you wish you could make it all go away. But, he's been there for you when you've been sick, and now it's your turn to take care of him.

"I know, love. Let's get you in the van, okay?" You say softly. He nods, and you sling his arm over your shoulder and walk him to the passenger side. It's a bit difficult, you're not used to carrying his weight like this. You soldier on, for his sake. You open the door and he slides into the seat, slumping miserably against the worn leather. You close the door, quickly going to the driver's side. You hop in, pulling your door shut. You turn the key to start up the engine, when you realize you've never driven such a big vehicle before. Hell, you've barely driven your mom's car since she uses it for work.

"You okay, angel?" Eddie asks, noticing your uncertainty. You meet his gaze, nodding quickly.

"Yeah, I've just never driven something so big before. But I gotta get you home, so now is as good a time as ever to learn I guess." You sigh, before continuing. "You might wanna put your seatbelt on." He does as you ask, wincing with every move. His muscles ache terribly, and he can't stop shaking.

"Just please don't get us killed, that's all I ask. Although, the plague currently ravaging my goddamn insides might do that anyways." He groans, clutching his stomach helplessly. He rolls down the window in case he needs to throw up again. He's pretty sure your driving won't help the situation.

"I won't. Okay...here we go." You shift gears, looking as best you can behind you as you reverse onto the gravel road. You press your stocking-clad foot to the gas, you've never driven without shoes before, either. You manage to pull it off, so far so good. You put it in drive, taking things slow as you roll down the path to make your way to the trailer park. You would try to talk to Eddie like you always do on your drives. Given his current state, and your uneasiness behind the wheel, it's probably best to keep things quiet. You feel Eddie's clammy hand on your thigh, throwing him a quick glance.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm sure this isn't how you expected the morning to go. I had so much more I wanted to do with you today." His eyes are so sad, he's practically in tears in his illness-induced delirium. He feels awful for ruining the remainder of your anniversary, and he plans to make it up to you any way he can.

"Baby, it's okay. It's not your fault. You can't control when you're sick. We can do everything you want and more once you're better. But right now, all I want is to get you tucked into bed and take care of you." Your hand briefly leaves the steering wheel to lay over his. This proves to be a mistake, though, as you swerve a little bit on the road. "Shit." You grab full hold of it again, and Eddie lunges to the right to put his head out the window to vomit. "Sorry, that was stupid of me." You wince, the sound of his stomach emptying itself is doing nothing for your hangover. You hold back a gag, keeping yourself together until you can get him home.

You're hoping you don't get whatever Eddie has. You've got finals this week and you can't afford to miss them. Besides a splitting headache and post-drunk queasiness, you feel absolutely fine. You don't usually get sick. Whenever the flu or colds spread through school or home, they almost always skip over you. Or, at worst you'll feel a bit oogy for a day or two. Eddie spits the remaining bile from his mouth, wiping it with the back of his hand. "Fuck, I really hope you don't get this. I'm also sorry for potentially infecting you." He slouches in his seat again, keeping his eyes shut as the trees passing by are making him even more dizzy. Every bump and turn on the road isn't exactly helping either.

"I'll be okay either way, Eddie. Don't worry about that right now." You reassure him, focusing on the road ahead. A little bit later, you pull up to his trailer. You hop out, running to his door to help him. There's some vomit on the handle, but you can't be bothered to care about that. You just quickly pull the door open, assisting Eddie to make your way inside. He shivers uncontrollably, to him it's like the world is made of ice. You walk up the steps and in through the front door, finding Wayne laid up on the couch watching TV. He notices you struggling to walk with Eddie leaning against you, getting up to help.

"What happened?" He asks as worry laces his voice. He can pretty much guess what’s going on, due to the greenish hue of his nephew’s face.

"He's very sick, Wayne. Woke up to him puking his guts out a little bit ago." You explain, letting him assist you to lead your poor boyfriend to bed.

"Ugh, please don't say 'puke'." Eddie groans, the mere mention of such a thing makes him want to ralph. His eyes widen, realizing it's going to happen again. "Bathroom. Now." He whimpers, and you two quickly get him there just in time. You're surprised there's still something in him to be let out, but he sure seems to be unleashing absolute hell in the toilet. Which reminds you, you're not exactly doing so hot after drinking heavily last night. You push past Wayne, running down the hall to the kitchen. He calls after you, wondering if you're alright. But you can't speak, the only thing coming out of your mouth right now is last night's dinner. You locate the trash can, dropping to your knees as your own stomach rejects its contents. You hear footsteps coming towards you, heavier than Eddie's. Wayne kneels beside you, stroking your back.

"You gonna be alright, kiddo?" He asks, thankful he's passed on from the vomit stage of his illness. He hates to see you two in such a state, he knows you had plans to spend a romantic night and next day together. He mentally curses his dumbass coworker, Kevin, who spread his fuckin' pestilence through the whole damn plant. Everyone has been out at least once this week, and some have even ended up in the ER from being so ill. And now he's given it to Eddie, and possibly you, too.

"I'm alright. I had too much to drink last night, I'm fine otherwise. But Eddie’s in pretty bad shape." You reply once you've finished, sitting back against the kitchen cabinets. You feel a little better now, actually. However, a glass of water and some Tylenol certainly wouldn’t hurt.

"Well, I'm glad you're alright. Mostly." He chuckles, helping you stand. He gets a couple glasses from the cabinet, filling them with water from the tap. He also retrieves a bottle of aspirin for you, setting one glass along with the pills beside you. "Here, I figure that'll help. I'll warn ya, it might taste a bit metallic. It won't hurt ya, I drink the stuff just fine."

"Thanks, Wayne." You happily accept the water, popping a couple pills into your mouth before chugging the whole glass.

"You wanna take this to him? I think he’d prefer you over me." He hands you the other cup, and you nod as you take it in your grasp. You walk back down the hall, finding Eddie laying in the fetal position on the tile floor. He's whining helplessly, squirming like an electrified worm.

You sit down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He opens his eyes, looking at you hopelessly. "Baby, let me help you sit up, okay?" Eddie nods through his tremors, letting you position him upright against the bathtub. You bring the glass to his lips, holding it for him so he doesn't spill. "Open, you need to hydrate." You kindly instruct. He listens, apprehensively allowing you to tip the glass so a little water flows into his mouth. He swallows, the cool liquid refreshing his senses. You set the glass down, not wanting to give him too much at once. "Let's get you to bed."

"Okay." Eddie answers weakly, putting his arm around your shoulder once more. You manage to get him to his room, sitting him on the edge of the bed. You go back to the other room to retrieve his water, setting it on the bedside table. You help him out of his clothes, finding some clean underwear and pajamas to dress him in instead. You notice vomit in his nice shirt, and make a note to do a load of laundry for him while you're here.

You hear the phone ring in the living room, and Wayne picks up. After a moment, he calls to you. "Y/N, it's your mother callin'."

"Stay right here, baby. I'll be right back." You give Eddie a kiss on the cheek, leaving once more, closing the door behind you. You jog down the hall, taking the phone from Wayne's hand. "Thanks." You say to him briefly, putting the phone to your ear. "Hey, Mom."

"Sugarpuff, are you alright? I know you were spending the night with Eddie, but I just wanted to check in." She sounds worried again, like something else might be going on.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Well, Eddie's sick today and I'm gonna take care of him. I'll need a ride later tonight, if that's okay." You reply, wondering what could be the problem on her end. She knew where you'd be, and she knows you're cautious and have Eddie to protect you.

"That's fine, sweetie. There's something else, though." The tone in her voice is freaking you out, setting off alarm bells inside your head.

"What is it?" You contemplate a million possibilities, but you can't think of anything outside of your unrealistic anxious fantasies.

"It's your father, Y/N. He's...he's dead, honey." Your breath catches in your throat at this news, though you're not sure how you feel about it. You don't feel sad, nor really shocked, either. You haven't seen him in almost ten years, does it really matter that he’s dead? He decided long ago that you don't matter enough to call, or visit, or even send a damn birthday card to. So, why would it matter to you that he's gone? You've made your peace with it, at least you thought so. As far you're concerned, you haven't had a living father in a decade. "Y/N? Sweetie?" You hear Mom trying to regain your attention.

"Sorry, I just don't really know...what to say. How do you know this, anyway?" You ask curiously. Dad’s done a pretty good job of hiding himself away, moving across the country and leaving no forwarding address or phone number.

"Well...Angie called me. She said he died in a car accident, and she wants to have the funeral here. She also wants their kids to meet you and Dusty." She replies apprehensively. You scoff at the idea, rolling your eyes. Of course, daddy bites the dust and his whore wants you to meet his new rugrats. No fucking thank you.

"And what did you say? I'd hope you told them to fuck off." You can feel yourself becoming overwhelmingly angry. How dare these fucking people that stole your dad away from you have the goddamn nerve to ask for such a favor? You don't care who these stupid people are, they are NOT your family.

"Sugarpuff! Language! I said it would be fine, they'll be in town anyway. Everyone knows Angie, and what happened with her and George. We might as well play nice and try to make the best of it." Mom doesn't exactly sound thrilled by the idea, but you can't believe she would ever agree to this.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me! Play nice! I'd rather lick the bottom of Lover's Lake than make nice with that whore and her stupid offspring! You do what you want, but I am NOT going to that bastard's funeral. And I'm certainly not going to entertain this bullshit idea of a 'family'. HE gave up on us, Mom! HE walked away and never looked back! So HE can have his new family mourn him, I want NO PART IN IT!" You can't believe the words coming out of your mouth right now, you've never spoken to your mother in such a way before. Anger is coursing through you viciously, you just can't stop yourself. You decide to hang up before she can respond. You don't want to deal with this right now. You slam the phone back onto the receiver, the dinging noise ringing in your ears.

"Jesus." Wayne looks at you with wide eyes, unable to believe you'd use such foul language towards your mother like that. He's about to try to talk to you about it, but you just put a hand up to stop him.

"Save it, okay? I mean no disrespect, but I really just want to focus on Eddie right now. I'm sure I'll get an earful later." Your nostrils flare as you practically stomp your way back down the hallway to Eddie's room. You shut the door, careful not to slam it as you're sure his uncle really won't appreciate that.

"You alright, princess? I heard you shouting." Eddie looks at you cautiously, noticing your knitted brows and impossibly reddened face. You're absolutely pissed, even more so than the time you two fought about Chrissy. You pace back and forth on the small amount of floorspace he has, trying to get yourself to calm down. But you can't, no matter how hard you try.

You just see George's stupid face, glancing at you with no expression, as he packs his suitcases into his car before driving off, never to be seen again. No hug, no kiss, not even the words 'good-bye' pass his lips. You see the movers taking half the furniture away to the new home he bought with his whore a week later. You see Mom crying on the floor where the old couch used to be, wedding photos spread across the carpet in absolute tatters as she shreds them with the scissors from the kitchen drawer. You see little Dustin at nine years old, sobbing in his Star Wars pajamas for his daddy, begging to know when he'll come back home. But most of all, you see yourself at age twelve. Standing in your room in front of your vanity, wondering why the three of you weren't enough as tears stain your cheeks.

You're seeing red. Angry, enraged, frustrated, painful, deep, dark fucking red. You want to scream and cry and break everything in sight. You want to claw your eyes out and tear your hair out in clumps. You want to punch a thick wall of concrete until all your fingers shatter, bash your skull against it. You want to go to that fucking funeral, and break open the fucking casket, and rip his fucking corpse apart. You're beyond rational thinking, unaware of anything going on around you. You can't hear Eddie asking you if you're alright, you can't see him trying to get your attention. All you can see is the pain that the man who unfortunately provided the sperm to create you has brought to your family. The only thing that snaps you out of it is Eddie standing in front of you, holding your shoulders firmly in his grasp as he looks at you. "What?" You say as you're yanked out of your own head, almost shocked to see him out of bed. Your chest is heaving, breath flaring out in harsh puffs. You soften a little, realizing Eddie's concerned about you.

"What's wrong, Y/N?" He implores, eyes searching yours for an answer. You've scared the hell out of him, watching you move back and forth like that was like nothing he's ever seen before. From anyone, even himself. You looked like a feral animal, ready to attack the first thing that got in your way. He's forgotten about his sickness altogether, too worried about what the hell is going on with you.

"My dad died." Those three words are all you can muster, it's like all emotion has been sucked out of you like a vacuum. You've spent it all having a mini breakdown, you're surprised you didn't punch Eddie in the face when he stood in your way. You didn't want to hurt him, obviously. It would’ve been more of a reflex thing.

"Okay? I take it that's not all, though. You wanna talk about it?" He asks, leading you to sit down with him.

"I guess. If you want. I can't guarantee I won't become unreasonably angry again." You sigh, worried he might think you're crazy for acting in such a way. But he just holds your hand, lifting your chin to gaze at you lovingly.

"I doubt it's unreasonable, Y/N. I've never seen you get like this before, and I doubt it was for nothing." His tone is calm, void of judgment. Eddie can tell this news is tearing you up inside, he can't say he wouldn't feel the same if his own father died while rotting in prison. "Lay down with me, baby. Tell me everything." You do as he asks, cuddling up with him under the covers. You lay your head on his chest, and he holds you close with his strong arms.

"So, Mom said Dad died in a car accident. Angie called her to tell her about it. I'm surprised she even thought to do such a thing. She had no issue stealing him away from us, I didn't think she was capable of a guilty conscience." You speak bitterly, brows furrowing again.

"I take it Angie is the woman your father ran off with?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, that fucking whore. They had a couple kids together, by the sounds of it. Real nice, it's like me and Dusty never even existed." You're startled by how amped up you're getting, hoping you don't lose control again. But you continue, focusing on Eddie's fingers lightly stroking your arm. "Angie wants to have the funeral in Hawkins, and she wants us to meet their kids." You practically spit those final words, they taste like poison in your mouth.

"What the fuck?" He says, surprised that your father’s mistress would be so bold as to ask for such a big favor.

"Yeah! Right? That's what I said! But Mom already agreed to it, for the sake of saving face, I guess. People around town know about her, and how she ran off with Dad. Maybe she thinks it's better to go so Angie can't spread bullshit about us to his old friends, or something, I dunno." You end on a shrug, nuzzling further into him.

"So...what was the shouting for?" Eddie's a little afraid to ask, not wanting to set you off again.

"I told her I'm not fucking doing that. Angie and whoever their kids are is his family now. Dad died nine years ago in my eyes. I have nothing to mourn for. I may have yelled at Mom, though, swore a lot. And I never speak to her like that. Ever." You tear up at the thought, you regret being so vulgar and mean.

"Jesus, Y/N." He sighs, a bit disappointed in you. You should know your mother wasn't meaning to upset you. It's not her fault that this is happening.

"I know, okay? I feel awful about it, and I'm sure she'll give me a stern lecture when she picks me up later. But, I was just so fucking angry. That bitch has the nerve to ask us for favors? When she destroyed the family we had in exchange for one for herself? She can go to hell for all I care." You shove your face against his shirt, letting the tears fall as frustrated sadness takes hold.

"It's alright, sweetheart. This shit sucks. I can't imagine what it must be like. But I'm here for you, ‘kay?" He coos at you, putting a hand on your head to caress your hair as you cry. He hates seeing you so upset, this whole thing makes him mad for you. You stay like this for a while, just holding each other close until your tears eventually dry up.

"I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm meant to be taking care of you right now, and here you are looking after me again." You sniffle, getting out of bed to do what you've been meaning to since you found him ill this morning.

"It's fine, love. I think ‘dead dad’ beats ‘stomach flu’ in a relationship." He smiles at you, sitting up against the headboard.

"If you say so. I'm gonna take your temperature and get you some soup. Drink your water, okay?" You instruct him, kicking into nurse mode. You're hiding again, giving in to that familiar reflex. You've told him pretty much everything, but there's something else. Part of you wants to go to the funeral, to let everyone know just how 'great' their friend/husband/father was. You doubt you'll be allowed to speak your piece, that's typically not on the agenda in the ceremony of mourning.

You go back to the kitchen, looking around the pantry for a can of chicken noodle soup. You locate one, opening it up and pouring the contents into a pot to heat up on the stove. Once it's ready, you transfer it to a bowl, bringing it back to Eddie on a tray along with some saltines and a glass of apple juice. "For me? You shouldn't have." He jokes, though he's not sure he'll be able to keep the food down for long. You seem off to him still, he's not sure why. But he's not gonna let you close yourself off, especially not with something like this. "Baby, what's wrong? And do not say 'nothing'." He says as you place the tray of food on his lap. Your eyes meet his, annoyed by how deadly serious he is.

You sigh, he's developed a knack for being so painfully intuitive with you. "Just a second, I gotta find your thermometer." You're stalling, leaving once more to dig through his medicine cabinet. You find what you're looking for, returning to his bedside to stick it in his mouth. He grunts at the sudden action, glaring at you as he holds the glass rod under his tongue. "Oh, hush." You sit sideways next to him, waiting for the reading. Eddie's eyes refuse to leave yours. He wants you to spill it, now. "Alright, alright! Stop staring at me like that, dammit!" You exclaim, his persistence is so irritating sometimes. "Look, much as I hate the whole situation, part of me wants to go. Not to meet Angie, not to meet her kids. But to tell everyone how awful of a person Dad is for leaving. Fat chance of that happening, though." You look down at your hands, picking your cuticles.

"Probably not. People don't take kindly to disrespecting the dead." Eddie says, taking the thermometer out of his mouth. He hands it to you, letting you read it. 100 degrees exactly, definitely a fever.

"Disrespect? I'd call it deserved." You retort, setting the thermometer on the nightstand.

"Sweetheart, I whole-heartedly agree with you. You should have every right to say what you want about him, but I can't imagine Angie or those kids would like to hear something like that. Would you, if you were in their place?"

You think about it for a moment, you've never considered how they might feel. It can't be easy for them, you're sure they loved him a lot. But his departure broke your family's hearts, and you feel like someone needs to pay. "I guess not. But, that doesn't change what he did, Eddie." You don't want to budge on this, you don't want to make nice and play pretend. You feel like you're owed the opportunity to say what's on your mind, after so many years of biting your tongue.

"Of course not, angel. I'm not trying to justify what he did at all, far from it. I'm just worried that in your little crusade for justice you're having in your head, you might end up hurting someone else. And that's not right, either." Your own temperature seems to be rising, at least in the way of your emotions. You're getting aggravated again, you don't want to sit and moralize about how right or wrong what you want is.

"Well, maybe I don't want to be right. I'm always doing that, what's 'right'. Holding my tongue, staying out of trouble, nose dug deep in my textbooks. Such a well-behaved girl, sweet little Y/N wouldn't hurt a fly." You speak maliciously, though it's not directed at him. His eyes widen as you speak, realizing you're ramping up again. "Maybe I want to be a bitch for once. Make them feel just a sliver of what I've felt for nine fucking years. Sounds plenty fair to me." Your nails dig into your knees, making holes in your stockings. You're nearing the boiling point again, breathing so hard it almost hurts. You hate feeling so out of control, it’s like you're going insane.

Eddie reaches over to touch your arm."Sweetheart一" You shrug him off, standing up again.

"I gotta go." You blurt as you try desperately to not break down crying again.

"What? Why?" He asks, confused as to what's happening. He doesn't want you to leave. You shouldn't be alone right now.

"I just...don't like how I'm being right now, okay? I-I need to breathe, get some air. I'm gonna walk home. I gotta apologize to Mom anyway, deal with whatever shit-show is going on with all that. Yeah." You're talking too fast, frantically coming up with an escape plan. You don't want to leave Eddie like this, but you can't be around him right now.

"Y/N一" He's about to plead with you, but you just shake your head.

"Don't beg me to stay, okay? I can't take that right now. I want to take care of you, but my mind is in an awful, ugly place. I sound like a monster and I don't want you to hate me." You explain, needing him to understand.

"I could never hate you, princess." He insists, begging with his eyes for you to come back to him.

"You don't know that, Eds." You reply without thinking, taking both of you aback with the words. You shake your head again, regaining focus. "But that's not the point. Point is, I need to leave right now. I'm too angry to be a good nurse, and it's not going to simmer down anytime soon. I'm not hiding, I swear. Eat your soup, drink your juice, alright? And call me later if you're up to it, or I'll call you. Whichever. I'm gonna get my things from the van, and I'll put the keys in the glove compartment, or something."

"Y/N." He's about to get out of bed, but you put a hand on his leg to stop him.

"Stay in bed. You need to rest. You don't need to deal with me acting like this right now, I'll be okay. I promise." You go over to him, leaning down to press a kiss on his hot forehead. "I'll visit you tomorrow, darling. I love you."

"I love you too, princess. Please call me when you get home? I wanna make sure you get there safe." He hates this day. Him being sick, your dad dying, and now you're leaving him earlier than you planned. He's always been worried about you, but today is something else. You're so angry, bitter, violent, even. It scares him, but he’s aware it's nothing compared to how you feel about yourself. It must be absolute hell inside your brain, all kinds of overwhelming emotions clashing against one another. His heart breaks for you, he can't help a couple tears falling from his own eyes on your behalf. He cares so deeply about you, although he knows you need a little time on your own. You've gotten to a point where you won't run away for the sake of not talking things through. He trusts your choice, even if he doesn't like it.

"Oh, Eddie. Don't cry, I'll be okay. I'll call you as soon as I walk through the front door." You reassure him as your own waterworks start up again.

"I just hate being away from you. You mean everything to me. And I don't like seeing you so upset, you deserve to be happy, love." He cups your cheek, gazing at you meaningfully. You lean in to kiss him, but he holds you back. "I don't want you to get sick, baby."

"I don't care about that. With all the kissing and fucking yesterday, I'm already doomed. Now, kiss me goodbye, please?" You bite your lip, though it trembles between your teeth from crying. He lets you make contact with him, your salty tears mingling together on each other's cheeks. Today has been a whirlwind for both of you, and it takes everything in you to pull away until you come back tomorrow. "I love you, Eddie." You say with a shuddering breath, resting your forehead against his.

"I love you too, Y/N. So much." His voice is strained, the sting of stomach acid and tears takes a toll after a while. He can't stand the idea of you leaving right now. He'd pull you onto him and not let go, if it wouldn't spill hot soup everywhere.

"Okay." You sigh, standing up to separate yourself. "I'm gonna go, but I'll call, and I'll be back tomorrow to spend the whole day with you."

"Promise?" He asks, giving you his best puppy eyes. You giggle at his gesture. He’s highly capable of making you smile, even at your lowest points.

"I promise. Eat, rest, and no smoking until you're better!" You instruct, pointing a finger at him. He grumbles at that last part, but agrees that it's probably best. You step to the doorway, looking back at him one last time. "Goodbye, Eddie."

"Bye, love. Be careful out there." You nod, closing the door behind you and making one final trip down the hall. Wayne's digging around in the fridge now, looking for something to eat.

"Back again, huh? What's the little prince need this time?" He speaks jokingly, until he sees your red, puffy face. "You okay, darlin'?"

"Yeah, I am. I'm just gonna go home for now, apologize to my mother. I'll call Eddie when I make it back home, and come by again tomorrow." You explain, before heading for the door.

"Good. I was a little worried there's some trouble in paradise."

"No, no. Nothing like that, just dumb family stuff. Believe me, I have no intention of letting Eddie go anytime soon. Or maybe ever." You muse, smiling for the first time in hours. He chuckles at your words, more than glad to see how much you love his nephew.

"That's what I like to hear. He says the same thing 'bout you every day. And I know it's too early to have any kinda marriage talk, but seein' the way you've made ‘im happy? Well, let's just say I'd be proud to call you my niece."

"Thanks, that means a lot." You're not sure how else to respond to his statement, but it's very sweet.

"And I hope whatever it is you got goin' on gets better, Y/N. You're a sweet girl, and it pains me to see a pretty face so sad." He shows deep concern for you, you’re looking a little ragged. Your hair is messy, your makeup smudged and streaked down your face, your dress wrinkled, and a few holes in your stockings.

"I appreciate that, Wayne. You're very kind. I'm gonna head home now. Can you make sure he doesn't smoke in there? I have an inkling he might try to do it when I'm not here." You laugh, already imagining Eddie lighting up the second he hears the front door close.

"No problem, darlin'. Be safe out there, alright?" He's always so kind to you, treating you like you belong here. The second Eddie brought you home, it was like you were family to him. Who knows, maybe you will be one day.

"I will, don't worry." You pull open the front door, stepping out into the early afternoon sun. It's pretty warm out today, it shouldn't be a bad walk home. You go to the van to retrieve your things, hiding the keys in the glove compartment like you said you would. You put on your heels, it's slightly better than going barefoot.

The walk takes longer than you expect, but you suppose that's what you need right now. Lots of solitary time to navigate the storm of emotions swimming around your head. You cry for a while as you walk, watering the grass with your tears. You miss Eddie already, and it makes you want to turn back. But you also miss your mom, and she needs you just a little bit more right now. You're very angry as well, grumbling to yourself every now and again when nobody's around. You hate your father, but you've never really thought about it much until now. You hate what he did, and that he started a whole new family. And going by what Angie wants, he talked about you like you were still in his life. Bastard. He sure as hell didn't act like it, but had no problem using you in conversation when it was convenient for him. You find yourself walking up your driveway about an hour later, your body getting you home on autopilot. "Sugarpuff?" Mom asks as she sees you stumble in the front door.

"Jesus, are you alright?" Dustin pipes up, noticing how fucked up you look. You slip your shoes off, not realizing the walk has left you blistered and bleeding. You toss the heels haphazardly on the shoe rack, not caring where they land.

"You look terrible, Y/N. What happened?" Mom rushes over to you, taking you in a big hug. You tense up in her arms, before relaxing into the embrace. You burst into tears again, burying your face against her chest.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry for yelling and swearing at you. I'm sorry for being so mean一" you frantically apologize, unable to stop as you choke on your words.

"Honey, it's okay. Shh, it's okay." She strokes your back, trying to calm you down. Dustin joins the hug beside you, holding the three of you together in a nice warm bundle. You can hear them crying, too. It's just one big blubbering day for everyone, apparently. You're tired of the tears, but it's all you can manage. Your head hurts, and your stomach is cramping as you haven't eaten anything yet. And you suppose you need to know what the plan with all the funeral bullshit is, to know who or what to avoid, and when.

"Okay, I need to call Eddie. I also need to shower and eat something. I haven't had anything all day. And then you can tell me what the hell Angie wants." You wriggle out of the huddle, picking up the phone after stating your plan.

"So things are okay with Eddie, then? I was a little worried, given the state you're in." Mom says, breathing a sigh of relief that you're not nursing a broken heart.

"He's fine, I didn't wanna leave him when he's sick. But I'm needed more here." You dial his number, hearing it ring three times before being picked up. Wayne answers.

"Yello?" His gruff tone comes through the receiver.

"Hey, Wayne. It's Y/N, is Eddie awake?" You ask, hoping he is. You need to hear his voice again.

"Yeah, lemme get 'im for ya." He sets the phone down, you hear his footsteps recede down the hall. A moment later, Eddie picks up.

"Hey, angel. You get home alright?" He sounds so tired, you hope you didn't wake him.

"Yeah, I'm okay. My feet hurt, but it's fine. How are you doing? Did you eat your soup?"

"Yes, my love. Drank all my juice, too, like a good little patient. I still feel pretty awful. I wish you were still here, snuggled up in my arms." Sadness stains his words, sending sharp pangs through your chest.

"I know, baby. I'll be back tomorrow.. I'm gonna bring you some stuff to help you feel better, and I'm not leaving your side all day." You sweetly promise.

"You better! I hate being without you, sweetheart. Wayne's great and all, but I don't get to kiss him or call him cutesy names." He jokes, making you giggle. "There's my happy girl, I missed that laugh today."

"Yeah, I'm sorry today kinda went to shit." You can't help feeling guilty. From an outside perspective, it would seem you put your temper ahead of caring for your boyfriend.

"Relax, Y/N. There's nothing to feel bad about. I can already see the look on your face, don't beat yourself up." He always knows just what to say to make you feel better. You can't help smiling like an idiot when you're reminded of just how much he loves you.

"I'll try not to, Eds. I'm gonna let you rest, okay? You definitely need it." You hate to cut this conversation short, but you both have other things to worry about.

"I will. Be kind to yourself, Y/N. I love you." He speaks softly, the words sending calming waves through your body.

"I love you too, darling. I'll see you tomorrow." You hang up the phone, sighing as you let some of the weight of today fall off your shoulders. Eddie has a way of melting your stress away, almost like a superpower. "I'm gonna take a shower." You announce, glancing in Mom and Dustin's direction. They just nod, faces red and splotchy from today's news. You walk down the hall, shutting the bathroom door behind you. You peel your dress from your body, it smells like vomit, soaked in sweat from your walk. The lingerie set isn't doing much better, so you leave everything crumpled in a stinking pile to be dealt with later.

You turn on the water, letting it warm up just the way you like it. You stand at the sink, looking at your reflection as the room fills with steam. You're an absolute mess, and you don't feel much better, either. You’re sure it's just a hangover. But, today has taken a serious toll on you. Your body aches from the miles you’ve traveled today, you hate the idea of standing up any longer to wash yourself. The hot water should help a little, loosen your sore muscles and wash away the caked makeup. There's also a sour taste in your mouth, so you decide to brush your teeth. The tingle of cool spearmint thankfully forces the bitter flavor to recede, and the shower is ready for you shortly after.

You step under the showerhead, letting the water rush over you. This is exactly what you need right now, although you've gotten used to having a partner here with you. You sigh again, cursing yourself for missing Eddie. He's going to be fine. You're going to be fine. It's hard to remember that sometimes, your brain finds worrying to be a rather thrilling hobby. You scrub the makeup off your face, reaching for the shampoo to clean your hair. You take your time, working the various soaps over your body to wash your troubles away. Once you're finished, you step out onto the cool tiles, wrapping yourself in a towel. You scoop your dirty clothes off the floor, tossing them in the hamper in your bedroom. The towel falls from your naked body, and you get into some comfy pajamas. "Alright, so what does Angie have planned, exactly?" You ask as you rejoin the others in the kitchen to rustle up a late lunch. Your stomach is begging for food, and you don't care what it is at this point.

"Come sit with us at the table, and we'll talk it over." Mom says, gesturing at a seat between her and Dustin. You grab some string cheese and an apple, something easy enough to eat before sitting down with them. "Okay, so Angie plans to have the funeral next Friday at 5pm. She'd like us all to be there, but before that she wants us to have dinner with her and the kids on Wednesday as they'll be in town to finalize the arrangements."

"Do we really have to do this?" Dustin asks, not exactly keen to meet some strange kids and hang around the woman who took Dad away from all of you.

"Yes, Dusty! We all do. I don't want to hear an argument about it, and I certainly don't want any fighting or name-calling either!" She warns, flicking stern eyes between the two of you.

"This is such bullshit." Dustin crosses his arms, wishing there was a way out of this.

"Language! Look, I'm not pleased about this, either. But he's dead, kiddos. There's nothing we can change about the past, no matter how much we want to. But what we can do is try to come together as a family and make a better future. We don't need to keep holding on to anger and resentment. We have to let it go." You're surprised she's handling this so well, she definitely took Dad leaving in the first place terribly. She cried for weeks, living off of wine and ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You had to step in to take care of yourself and Dustin while she grieved, and that certainly wasn't easy.

"You make it sound so simple. But you know damn well it isn't." You reply, still easily sent into pure rage at the mere thought of moving on and letting go.

"I didn't say it would be easy, kids. But that's the way it is. I don't want to hear any more about it. There's not going to be any more debate or discussion. You're both going to that dinner and the funeral, and you're gonna be on your best behavior." Claudia stands her ground. You and Dustin groan simultaneously, acting like petulant children.

"Can I at least bring Eddie? Otherwise, I dunno if I'll be able to last five minutes without throttling that whore's neck." You ask.

"Fine! But only because he's a good young man that knows how to keep you together. Now, that's the end of it. No excuses, no tantrums, no nothing. You just go, and play nice for a few hours. Alright?" You both nod sheepishly at her, not wanting to anger her any further. "And stop calling her a whore, dammit! She has a name, and you will show her respect by using it!" She adds, putting an end to the conversation.

"Okay, sorry." You apologize, though you don't really mean it. Angie is a whore, no matter how anyone wants to dress it up. She went after a married man. Her boss. Your father. She broke up your family, and you'll never forgive her for that. But you know how to fake it. You've been doing that for as long as you can remember. What difference will a few more times really make?

Part 11.2: Bad Medicine

Sunday, April 9th, 1989

"There's my sexy nurse! I've missed you, baby." Eddie calls to you as you walk in his front door on Sunday morning. You biked over after a short trip to the supermarket to gather some get-well supplies. He's laying on the couch to watch TV, covered up in a cozy blanket. There's various objects splayed about his lap, a paperback novel, D&D stuff, his sketchbook, and various writing utensils.

"And how's my handsome patient?" You reply, putting your backpack on the kitchen table with a thump.

"Still pretty awful, but Wayne's all better. He's actually working a double today to make up for the time he lost." He says as you come over to him. He sits up against the armrest, letting you clear the mess away before sitting at his side. His eyes have bags under them, he must not have slept much. And he's so pale, with a light sheen of sweat glistening on his face and neck.

"Still pukey?" You feel his forehead with your lips, still noticing a bit of a fever.

"A little. Much less than yesterday. But my head is killing me, and I keep going hot and cold." He answers. You glance around to see if the thermometer is out here, realizing it might still be in Eddie's room.

"I'll be right back, Eds." You say simply, getting up to retrieve the little glass instrument. You locate it on his nightstand, just where you left it yesterday. You notice some fresh cigarette butts in his ashtray, the little shit smoked when you explicitly told him not to. You suppose it shouldn't be a big deal, he's twenty-three for fuck's sake. But it'll make him take longer to get better, and you hate to see him so miserable. You return to the room, standing next to the couch with a stern look on your face.

"What's wrong, angel?" He seems nervous, like he knows he's been caught. He swallows hard, worried you'll be angry with him.

"Eddie, did you smoke after I asked you not to?" You cross your arms, waiting for his response. He averts your gaze, your stare making him anxious.

"Maybe." He mumbles, cursing himself for not emptying the ashtray earlier.

You sigh, at least he's not lying about it. "Look, I know it's a strong habit for you. It's getting to be that way for me, too. But if you keep doing it while you're sick, it's just gonna take longer for you to get better." He scowls at you, annoyed at being treated like a child. You just roll your eyes, continuing your mini lecture. "You're a grown man, you can do what you want. I'm not gonna stop you, I'm only trying to help. You don't want to stay sick for longer than you have to, do you?"

"I suppose not." He replies in resignation, crossing his own arms now. Eddie apparently gets quite bratty when he's sick. He's lucky it's a cute look on him.

You know exactly what to say to convince him to stop smoking, letting a mischievous smirk spread across your face. You sit down once more, leaning in real close to look deep into his eyes. "You know....the sooner you get better, the sooner I can give you head and have sex with you." You tease in a sing-song voice, making his eyes widen.

"Fine! Fine, I'll stop. It's gonna be absolute hell, though, nicotine withdrawal is no joke." He grumbles, letting you confiscate his cigs and lighter.

"I know, baby. But I'm gonna make it all better, okay?" You take hold of his clammy hand, bringing it to your lips to kiss it. Eddie softens at your touch, he tells himself he can go a couple days without his smokes. "Did you sleep at all? You look exhausted."

"Uh, not really. Was too busy shivering and barfing." He yawns, struggling to keep his eyes open. You gesture for him to keep his mouth agape, gently placing the thermometer under his tongue. He hates the damn thing, paranoid he might bite too hard on it one day and hurt himself.

"I'm sorry, love. I feel awful for leaving early yesterday. Maybe you'd be better off today if I had stayed." Seeing him in such a state has made your heart ache with guilt, you couldn't keep yourself together for a few hours to take care of him when he needed you most. You feel like a terrible girlfriend right about now, letting anger take control like that was so selfish. Eddie hands off the thermometer again, though you're not sure it was in long enough to get an accurate reading.

"I would be exactly the same, Y/N. The only thing that would be different is you having a higher chance of getting sick. It was probably best for you to go home when you did. Speaking of, how are you doing?" He can tell you're beating yourself up again, it reads like a blinking neon sign on your face. He hates it when you do that, you're so hard on yourself when you don't need to be.

"I'm fine, not sick at all. I am kinda tired, yesterday took a lot out of me." You realize how silly you sound, complaining about being tired when your boyfriend is fighting off a nasty flu. "It doesn't matter, I'm here to take care of you." You shake your head and force a smile to convince him it's not a big deal. He's your priority right now, nothing else.

"Sweetheart, it matters to me that you're alright. I don't want you to pretend you're fine if you're not. I may be sick as a dog, but that doesn't mean you can't have something going on, too. I'm perfectly capable of being there for you, no matter how much I feel like death. How'd things go after you got home?" He insists you're not doing anything wrong, speaking calmly while holding your hand.

You groan, rolling your eyes at the thought of how yesterday went. You'd rather not relive it, but Eddie insists on being supportive. "Well, we were all crying in the goddamn living room before I called you, so that was fun." Sarcasm laces your voice, you're just so over all the crying at this point. "And after I had a shower and stuff, Mom said we have to go to dinner with Angie. Then, we have to go to the funeral. We also have to play nice and not cause a scene. I'm not allowed to call Angie a whore anymore either, because 'she has a name and I have to use it'." You're nauseated by the thought of having to do any of these things, not hiding the amount of contempt you have as you speak. You know you sound childish, like a surly teenager bitching about doing something you don't want to. But you can't help it, this whole thing is so fucking stupid and unfair. You look at him, wondering if he's judging you for acting so immature. But he's just patiently listening, letting you vent any way you please.

"So, when's all that happening?" Eddie asks, wanting to be there by your side if he can. He senses you probably need an anchor to stop you from going off the deep end, and he'll happily be that for you.

"Dinner is on Wednesday, and the funeral is on Friday." You grumble, wishing your final exams would go long enough to let you skip it. But alas, you have no such luck.

"You want me to go with you? That is, if your mom says it's okay." He doesn't want to step on anyone's toes, though he imagines Claudia won't mind. She's a sweet woman, always warm and welcoming with others.

"I was just about to ask you that. She said you can come, if you're up for it. And I would really appreciate you being there. Otherwise, I don't know what I might do." You giggle like it's a joke, but it’s not exactly funny. It’s entirely possible that if you have to go through all this without him, you might do something crazy. What that 'something' might be, you're not so sure. All you know is that it wouldn't be pretty.

"Of course I'll be there, babydoll. I know this isn't easy for you, and I wanna be there to hold your hand through it all." He says sweetly, God you love this man. He never hesitates to jump at the chance to be in your corner.

"Thank you, Eds. Although, I'm hoping you'll be holding more than just my hand." You bite your lip suggestively, making a bold move of bringing Eddie's hand to cup your tit over your t-shirt.

He groans, wishing he could act on the slight boner growing inside his pajamas. His eyes flick between yours and your beautiful chest, chuckling darkly. "Ooh, I get a naughty nurse, huh? You're lucky I can barely move, or I'd be taking your temperature." He squeezes your flesh a little, just enough to draw a breathy moan from your lips.

"Well, I am feeling a little warm. Maybe I should take off my shirt, that way you can get a better reading." What the hell are you doing? You can't believe that you're seriously leaning into this right now. Eddie's sick, very sick. You can't fuck him, much as you currently want to. It's unfair to wind yourselves up when you can't act on it, borderline cruel. You sigh, gently removing his hand from your chest, letting it fall into your lap. You shake your head, locking your libido away in a box inside your mind. "Sorry, I don't know what I'm doing. God! Why is my brain compelled to cope with stress by being a total slut?" You chuckle in annoyance, utterly embarrassed with yourself.

"Hey, I'm not complaining! I was even starting to feel better, sweetheart." Eddie strokes your thigh, which just smashes that box open again. You hold back another moan, you hate how easily amped up you are sometimes. He notices your change in body language, taking his hand away while clearing his throat. "Sorry, I'll cool off."

"It's fine, Eds. We'll have some catching up to do once you're better." You giggle, giving him a genuine smile this time.

"That we will." He laughs, already picturing what he plans to do with you.

"But for now, back to business. I brought some stuff for you." You pat his thigh, standing again to go open up your backpack. You pull out a plastic bag, which contains ginger ale, cans of soup, and a box of bland crackers. You noticed there wasn't another can of chicken noodle in his cabinets yesterday, and the saltines you gave him were kinda stale. "Have you eaten yet today?" You ask, glancing over at him from the kitchen table.

"I had some toast earlier." He replies, reaching for his sketchbook again. You nod, looking at the clock. Half-past ten, not quite time for lunch. Ginger ale couldn't hurt, though. You locate a glass, opening the can with a tsss. You bring it over to him, setting it on the table.

"This should help settle your stomach, darling." He smiles in kind, eyes still trained on the page in front of him. His tongue is sticking out as he concentrates on whatever he's drawing. "Whatcha workin' on, baby?" You ask, very curious what's got hold of his attention over you.

"Wouldn't you like to know!" He says with a smirk, eyes flicking to yours for a moment. You raise an eyebrow, wondering what that means. "You'll see, but you gotta wait until I'm done."

"If you say so." You say nonchalantly, but inside you're dying to find out what he's hiding. You've seen a lot of his artwork over the last few weeks, he's so talented it's unreal. "Do you need anything else?" You ask, unsure what to do now. You'd try to cuddle him, but Eddie would probably think you're just trying to peek at his work. Or that you're making an attempt to get sick to avoid going to the funeral.

"Nope. I'm just happy to have you here, sweetheart." He speaks contentedly. You nod, drumming your thighs with your hands. "Do you need something, my love?" He asks, his eyes trained on his work.

"No, not really. Oh, did you get the stuff out of the van at all?" You ask, trying to find something to do.

"Nah, I barely made it to the couch today." He replies.

"Oh, that's okay. I'll take care of it." You chirp, eager to have a new task.

"You don't have to, Y/N. You're not my goddamn maid." Eddie says dismissively.

"I know. I want to, chores keep my mind busy." You explain, picking your fingers. Sitting in silence isn't exactly best when trying to stay calm about the whole 'dead dad' thing. Eddie stops what he's doing when he realizes why you're asking. He lays his drawing face down on his chest to look at you apologetically.

"Sorry. I'm just not used to having people do things for me like that." His expression softens, and he takes hold of your fidgety hand. "Knock yourself out, baby. I’m sure you could use a distraction."

"Thanks, love." You lean forward, giving him another kiss on the forehead. He hums at the contact. In a sneaky move, you attempt to flip his sketch over to see what he's up to. He swats your hand away, tutting at you in disapproval.

"Y/N! No peeking!" He flattens his palms over the book, holding it down defensively. He narrows his gaze at you, almost glaring.

"Okay, okay. I'll leave you alone. You're just so talented, Eds. I love seeing what you create." You say sweetly, watching his cheeks flare at your compliment. You love it when he blushes, because only you make him do that. You giggle at his reaction, leaving his side to set to work. You retrieve his things from the van, putting the empty mugs in the sink and his books on the shelf. The blanket goes in the wash with his dirty clothes, and you get the cycle going. While the washer is running, you clean all the dishes in the sink left over from yesterday, drying them with a towel before returning them to their rightful place.

You feel Eddie's eyes on you as you work, and they're most certainly focused on your ass. You smirk at the thought, letting him enjoy the view from the couch. You turn around to peek every so often, but he's too quick at averting his gaze for you to catch him. You're just finishing drying the final dish, one of Wayne's mugs, when his arms wrap around you from behind unexpectedly. "Are you done yet, sweetheart? I've got something to show you." He speaks lowly in your ear, making your skin sizzle where his breath fans over it.

"Eddie, go lay down. You're supposed to be resting. I'll be there in a sec." You're surprised he has the strength to even make the trip over to you, much less 'unintentionally' tease you again. He blows you a raspberry, begrudgingly returning to the couch. You roll your eyes, tossing the kitchen towel into the laundry basket once you're done with it. You retrieve another ginger ale from the fridge, bringing the can over and pouring it into his glass. "Alright, let's see it!" You say in excitement.

Eddie holds his sketchbook in his hands, slowly turning it to show you what he's drawn. He smiles at you, though he's unsure his work is good enough. What you see on the page makes your jaw drop. He's managed to capture your likeness perfectly. The slope of your nose, the sparkle in your eyes, the rounds of your cheeks, your beautiful hair with the flower he put into it on Friday. Every little detail is flawless, you've never seen yourself like this before. "Do you like it?" He asks, dying a little with every second that you're silent.

"Yes! It's amazing, baby! How long have you been working on this?" You take the book from him, wanting to get an even closer look. He smirks, shyly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Since this morning. It's a rough sketch, really, I can do better with more time." He's quick to put himself down, but you won't hear it.

"Oh, stop that. It's perfect. Can I keep it?" You ask, pouting your lip..

"Of course, sweetheart. Anything for you." He chuckles, unable to resist giving you everything you want. You lean over to give him a light kiss on the lips, letting out a content sigh when you pull away.

"You're really something else, Eddie Munson." You set the book on the table, not caring about any germs at this point. You lay your body over his, cuddling up real close. You wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling him with your face. "Is this okay, baby? I can move if you're not comfortable." You ask, realizing you might be acting selfishly again.

"It's more than okay. I love being close to you, princess. You're the perfect little snugglebug." Eddie coos, always up for a good cuddle with his favorite girl. He lays his arms over your back, stroking you mindlessly with his fingertips. You can hear his heart beating steadily in his chest, your own gradually matching his rhythm. He feels so nice and warm against you, his touch lulling you into a relaxed state. You don't mean to, but you can't help drifting off into a light sleep. Eddie notices your delicate snoring, deciding to let you be for as long as he can. He knows how exhausted you must be from everything going on in your life right now. Watching you have some semblance of peace makes his heart relax, and he follows you into dreamland shortly after.

You wake up a while later, craning your neck up to look around while blinking your eyes repeatedly. Eddie's unmoving underneath you, breathing quietly as his head lays against the armrest. He's still sleeping, and you try your best not to wake him up. "God, he's so cute when he sleeps." You whisper to yourself, wondering how you managed to get so lucky. As carefully as you can, you lift his arms off of you, laying them back over his lap. You slip off the couch, and stand to check the time. 1:00pm, he needs to eat. You creep over to the kitchen, opening cabinets and clicking on the burner as quietly as possible. You heat up another bowl of soup, and bring it over on a tray with some crackers. Your hand gently extends to tap Eddie awake. "Hey, I made you some lunch." He stirs, rolling onto his side with a groan. You hate to wake him, but he's got to put some food in his stomach. "Baby, c'mon." You persist, and his eyes flutter open to look at you.

"Hm?" He asks through squinted eyes, still working his way out of the thick sleep clouding his head. His hair frames his face in a frizzed out mess of chocolate curls. His gaze falls to the table, and you can hear his stomach grumble in hunger. "Thank you, sweetheart." He gives you a weak smile, sitting up and putting his feet to the floor. Eddie runs his hands over his face, loudly exhaling in an effort to ground himself in reality. He was having the strangest dreams, a fever will do that. And it feels like he's slept for a hundred years, though he doesn't feel well-rested whatsoever.

"I was thinking I could...run you a bath after you've eaten? Wash the sweat away, soothe your achy little muscles?" You suggest, sitting beside him and putting your palm against his back. He just nods and reaches for the spoon to eat his soup. You observe him closely, almost like a hawk. You don't mean to hover, truly. Eddie notices you staring, looking at you with a warm smile a few times. "Sorry." You say flatly as he 'catches' you for the third time.

"It's okay, Y/N. I'm not a baby bird." He jokes, his free hand going to your knee to squeeze it comfortingly. You giggle at his comment, he’s still a joker despite how miserable he might feel. "Have you eaten today?" He asks, turning the concern onto you.

"Uh....I had coffee this morning. Does that count?" Your tone acknowledges just how much Eddie won't like hearing this. He gives you a stern look, pointing to the kitchen.

"Go find something. Jesus Christ." It's not a suggestion, but more of an order. You do as he asks, yelping at his hand lightly spanking your ass as you stand. You have half a mind to glare at him, but you doubt that’ll go down well. You make yourself a sandwich, returning to Eddie's side as you set your plate on the coffee table. "That's my girl." He kisses your forehead, though he's still a bit annoyed at you ignoring your own needs for his benefit.

"I suppose. I'm not very hungry." The ham and cheese on Wonder bread before you is quite possibly the most unappealing thing on earth right about now.

"I know, baby. But you gotta eat. It's just a little sandwich." Eddie insists, munching down some of his crackers.

"Ugh." You grumble, and hold the soft, white bread in your hands. You force the sandwich down your throat one bite at a time. Your guts have been twisted up in knots since yesterday, making it difficult to eat. You're nervous about finals starting tomorrow, and all the funeral-related activities this week, along with taking care of Eddie. It's like you're juggling everything inside your head, balancing on a unicycle all the while. Any second, you'll drop one of the balls, and everything will come crashing down. You swallow the last bite, it hits your stomach like a heavy stone. "I'll get your bath going, Eds." You say quickly, putting your plate in the sink before heading for the bathroom.

"O-kay." Eddie replies, wondering why you're fleeing his side. He continues eating, he'll never hear the end of it if he doesn't swallow every last bite. You turn on the faucet of the bathtub, the water gushing in a thick stream as you push down the plug. Your hand rests under it, gauging the temperature to make sure it's just right. You don't want to leave Eddie all alone in there, but you sense your sandwich wanting to make a surprise return.

"Fuck." You sigh to yourself, trying to feel your own forehead. But your hands are too cold to tell if you have a fever or not. Nausea flows through you in harsh waves, flipping your stomach like a fallen surfer spinning through the rush of the ocean. You're not sure if it's the flu, or if you're just anxious. Your hands are clammy, and your heart is racing. You can't slow your rapid breathing, this has to be another attack. That's it, you can't hold it anymore. You dash over to the toilet, just barely making it into the bowl.

"You okay, princess?" Eddie calls from the living room. When he doesn't get an answer, you hear his footfalls coming down the hallway. He leans in the doorway, finding you on your knees while you throw up. "Shit, sweetheart." He tuts, kneeling beside you to hold your hair back. You tremble as your insides wring themselves out like a used rag. Great, he's taking care of you, yet again. You'd roll your eyes if your stomach wasn't clenching as hard as it can to empty itself completely. You finish a minute later, turning to lean against the wall as you gulp in air. Eddie leans over to feel your forehead with his lips, you soften at the plush feel against your skin. "Hmm, you don't have a fever. Are you alright?" He asks, eyes filled to the brim with worry.

"I'm fine, mostly. I've just been so anxious about everything, I think it's catching up with me." You reply, forcing yourself to stand and continue monitoring his bath. Eddie wishes you'd slow down, you're ignoring what your body needs, and it's hurting you. He joins you on his feet, forcing you to face him.

"Baby, I'm worried about you." He says, taking your hands in his. His thumbs stroke your fingers, but your focus remains on the running water. "Y/N. Can you stop for a second? The bath can wait." His voice raises, no longer hiding his annoyance. Your eyes flick to his reluctantly, and his shoulders tense at what he finds there. You pupils show exhaustion, and fear, and maybe a little anger, too. He imagines you don't appreciate him badgering you like a child. "Look, I know you've got a lot on your plate right now." Eddie starts, moving closer to put his hands on your waist.

"You can say that again." You interrupt, crossing your arms in defense. You're not really sure why you feel like this. Eddie's only trying to help, but maybe that's the problem. He's always helping you, it's almost never the other way around. He should be in bed, resting. Not trying to comfort you when you've gone all nutso again.

"I think you need to slow down, angel. You're so focused on helping me, you're ignoring everything else." Your face falls at his words, staring at the floor. There's a crack in the tile that you suddenly find very interesting. He lifts your chin with his finger, trying to get you to listen. His face hardens, jaw clenching slightly. "I'm serious, princess. You're all over the place in there, and that's okay. But I won't let you ignore what you need for my sake. I don't care if that means you're crying every five minutes, or bursting with rage, or whatever else. Either let it happen and we'll deal with it, or you have to go home. Understand?" He says finally.

You're taken aback by him suggesting that he'll kick you out. But he's right, bottling yourself up clearly isn't the move here. You still feel immeasurably guilty for having problems when he's sick. Obviously, you can't control when life comes around to knock you on your ass. The timing sucks, but Eddie doesn't care. He wants you to be open with him, and that's not asking much. "Okay." You answer, not sure what else there is to add. He nods, letting you go so he can undress. You turn away, shutting the water off once the tub is filled up enough. You grab a towel from the rack above the sink, closing the toilet lid to set it on top. You also pluck a washcloth from the shelf, doing everything in your power to not peek at Eddie's naked body. You set the cloth on the edge of the bath, in perfect reach for him.

You hear him step into the water, little splashing noises rippling through its surface as he sits down. He groans, his muscles aching terribly while he tries to get comfortable. You're about to leave the room to give him some privacy, when he speaks again. "You wanna help me, love?" Eddie asks, desperately wanting your assistance. He can barely lift his arms, washing himself on his own will prove to be a challenge.

You turn on your heels, meeting his gaze. "Of course, baby." You reply kindly, kneeling beside the tub. You tie your hair in a ponytail to keep it from dipping into the water, which makes Eddie cock an eyebrow at you. "I don't wanna get my hair wet, you perv." You scoff, lightening the air in the room. He chuckles back, his body relaxing further as the warmth of the bath seeps beneath his skin. You reach for the plastic cup that's kept in the room, dipping it into the tub to fill it. You lift it above Eddie's head, blocking the flow from his face with your hand to wet his hair. It takes a few tries, his locks are particularly thick.

"I'm lucky to have you, babydoll. You know that, right?" He says, eyes fluttering closed at the comforting sensation of you massaging shampoo into his scalp. He moans lightly, your hands feel so good right now. Fuck, don't get hard, he thinks to himself. What you're doing isn't meant to be sexual whatsoever. What can he say? You possess the ultimate power over him, one he doesn't let anyone have so easily.

"You say that, and I want to believe you." You speak honestly. That's what he wants, right? "I mean, I know you mean it. I just…feel like more trouble than I'm worth." His eyes open again, looking at you sideways.

"Never, Y/N. I promise, there's nothing you say or do that feels like too much." He says earnestly. Ugh, he's too perfect. You just nod in response, reaching for the cup again to rinse out the lather. You condition his hair, letting yourself relax as you admire his blissed out face. He loves having you by his side, and you love being here just as much. Your eyes slip downwards, finding Eddie's erection underneath the sudsy water. You blush, averting your gaze. Don't stare, dumbass. He's sick, and vulnerable. "I saw that." He startles you, making you gasp. Your cheeks burn in shame, but he just laughs. "It's okay, love. It's not a big deal. We're in an intimate moment. It's bound to bring out certain...feelings." Eddie clears his throat at that, also a bit embarrassed despite his own words.

"You always know exactly what to say, Eds." You smirk, rinsing his hair again before wetting the washcloth and adding some soap to it. You scrub his body gently, starting with his back. You watch his muscles flex, which gets your heart beating a little faster. His shoulder blades shift under his perfect skin, and you're imagining that's what they look like when he's laying on top of you. Dammit. You can't help the little sigh that escapes your lips, though he seemingly takes no notice. You move on to his arms, holding him by the wrist as you drag the cloth along his flesh. He smiles at you, savoring every touch you give him.

You take his other arm, having to lean over the water to fully reach him. Eddie stares at your chest, examining the outline of your bra cups under the thin t-shirt you're wearing. He bites his lip, wanting to bury his face in your amazing tits. You both come to the conclusion that because you can't have sex right now, it makes you want it more than you ever thought possible. The perfect torture for a young couple like yourselves. "This is so fuckin' unfair." Eddie verbalizes what you've both been thinking since he got into the tub, the whine tinging his voice echoes the one in your head.

"I know, baby. I hope I'm not being dramatic when I say it's killing me." You reply, letting his arm go to wash his chest. You've been avoiding this area, as it's probably one of your favorite parts of him. His supple skin, the tattoos, the light amount of hair leading a trail to another part you especially adore.

"Not at all, sweetheart. The feeling is mutual." He shudders as you bring the cloth to his torso, gritting his teeth to keep himself from pulling you into the tub with him. He feels so weak, and yet, still so hungry for you. It's an awful combination, really. You focus on the task at hand, forcing yourself to only see a surface that needs cleaning and nothing more. It helps, and you're soon able to migrate to his armpits. He settles down a little, his underarms are definitely not an erogenous zone.

You hand off the cloth to him once you’ve done all you can. "Here, I’m sure you can clean your bits on your own." You sigh, and he nods while taking it from your grasp. You turn away again, hearing him shuffle around uncomfortably. He squeezes the cloth out when he's done, setting it on the edge of the bathtub.

"All clean, sweetheart." He says, signaling that you're okay to look at him again. You do, finding wide eyes staring back at you. His pupils are blown out, all your touching has amped him up beyond belief. He's trying to think of something, anything else. But it's not working, and his cock is not settling down.

"You alright there, Eddie?" You ask, though you think you already know the answer. He slowly shakes his head, but he can't possibly ask you to do what he wants. Your eyes look between his legs again, he's still hard as a rock, leaking from the tip. "Oh, baby. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rile you up like this." You tut, barely able to resist licking your lips at the sight of him.

"Not your fault. You're just really good at giving baths, apparently." He breathes heavily, and you know exactly what you can do. It's not much, not nearly enough compared to what you both crave. But it'll have to do. You reach your hand under the water, keeping your eyes on his. He's almost panting, anticipating your hand wrapping around his length. "Fuck, Y/N." He moans when you make contact, and it sets your insides on fire.

"It's okay, love. I'll make it all better." You coo at him. Using your free hand, you gently push on his chest to have him lay against the back of the bath. His knees breach the surface, letting you access him easily. You begin to pump him in your palm, eating up every little sound he lets out. You feel yourself getting wet, but you don't do anything with it. You can get off on your own at a later date, it's all about Eddie right now. "Does that feel good, Eds?" You ask, smiling warmly at him as his mouth sits agape.

"Yes, so good." He replies with a whimper, extending a hand to feel you up over your shirt. You moan at his touch, not caring about his fingers leaving wet marks on the fabric. You stop for a second, taking off your top and bra to let him massage your tits. "You're so pretty, angel. So fuckin' perfect." He groans, carefully tweaking your nipple between his pruney fingers.

"And you're absolutely gorgeous, baby. The most handsome man I've ever seen." You moan at the cool sensation of his wet flesh touching yours, gripping his dick a little harder in your hand. You're sitting on your knees, trying to give him as much access as you can. He sits up, bringing his hot mouth to your chest. "Jesus, Eds." You gasp, jerking him faster in your hand. He plants sloppy kisses all over your breasts, taking one of your sensitive buds between his teeth. His wet hair drips heavily onto your jeans, seeping through to your panties without a care. His hands move behind you, holding you closer as he marks your flesh. More water runs down your back, flowing directly into the little gap at the back of your pants. He's gonna get you soaked, in more ways than one.

"I wish I could be inside you, princess." He mumbles against your chest, frantically nipping at you as your wrist flicks expertly to drive him wild.

"I know, baby. As soon as you're better, we'll fuck as much as you want." You hold his head to your chest, his tongue and teeth feel so fucking good against you.

"Promise?" He asks, nearing his end as you stroke him even faster beneath the water.

"I promise. As many times as you want, for as long and as hard as you want. We can even use every page we haven't gotten to in that little book you gave me." You whine, wishing you could get off like this. You're certainly revved up, but it's not nearly enough.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum." He grunts, his stomach tensing as his release overtakes him. Eddie moans against you, biting hard on your tender skin. His load empties into the bath, a sticky paste that sinks to the bottom. His hips stutter which, causing the water to slosh around, and his breath comes out ragged as his high subsides. Eddie lets you go, laying back down with his heart hammering inside his chest. "Remind me to get sick more often." He quips, making you giggle. You start to shiver, the water he’s dripped all over you has made your clothes uncomfortable to continue wearing.

"Absolutely not. As much as I love taking care of you, not being able to fuck your brains out is the worst punishment imaginable." You unplug the tub, and the water slurps down the drain. You help Eddie stand, wrapping his arm around your naked torso to lead his feet onto the bath mat. Droplets fall from him, landing on the plush material below in quiet taps. You hand him his towel, gathering both your discarded clothes to wash later. You go to his room, locating some clean pajamas for the two of you to wear. You're sure he won't mind you borrowing some clothes while your own hang up to dry.

Eddie sneaks up behind you, slapping your ass again. You yelp, whipping around to shoot him a glare. Your tits bounce at the motion, his eyes falling to your chest. "Goddamn, I'll never get tired of seeing these." His tongue plays at the edge of his mouth, and you notice his towel wrapped around his waist. His v-line is in full view, distracting you for a second. You snap yourself out of it, remembering that you have to wait.

He's just about to reach up and grab your breasts, when you back away from him. "Cool it, Eds. You've had enough excitement for one day." You tease, throwing some pajamas his way as you pull one of his Dio shirts over your head. He whines at the loss of a beautiful view, and you scoff at him. You slip out of your soggy jeans and panties, replacing them with some flannel lounge pants that go a little ways past your feet. You have to tie the drawstrings extra tight so they don't fall down, hoping you won't trip over the excess length.

"Fuck, you always look so good in my clothes. How do you do that?" Eddie asks in disbelief. You're not sure what he means. You feel like a little kid, the clothes that fit him perfectly are easily two sizes too large on you.

"I dunno, they sure are comfy though." You say sheepishly, playing with the hem of your 一his一 shirt. Once he’s fully dressed, you take everything that needs washed to the machine. You realize you have other items in there from earlier, swapping them out quickly and hanging the clean clothes to dry over the shower curtain rod. You start the next wash cycle, and take Eddie's dirty dishes to the sink. You contemplate washing those, too, but you think your body is finally ready to accept a small amount of food. You stick a couple slices of bread in the toaster, pressing the lever down to get them nice and warm. You find some peanut butter in the cabinet, something comforting ought to stay down.

Eddie returns to the couch, switching the channel on the TV. He absolutely hates daytime talk shows. "You feelin’ better, sweetheart?" He asks, settling on a cartoon. He certainly feels miles better himself, though he's not at full strength just yet.

"I’m alright. I'm actually hungry now…for more than just food." You can't help it, the little 'splash' the two of you made in the bathroom a few minutes ago has really got you going. Maybe you shouldn't be telling him this, he'll probably feel bad for getting you all hot and bothered. But he wants honesty, and you're going to give it to him.

"Yeah...sorry ‘bout that." He replies, guilt lacing his tone. There it is, you knew you should've kept your mouth shut.

"It's fine, love. Toast will have to do, for now." You sigh, regretting every word that leaves your lips. You don't want him to be upset, you just want him to get better. You hunch over the counter, laying your chin on your flattened palms as you stare at the toaster. The shiny metal reflects your face back at you in morphed fashion, your expression downturned into a rubbery frown.

"Oh, you poor thing. I can hear the blue balls from across the room. I'll make it up to you every way I can, princess. I assure you of that." He says smartly, finding your frustration just a teensy bit amusing.

"You better. I expect to not be able to walk by the end of the week." You grumble, hiding your smirk as you continue to watch your own warped image in the kitchen appliance. You instinctively rub your legs together as unsavory thoughts flood your head.

"You got it, baby." He chuckles, putting together a plan of attack. One which will be executed once he can fully stand on his own two feet.

The toast pops up, and you hastily spread the peanut butter onto it, before gobbling up every last crumb. "Fuck, peanut butter toast never tasted so good." You say with your mouth full, still hunching over the counter. Eddie glances over at you, laughing at the smudge of butter at the left side of your mouth. Crumbs lay about your chest, some sticking into the mess on your lips. "That bad, huh?" You ask after swallowing, reaching for a paper towel to clean yourself up.

"I'm just happy to see you eating, sweetheart. Though it would be dishonest to say it wasn't a tad unladylike." He scrunches his nose, not taking that term seriously. He couldn't give a shit if you were the most improper person in the world, he'd still love you more than anything.

"If there's one thing I've proven time and again, it's that I'm definitely far from 'ladylike'." You practically skip over to him, the feeling of food sitting calmly in your belly has changed your mood significantly. "But you already know that." You let out a bubbly giggle, sitting down beside your ailing lover. You lay your head on his shoulder, humming at how warm he is through his clothes. "What about you? Feeling any better?"

His arm shifts under you, wrapping around your body to pull you closer. "Very much, Y/N." He kisses the top of your head, making your heart melt. "Are you gonna stay over tonight? It's totally fine if you don't. I know you've got that final exam tomorrow." Eddie asks, hoping you'll stay. You make everything better for him, and he hates being apart from you. He supposes his wanting is a bit selfish, you could easily turn up sick if you stick around for too long. But you're the one thing he needs, all the time.

"I'm not going anywhere until the morning, my prince. I brought extra clothes for tomorrow, and that's all I need to show up with, aside from a pencil." You answer cheerily, making his wish come true. His eyes light up at your words, and he pulls you into him for a clumsy kiss.

"You're the best, Y/N. And I just know you're gonna ace that test tomorrow!" He beams, absolutely over the moon to have you in his company all night long.

"You're damn right! I'm not a fuckin' bookworm for nothing!" You joke, making both of you fall into a hearty laugh.

To be continued...

#hippiegoth97 #fanfiction #smut #stranger things #eddie munson #hawkins #1980s #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader

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tenjiiku · 1 year

Text

how long does it take to fall in love? / 18+

sequel to the first snow

Everything seems to be easier in Rin’s head these days. At least, that is what you have told him. He never understands what you say half of the time, but perhaps that is exactly why he has extended his stay in Japan.

“Has anyone ever told you you look like you are perpetually plotting something?”

Your tender voice brings him out of his reverie. Rin finds himself sitting across from you in a train heading from Tokyo to Osaka. It is late June and though summers in Ginza are busy and ruthless, the train is barren and light. The view from the window is nice — it was why both of you had chosen this seating arrangement in the first place. Rin wanted to be near you and the sunlight: two entities he did not ever believe to be possible of wanting, months ago.

Times are changing. You told him this the day you quit your part-time job. He mocked you for it, so maybe amongst being a perpetual suspicious person — he is also a hypocrite. Suddenly the thought of him at sixteen despising who he has become crosses his mind. The idea does not bother Rin as much as it thought it would. If anything, it brings the opposite effect of relief.

“What?” He asks, because he does not have any clue what you are talking about. But, you look pretty in your light blue beret and plaid skirt to match. Though, the latter is a bit too short for Rin’s mental fortitude. Really, you had no business wearing such a thing. It was not needed, but it was appreciated.

You had pretty legs.

Rin shakes his head at his perverse thoughts. He thinks you notice because your mouth lifts up into a half smirk.

You click your tongue, a small hand gently tracing your chin. Rin sees you smile and feels his head grow hot. “See, that is my point.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You don’t answer him outrightly. Instead, you turn the moment the train envelops a scenic view of long pine trees and bushes, and an opening reveals a multicoloured painting in the sky. Your eyes shine, Rin holds his breath.

“Itoshi-san,” you whisper, “It’s a rainbow.”

Rin gazes at your side profile for a few more moments before turning his sight to the window. His features soften at the sight of, indeed, a rainbow beaming across the parted clouds. They have begun to part after a presumably long shower, which makes Rin question out loud.

“Why has it been raining? It’s 30°C.”

You laugh, which makes him feel small and a bit embarrassed for no reason.

“You know, there is a proverb about rain: ‘it is only a problem if you do not want to get wet’,” turning your face back to him, you look mischievous and attentive, making Rin pay you his entire mind, “So you should be happy. Chiyo-san gets into a rather difficult mood when it is too hot.”

Right. The two of you are heading to your childhood friend’s book-store and home. Rin had asked you why not take him to your parent’s or brothers’ home, and you had teased him for approximately twelve minutes before he had grown too warm and threatened to leave your small apartment. You only had to touch his wrist to disarm him and make him sit by your kotatsu again. Then, you had told him quietly and even a bit diffidently that you’d rather he meet Chiyo-san, as she had taken you in when you left home for the first time at fourteen after your parent’s divorce. Rin had only a diminutive grasp of your past and character, so when you had let that slip he did not hold it to you, and agreed to meet you at 10:30 at Ginza Central Station with a small bag packed with enough clothes for three nights.

Maybe if he met Chiyo-san, and he met the home you spent nearly half your life in, you would let him understand you. Rin never thought he would want this yet, to this extent.

Times are changing after all.

“Your shoes will get wet,” Rin chastises you, hiding his face with his hands and looking out the window from the second story of the train.

You lift a foot, clad in a delicate Mary Jane flat and brush the small sliver of skin Rin’s khakis show at his ankle. Rin jumps, the smallest bit, and grits his teeth at the gentle yet deliberately teasing touch. Rin knows this action would not hold a candle to any taunt you would have given him.

He thinks you know this, too, because for the rest of the ride, your foot remains — persistently reminding him you are here, next to him, across from him, everywhere around him — all the time.

You reach your friend’s, Chiyo’s, town home rather slowly. You told Rin it was alright if you came a little late, that Chiyo was not one for arriving on time either.

So you took your time, renting a bicycle and enjoying the scenery. It was a bit unflattering, a six foot something man sitting behind on the seat while a boisterous woman was peddling the two of them around small stores in a local shopping district. Rin feels a bit lightheaded when he realises you grew up in this neighbourhood, you roamed these streets with who knew how many people — and it does not help when you keep reciting stories of your youth as you pass by diners and boutiques you used to frequent with your friends.

Rin itches to ask about any past relationships, but he is quick to register how intrusive and utterly out of place that would come from.

So, as you sit in a diner across from one another, waiting for your fries and milkshakes, he asks a less ridiculous question.

“Why did you move in with Chiyo at such a young age?”

You look up from the colourful menu to Rin. Your eyes light up a little, then dim — as though to contain your amusement.

“Ah, technically I moved in with her and her mother, Auntie Terada,” You correct. Rin puts his right cheek on his right hand.

You gaze down with a solemn grin, “You know, Rin-chan, when things grow difficult I have the tendency to shut down. It has only happened once or twice in my life, but confrontation makes me feel… apathetic.”

“When my parents split, I hadn’t the slightest idea how to fix it. I’d tried to keep them together by being small and easy, but it did not work. Mama could be nice sometimes, but she worried too much about making my life into something she’d want for herself. Papa was nice almost never, and I never wanted to try to understand him.”

“So I told mama I wanted to leave, and she let me,” your eyes crinkle, either out of memory or of sad happiness. Rin cannot really tell, “I think she knew she had it coming.”

Rin does not know what to say. So you add on with a full smile, “I was never too close with my grandparents like my brothers were, so Chiyo-san insisted I could stay at her place.”

Your milkshakes arrive promptly, and for a moment attention is taken off him. Rin digests everything you have fed him. He would not have asked such a thing in a damn all-day breakfast diner if he knew what it entailed. You never wore your feelings on your sleeve, so it was hard for him to navigate himself without tripping a few times.

As you are sipping your vanilla milkshake and picking the single cherry sitting atop it, Rin wraps his hand around his chilled glass and looks away.

“I’m sorry…,” he murmurs.

You blink. “What for?”

“That… must have been hard. I’m sorry.”

You dismiss Rin’s concern with a hum, lips still around the milkshake straw. He grins a little at the sight.

“Water under the bridge,” You shake your hands, to signify that you really do not mind.

Rin feels his lips open and close. He does not know what to say. Even though his relationship with his parents was cumbersome at best and tumultuous at worst, it was to his own accord. He could not comprehend how you became the person you were today; soft, sweet, kind, despite such circumstances. How could you look at anyone and trust them after your mother had let you go without putting up so much of a fight?

You seem to sense his apprehension, because after you finish nibbling on the cherry coated in sugar syrup, you tell him, “I did not tell you all of this so you could pity me, Itoshi-san.”

Rin folds his hands together abruptly, feeling red-faced that he was so easily caught. But, he should have known better. Hiding things from you was a near impossible task. On one hand he liked that, because it meant less work for him to explain his complex emotions. On the other hand, it meant he was played for a fool every time.

The latter would have upset him a decade ago. Your voice rings in the back of his mind like a darling reminder.

“Then why?” He asks.

To this, you do not answer. You finish the rest of your milkshake with a small smile, eyes shining with thought. Rin follows your actions, drinking the rest of his. You place a couple of bills on the tray and stand up. Rin sits, gazing at you, as you place your hands on your hips.

“Come on, it’s almost seven. Chiyo-chan must also be expecting us by now.”

Chiyo Yamada was your childhood friend. The two of you were tied to the bone in elementary school when she pushed the boy who refused to give you your pencil case back in the mud, and ever since, an unbreakable bond formed between you both. She was a few months your senior, and as both a sign of admiration and to annoy her, you referred to her solely as:

“Chiyo-san!”

Rin knocks his back against yours when you come to an abrupt stop on the bicycle. He grunts when you break, and you are already running towards a girl standing outside a quaint book and antique store when he is only half way off his seat. Rin takes his helmet off and hooks it to the front of the bicycle. He watches you envelop the taller woman in an unequivocal bear hug, and he awkwardly pockets his hands in his pants as her gaze travels to him momentarily, before returning to the top of your head.

“Geez, you’re getting taller,” The woman, Chiyo, Rin presumes, utters. Her voice is deep and smooth, and she carries herself with a refined maturity.

Still sheepishly holding onto your shoulders, Chiyo looks to Rin. Her eyes hold a sense of familiar camaraderie. She nods at him, so Rin thinks she has realised his presence.

“Hey,” he murmurs quietly.

Chiyo doesn’t answer him. You do. Stepping away from her, your eyes widen with realisation. You back into a puddle, which Rin watches with amusement. He supposes that should serve as an equal punishment for almost knocking him off the bicycle earlier.

“Oh, Chiyo-san, this is Itoshi Rin. We’ve been hanging out. I told you, you remember?”

“Yeah,” Chiyo hums, still looking at Rin. He looks away to the side for a moment, bending his hands in his pockets, “I know who he is.”

Rin flushes at the prospect. Wonderful.

“How was New Zealand?” She asks. Rin should not be surprised, but still is. It was a small world he lived in, and utterly ironic.

Everyone around you knew who he was — except you.

“Cool,” Rin answers, “Nice lakes.”

Chiyo nods once more with understanding. Then, she brings the two of you inside. The book store itself is clustered and rather small for how much inventory is presented. Whatever area is not covered by shelves filled with novels of all genres, lamps, old cassettes, and physical records of classics cover them. Chiyo leads the two of you — or, mostly Rin, considering you coo at the familiar setting and leave him behind — to a set of spiral stairs that lead up to a locked door.

Chiyo’s apartment is quaint yet substantial for who it is for. The kitchen and general living room seem to be fused into one square area, which is the apartment itself. There is a small round coffee table in the middle of the room, and all of her electronic appliances seem to form a parish of some sort, gathered around an old television screen. If Rin looks close enough, he can spot a few strewn beer cans here and there, but the natural lighting from the one set of quadruple windows shines a pleasant dew into the room, on the tatami flooring. Enough for him to ignore the small things, at least.

“Chiyo-san, you’ve been cleaning…” Your voice is in awe.

Rin looks down beside him, watching as you take your shoes off and walk further into the room. He follows after you, not saying a word.

Chiyo hums, taking her coat off and tossing it onto the rack behind the door. Rin, like the elephant in the room, awkwardly stands between you both. Although his size is something he was never conscious about he wishes he could be small enough to hide under that ridiculous beret you wear. Especially when his head threatens to hit the roof of your childhood home.

“Yeah, well, there’s some kid next door who’s been helping around. Think he likes me or something,”

You grab onto Rin’s arm, making him fall back to reality. He looks down at you, and you offer a petulant smile, ushering him to sit with you at the coffee table. He lays his lips flat and follows your orders.

“Anyways, I bought some groceries.” Chiyo calls from the kitchen.

You raise an eyebrow. When Chiyo emerges, she grabs onto your arm, gesturing you towards the closed kitchen space. Rin’s eyes crinkle at the sight of your confusion.

“Get to it,” The older woman says, giving Rin a small grin, which he returns when he sees your furrowed look.

“Chiyo-san, you’re not being very welcoming to your guests.”

Chiyo responds by uncharacteristically placing her hands on Rin’s shoulder. He stiffens when she squeezes them.

“You are family. He is our honoured guest.”

You only glare at her, and Rin notices the slight look you give to her hands still on him. He feels something in his stomach at the sight. But as soon as the expression came, it left. You sigh before scurrying off to the kitchen. Chiyo removes her hands from Rin, and he sighs — a bit shaky — staring down at the wood of the coffee table.

“I’m making karaage, do you have cornstarch?”

“Everything’s the way you left it,” Chiyo dismisses haphazardly.

Rin feels her rustle behind him, but he does not look back. When she reappears in front, she holds out one cold beer can dripping with condensation to him, and the other is held close to her hip. Rin looks up hesitantly, and Chiyo only shakes it like one would shake a bone in front of a dog. Rin didn’t like that implication that much so he takes it rather easily.

“Thanks,” He says. Chiyo hums. Rin is starting to think she does not like to talk that much.

Taking a seat across from him, Rin lets his eyes roam the walls of her home. He does not think he should look at her. But then she is holding out a cigarette to him, and he stills like a ghost. He gazes in front of him to notice she has one in her mouth, and is rustling in the pocket of her sweats to presumably find a lighter.

“Oh, no thank you,” Rin dismisses, clutching onto his can. He decides to open it.

“You don’t smoke?”

Chiyo asks the question so accusingly, it makes Rin crane an eyebrow. She chuckles.

“Well,” She pauses, covering the butt of her cigarette to light it. Once she does, she places it down on the table and takes a huff, “It’s just that…, I thought professional football players would be a bit more… rowdy.”

Blowing the smoke to the side, Chiyo opens the beer can with one hand and gives Rin a half smirk. He feels his palms sweat as she looks him up and down. He wonders if she's trying to gauge his character, assessing whether he's worthy of being with you.

“You look clean, Mr. Itoshi,” Chiyo compliments, her voice laced with a hint of intrigue. Or at least Rin thinks it was a compliment. He glances down at his crisp shirt and neatly combed hair, silently hoping that his appearance is up to her standards.

“Please, call me Rin,” he replies, trying to maintain a calm and composed demeanour in the face of Chiyo's probing gaze.

“You really must like her if you’re willing to stay at a dump like this.”

“It’s not— you’re not—,” Rin stammers, his voice betraying a mix of defensiveness. He tries to find the right words but can’t quite wrap his head around what sort of explanation would quell her worries.

“Relax, I’m kidding,” Chiyo interjects, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Rin exhales a breath he didn't realise he was holding, grateful for the brief respite from the tension that had settled between them.

“But, still, this must be a cave compared to all of the places you must stay at,” Chiyo adds, her tone now lighter and more conversational. Rin can't help but feel a sense of relief as the conversation shifts to a less scrutinising topic.

“Y/n is too naive for her own good. Take care of her.”

Rin stills at the prospect. He did not really know how to respond to that sentiment. Although he had no particular qualms about ‘taking care of you’ — he had worked through them for the past nine months — he could not tell if you even required that. Everyday he seemed to be learning more of you. It was a fascinating ordeal and a comfortable relationship. Rin would choose to stay like that if the selfish part of him — the part of him who would longingly stare at the back of your neck every time you would put your hair up, wear a shirt a couple sizes too small to show the sliver of stomach, touch his bicep as a support for mundane activities — did not exist.

So if someone from your past was trusting him with your future, he had no room to deny.

“I… I will,” Rin stammers, “I will.”

When you bring a side dish of egg rolls and grilled sausages to fend their hunger, you bend down to place it on the table. Rin stares a bit too unabashedly at your neck, and when he realises what he is doing it is too late, because you stare at him with a hint of amusement.

“What are you two talking about? Hopefully all good things. Itoshi-san, if Chiyo makes you uncomfortable you tell me, okay?”

At this, Chiyo knocks your forehead. Rin bites his cheek when you holler at her before going back to the kitchen to finish frying the chicken.

In the evening after dinner and a few more stories of your time spent in this townhouse, you come to him in his hoodie, a drunken gleam to your eyes and practically tossing your head on his lap.

Rin wonders if you can tell he is losing.

Chiyo pulled out her guitar after you grouched to her about playing you a few songs, which turned into many, which turned into mindless strumming as more beers were introduced in the night. Rin had opted out very early on and bound himself to drinking a couple of sodas. The two of you had only but shrugged your shoulders and continued on.

You’re restless on his lap. Even though you only lay your head on his thigh, your hands wander — playing with the fabric of his shorts, reaching down to tease the skin of his shin, and — worst of all — sometimes letting your eyes wander upwards to meet his face, squinting with joy at the sight. A fine sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and you practically shine in Rin’s grasp.

Suffice to say, Rin was in for an even longer night than he anticipated.

Luckily, you believe that Chiyo should retell Rin her adolescent stories as a form of entertainment.

“Re—Remember when Terada-san caught you behind the bookshelves when you brought that Toru boy over for your first date?” You giggle, and Rin can feel the sound vibrate on his skin.

“Was in the damn erotica section, too.” Chiyo grits her teeth as she smiles, adjusting a few strings of her guitar with one hand that rests on her lap. With her other, she reaches for a new beer can, “Toru-chan was so tense and really religious, I think. Really screwed with him. He was too scared to go out anywhere ‘cause he was afraid of getting caught by his parents and congregation. So I brought him over, what was I supposed to do?!”

You laugh loudly at this, and Rin looks down at you. He feels his features loosen at the sight of delicate tears filling the corners of your eyes.

“Wa—Wasn’t he a terrible kisser?”

“Oh, god, yeah. He had no idea where to put his hands! He just stretched them out like a starfish!”

You squeal when Chiyo describes such an act, and toss your head to the side, practically burying your face into Rin’s abdomen. Rin feels sweat run down his back. He watches helplessly as you rustle in his hoodie, on his legs. He doesn’t know how much more he can take, so he places a hand under his nose and looks down at you.

“Tell him—tell him how red he became when he saw the cover of t—that half-naked girl!”

Chiyo, seemingly noticing Rin’s dilemma — either out of pity or disgust from his reactions — reprimands you.

“Please, Y/n-chan, stop treating your friend like an oversized pillow.”

You pout, and Rin feels you begin to rustle and move away from him. But even though your actions flustered him and rendered him utterly incapable — bringing out a side of him he did not know laid dormant — Rin did not want you to go away. He wanted to chase this feeling and hold it closer to him. It was unlike anything he has felt before, after all.

It was only natural.

“No—No, I—,” Rin stutters, and comes to a halt when your eyes flicker to his, “…I’m fine.”

You stare at him innocently and Rin surmises he might end up in Hell if you knew what he was thinking. Yet you only smile and adjust your head comfortably once more in his lap, while Chiyo clicks her tongue.

“Play that Beatles song,” you drone to Chiyo, nuzzling your cheek into Rin’s thigh which makes him sweat.

He discreetly tries to adjust his posture without moving too much — without alerting you — to no avail. Yet when your eyes trail upwards to meet his, you only push yourself into his hand that hovers over your cheek. Rin feels his ears grow hot, and the same warmth travels down his neck to his stomach.

“Which one?”

“Chiyo-san,” you whine her name out like a child, Rin finds it endearing — sickly cute, “you know which one.”

Chiyo laughs, ending the ballad on her acoustic guitar early. “Alright, alright,” she complies, fixing her pick and bending her wrist for a second before starting the familiar, gentle strums. They’re loud on the ears and vibrate on the drums, but they bring a soothing backdrop to the quaint living room painted in yellows and oranges.

You fall asleep just like that. Chiyo notices before Rin does.

“I’ll bring the futons, try not to move. She won’t sleep all night if she wakes up,” Chiyo says, before leaving Rin and your sleeping frame in the living room.

It gives Rin the chance to stare at you all he wants. He studies your features closely. You have a scar above the bone of your left brow. His hand hovers over your face, before it decides it wants to touch the skin. You murmur an unintelligible sound, and Rin’s lips twitch. He bites the inside of his cheek. He does not think he should be allowed to see you like this, but you decided for him.

So, when you lay next to him late at night with an inch of separation drawn between you both and empty beer cans on the table, Rin pulls you in close with the intention of feeding this selfish desire within him. You hadn’t asked before you laid yourself on him, because you probably knew he would allow it regardless. Rin could blame it on the small living room area, or point to the drinks as evidence of his uncharacteristic behaviour in the morning.

For now, he wants to hold you close to him. And that is what he does.

I give her all my love, that’s all I do. And if you saw my love, you’d love her too.

The next morning, Chiyo is gone, and you find yourself burrowed in Rin’s chest. He looks down at you. He can’t hear really anything else, but he listens to you: the soft breaths you take, the small, unintelligible whimper you let out in your sleep, the rustling of your legs beneath the floral duvet and over the futon. They taunt Rin. The room is hushed, allowing him to focus on the small sounds that emanate from you — the soft breaths, the occasional whimper, the faint rustling of the bedcovers as you shift in your sleep. These sounds, insignificant to others, hold a profound significance for Rin.

When your eyes peel open, he holds a breath, adjusting his bicep you lay on.

“Good morning,” Rin greets, his voice a low murmur, not wanting to disturb your delicate state of rest.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice filled with sleep-laden warmth.

Your hair is a mess, and there is a soft puffiness to your face that was not there last night. When you rub your eyes and look around, seemingly getting a grasp of your surroundings, you look back towards Rin. A smile graces your lips and Rin cannot help returning it.

You get up, murmuring something about a killing migraine. Rin follows you to the kitchen, standing under its arch entryway, observing as you fill a glass with lukewarm water from the sink. With you still in his shirt, he feels something stir inside of him, but decides to put that aside when he sees that the house keys are on the counter, realising something a bit more important.

“...Chiyo is gone.”

“Oh, yeah. She did that often. Does that often,” you explain, your voice trailing off as you recall Chiyo's unpredictable nature. "She’s like a stray cat. She’ll leave for a couple of days and return as though nothing happened."

“Even with guests over?” Rin can't help but inquire, a hint of curiosity tinging his voice.

“I suppose she considers you more than that, now. Take it as a compliment,” you say, offering him reassurance in the form of a playful remark.

When you bend down to open the lower cabinet — presumably to find utensils for breakfast — saying something about visiting the Ame-mura shopping district, the shirt rises ever so slightly to reveal your underwear beneath.

Rin flushes deeply and looks away just as quickly as he’d seen it, and runs off to the bathroom.

The two of you find yourselves strolling through Sankaku park. As you pause to rest beneath a blooming wisteria tree, Rin notices the tension in your jaw, and he gently scolds you.

“Stop grinding your teeth. It isn’t good for you.”

He adjusts the straps of your bucket hat, his touch gentle yet firm, attempting to alleviate some of the stress that burdens you.

You respond with a smile, your lips parting to reveal your canines. Rin's breath catches in his throat as your tongue glides over them, a simple act that sends a shiver down his spine. He watches, captivated, as you guide your index finger and thumb to touch your teeth, a gesture that feels strangely intimate to him.

“They seem to be getting sharper,” you muse, your words slightly muffled with your mouth half-open in contemplation.

“You seem to be growing duller.”

“Hold my bag, Itoshi-san,” you request, interrupting the momentary lull in conversation.

He gapes as you push your knapsack into his arms. It gives him a moment to look at your attire. These days you have been showing off more skin, and Rin does not know what to make of it. He doesn’t know if you want him to notice or if you are simply growing more comfortable around him. Because if it was the latter, Rin would be utterly played for a fool.

He hopes it was the former.

Yet amongst all the articles of clothing you wear — Rin's eyes drift down to your hand, where he notices a jewel adorning your ring finger. It is quaint and simple, yet stirs something inside of him. Confusion furrows his brow as he tries to make sense of it.

“Why do you have that on?” he asks, his curiosity tinged with a touch of jealousy he can't quite conceal.

You look down with wide eyes, and when you follow his gaze you only smile — which darkens this green envy colouring Rin’s insides.

“Oh," you respond, your voice laced with casual nonchalance. "Ah, I put it on by habit."

Just as casually as you noticed it, you take it off. Rin’s eyes never leave where it travels — tightly secured in your fist.

“I usually wear it in workshops. There is this one kid who refuses to leave me alone. He’s been loitering around since my second year, so I have started to wear this to make him act normal."

“He is… a student of yours?” Rin probes, his jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

You hum, looking downwards at your phone for coordinates of the cafe you wanted to go to. You nonchalantly scratch your chin.

“Mm, somewhat. He constantly books academic appointments with me, and I cannot refuse. The pay is quite good for what the work is,” you explain matter-of-factly, unaware of the effect your words have on Rin's emotions. His jealousy takes root, fueled by the image of another person vying for your attention and proximity.

Rin doesn’t know how to direct these emotions. Well, whoever this boy was, he certainly didn’t come to Osaka with you.

When he ponders on the thought that had just flashed through his mind — Rin almost grows mad. So he channels all of these petty feelings to your stupid bucket hat. Cute as it was, it drove him even more further down than he was.

Rin knocks your head to catch your attention. You make an adorable sound between a grunt and a squeak.

“Why do you insist on wearing such ridiculous hats these days?”

You tense under his hand. Rin’s eye twitches. He can’t move his knuckles, he finds himself incapable of moving at all. You lightly bite your bottom lip and rock yourself on your toes, before sighing.

“Ah, well…, I mean…” You stutter, embarrassed of being caught for something, “You have been.. needing to wear them, every time we go out.”

Rin’s pupils enlarge. He retracts his hand from your head. He lets his eyebrows raise, since you cannot see his eyes considering he is wearing dark sunglasses to conceal his face. Suddenly he is hyper aware of the baseball cap on his head, the same one you had given him the night he met. He hadn’t thought much of wearing it out every time you took him somewhere. It was a nice hat — it reminded him of you — and it prevented you from ever ending up in another tabloid again. He didn’t want anyone to know your character because they would never really know, in the first place. Rin has only known you for a year and still cannot seem to figure out your sweet disposition.

“I… didn’t want to feel left out,” you add on softly, looking up at him with gentle eyes.

Rin feels his palms sweat. He didn’t know if you were aware of the hold you had on him before, but now he thinks you definitely have an inkling. He doesn’t say anything. He only reaches for your hand.

When you smile, Rin finds himself gone.

Your laugh sounds more like a cry. It is a solemn sound and if it were not for the smile Rin could hear in your tone, he would worry.

“What are you laughing about?” He sighs, yet he cannot hide the entertainment in his tone. He brings a cold glass of water to where you sit, lounging by the kotatsu you pulled out.

Your legs are bent, and you rest your hands — holding your phone — on your knees. Your bucket hat rests next to Rin’s baseball cap and glasses on the surface of the table, and you hiccup as you laugh at something on your phone.

“My—My brother sent me a voice message, I—I just found out you can play it at two times the speed. He sounds so strange,” You practically fall over when Rin takes a seat beside you, “Oh, I can’t.”

“Stop it, you’ll choke on air,” Rin lectures — he finds himself doing that a lot — taking away your phone from your hands and handing you the glass of water.

You oblige rather easily. You always do. Rin wonders if you are like this with everyone — or only him. He wonders if you think about him as much as he thinks about you: everyday, all the time — even more so when you are constantly around.

A quietness falls on you both. Rin has a hand on the small sofa behind you both, the one you lean against. After sipping some of the water, you lay your cheek on his bicep, face turned towards his. Feeling daring, he lays his face on the cushion as well.

Only a few centimetres away, with a light shower happening outside that makes the pine trees outside in the alley shine viridescent, Rin feels your breath on his lips. His eyes flicker to them, and when he looks back up — you are already staring at him.

“I really like you, Itoshi-san.”

Rin pauses, feeling a heat swarm his head. Just as easily as you had been coming close to him, just as simple as your confession had been. He feels like a teenager again; those same swarm of emotions from his adolescence reinventing themselves into his head cause a storm. Rin knows he is not the same person he was twenty years ago, just as you know nearly everyone you were supposed to love did not reciprocate those emotions. Rin wants to give you all of them, he wants to give you all of him — and when he ponders on this in his mind and is met with no worries nor feuds — he knows he has been yours for a long time, now.

“I really like you, too,” He whispers. He wants to touch you, so he places a hand on your cheek. He bites the inside of his cheek when he sees your eyes widen.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Rin affirms, his voice unwavering. He brushes the scar on your forehead, lightly massaging the skin.

“You really mean it?”

The tone of your voice, though innocent, only makes Rin feel embarrassed. He flushes, burying his face in the soft material of the sofa and away from your prodding eyes.

“Must you make me repeat it?” He groans. You only laugh, which makes him turn slightly to watch the expression of joy envelop your face.

Tentatively, as though testing his reaction, you place a hand on his head. Rin lifts his head, wanting you to be closer. You move in, but it is not enough. In a moment of utter torment, he grabs your wrist and situates you on his lap.

“I want to kiss you, Itoshi-san,” You murmur almost desperately, voice dripping with an intoxicating want. A want for him — and only him.

Rin lets his hands grips your waist, and relishes in the way you gasp at the contact.

“Do whatever you want,” He mutters against your lips, “I’m here.”

The statement comes off more monotone than intended, but you read in his everything: the slight twitch of his brow, the light sweat starting to form on his forehead, the way his sight flickers to your neck and lips for half a millisecond.

You press your lips against his first. Rin’s chest heaves up and down, and he only pulls you in closer to get more of a taste. It is only when you push against him a bit too sensually, almost purposefully trying to arouse him, is when he breaks it off first.

“Chiyo—…” Rin breathes, desperately, but does not relent when your hands dig into his shoulders.

“She’s gone,” You murmur, kissing him for a moment which he returns, to only pull back, “she won’t be back.”

Rin furrows his eyebrows at the way you tilt your head, and the slight anguish painted on your features.

“Please, Itoshi-san,” you plead so sweetly, scratching the back of his scalp. You didn’t need to do any of that — he has been burning you for months now.

“I want to touch you,” Rin admits, with no amount of shame present in his voice. He likes the way you tremble at the timbre in his tone, so he plants a soft kiss on your collarbone, “I want to do a lot of things, to you.”

You look down at him, elevated as his hands find themselves beneath you.

“A lot?”

Rin nuzzles his nose beneath your chest, nodding as he looks up at you.

“A lot.”

You smile, leaning down. Rin hesitates which makes you pause. Rin feels petulant despite having you in his arms. A sense of deja vu envelops him. He ran away the last time, and though he never expected certainty from you — it would be too hypocritical of him — he cannot imagine anything but you nowadays.

“I… need certainty,” he breathes moments after, looking down and away from you.

A soft hand is placed on his cheek, making Rin look towards you. Your face is understanding, yet your question knocks all of the air out from him.

“Are you a virgin?”

“N—No!” Rin exclaims a bit too quickly.

You sink down into his lap, contemplating. Rin doesn’t know how you obtained such an ability to leave him embarrassed every time. He takes this time to look at the way your skirt falls to your waist, the way your shirt is wrinkled at the bottom from his insistence. He feels a warmth cover his skin.

Rin didn’t think it could get any more complicated.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend, Itoshi-san?”

You ask such a decent, fatuous question in such an indecent way, Rin feels himself tighten around his pants.

“Please, don’t say it like that,” He groans, head falling to push against your chest, “You’re making this really difficult.”

“I know,” You grin, “But I know you are smart, Itoshi-san. Surely you didn’t think I brought you to my childhood home for the sole intent to sleep with you.”

“I want to be yours, too, Itoshi-san. I want to love you a lot.”

You look at him like some sort of apparition. You say such a thing so easily it leaves Rin speechless. And that is no good. No good at all. Because then it will lead to Rin overthinking everything about you: your delicate fingers scratching at the skin on the back of his neck, the way your chest rises up and down, the haze in your eyes telling him you want him.

So, Rin responds with a heated kiss.

He swallows every one of your mewls, and lets his hands run everywhere they wanted to touch before. The dip between your thigh and hip, the small birthmark on your elbow, your ribcage that you told him you wanted to get tattooed, the fingers that grip tightly to his now — somehow, opened — button-down shirt.

You press yourself against his hard-on, and gasp when his large hands grab at your ass to only encourage your movement.

“Yeah?” Rin kisses the column of your neck, voice a mess as you ruffle his hair, “You like that, baby?”

“Rin, please—oh, oh,” You moan, tossing your head back with a gasp. Rin looks at your expression, lips twitching as he frowns at the way you push your chest to his face.

“So beautiful…” He murmurs to himself, appreciating the hands in his hair and the sounds that leave your lips.

“Oh—Rin, please, please.”

“What is it, love?”

The pet name comes out as naturally as breathing to him.

“Need you — kiss me, please.”

Obeying your request comes just as easily.

Rin meets your mouth in a clash of teeth. Soft lips melt into his, and he explores every crevice of your mouth with adept dexterity. His hands bunch at your skirt, and you whimper — resting your chin on his broad shoulder when you pull away for air.

“This damn skirt drove me crazy all day,” Rin grunts, digging his thumbs into the waistline.

“Yeah—Yeah?”

“Yeah. Leave it on for me.”

Rin feels you shiver, “O—Okay…”

Rin huffs a laugh under his breath when he discards your shirt to reveal mismatching underwear colours. It was exactly you, the cheap panties with striking red and blue colours, and the violet sports bra. You twitch beneath him, half from embarrassment and excitement, he can tell.

Hooking your arms around his broad shoulders, you pout and small tears fill your eyes.

“Don’t laugh, I forgot to pack my good underwear,”

“So you did bring me all the way to Osaka to sleep with me?” Rin teases, running a hand down to your inner thigh. You gasp and arch your back, before returning his smile with a wolfish grin of your own.

“My side-men in Tokyo might get intimidated if they see that a pro footballer has joined the roster.”

Rin narrows his eyes and clicks his tongue. His reply is prompt.

“I’d kill them.”

“I know,” you giggle, pulling Rin down to your lips once more.

Still in his clothes, Rin manages to tug his sweats down along with his boxers to his mid thighs, revealing his sturdy manhood. You moan into his mouth when the hot skin presses against your inner thigh.

“R—Rin, please,” you mewl so sweetly, gazing down at him as he teases the hem of your skirt.

The very sight of you, held by him like this, would probably send him to purgatory. It’s debauched in every sense of the word.

“I was so jealous when you told me about that damned student in the park,” Rin groans, rubbing the head of his manhood over your slick folds that twitch and cream over it.

“Wanted to— Wanna kill him for even thinking—,” Rin’s frustrations fall short when he finds himself burying into you. He rests his head on your collar, as you wrap your arms around him and bury yourself in the crook of his neck — a pliant and soft mess for him.

“Rin, Rin,” You cry, small tears escaping your eyes as Rin pushes you further down his cock, “Feels—Feels good.”

Sweat runs down his forehead, and your moist body presses against his. He kisses at your chest, which only makes you arch your back and press him further into you. Rin’s thrusts grow more intense, wanting to take you away — wanting to have you all for himself. A warm hand goes down to tease your clit and when you tighten around him, Rin sees stars. When the familiar band of pleasure reaches him, something he had not felt in years, Rin’s thrusts grow more rapid — with a strong want.

“Rin—Rin, gonna—,” You mewl, and Rin grips tighter onto your hips.

“I have you, I have you,” He grunts, driving further to make you reach your high. You hiccup, and Rin can feel a few tears fall down and touch his skin when you pull away from his neck to meet his lips as you come around you. He comes shortly after, clutching onto your malleable frame tightly, afraid that if he were to blink you would disappear.

When Rin comes back down, you lay next to him. You collapse into his chest, and he hums, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. He still feels a bit high, especially as you coddle him. The clouds part outside, painting the room in a soft glow — painting over your skin.

You prop yourself on his chest, and Rin lets himself pet your cheek.

“I really, really love you Rin,” You murmur once more, lids drooping — threatening to close. He rubs your cheekbone with the knuckle of his finger, pushing your cheek — urging you to rest.

His eyes wander the room as he lay there with you. Your articles of clothing lay across the kotatsu, next to your beret and his hat. Rin wraps his arms around you, letting himself feel this selfish emotion longer. He likes the way you seem to fall into yourself every time you find something amusing, likes the way you find the need to hold onto something — anything — to ground yourself, and Rin likes it that, recently, the thing keeping you grounded has been him.

Rin likes you so much he cannot think straight.

He finds it easier everyday to admit this. Everything is easier in his head, and now you are there.

I know this love of mine will never die. And I love her.

#writing #minors dni #cw unhealthy relationship with parents #rin itoshi x female reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi

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pinkiedev · 2 months

Text

Payback Ch. 3

A shrunken Steve Harrington captured by a thinks-he's-hallucinating Eddie Munson continues~

First: Ch. 1

Previous: Ch. 2

----------

Eddie stared down into his weed box, every coherent thought deciding to take a vacation from his scrambling mind. Yep. Tiny Steve was still all there and as real as Eddie’s clearly hallucinating mind could make him.

The little guy was shoved up in the corner of the lunchbox, looking… a little worse for wear. Eddie decided to blame that on the rat. He squinted, leaning in closer and pointedly ignoring for the moment how Stevie-the-Illusion scrambled back.

The tiny dude was… wearing PJs? At least, that’s what Eddie thought the… being… hallucination… person was wearing. He meant, like, the guy had on a baggy gray t-shirt and red plaid pants, which was pretty much the cover photo concept for men’s sleepwear. Eddie himself slept in boxers and nothing else, but their trailer also didn’t AC, so.

“Soooo…” Eddie finally drawled, dragging out the word and carefully taking a seat in front of the box on the table, keeping his eyes trained on mini-Steve like he’d disappear if Eddie looked away. Which… was honestly a genuine possibility.

Hallucination-Steve made no visible attempt to respond, and Eddie nodded thoughtfully, cupping his own chin. Shockingly enough, he still had exactly zero ideas on what to do now. So. Lay out the facts. One, he was still pretty sure this wasn’t real. Two, for whatever reason, he was seeing Steve goddamn Harrington of all people - who was now apparently the size of Eddie’s hand. Three… hm.

Eddie eyed tiny-Steve, who was still tensed up and pressed tightly against the left back corner of the weed box, chin tilted up high as he glared straight back at Eddie.

The sheer audacity, the boldness of that - to stare down what was definitely a fucking giant from his point of view? Yeah, that definitely gave off King Steve vibes. Sure, Eddie would’ve liked to have said he thought Harrington would turn tail and run at the first real sign of danger, but… it was that last year of their shared high school experience that stopped him from clinging onto that petty belief. There’d been this look in Harrington’s eyes, a stone-cold glint that’d make Eddie think he was a killer, were he anyone else. He was King Steve, though, so Eddie resolutely refused to believe that just on principle 'cause of the sheer, wicked badassery that’d automatically be associated with it.

He was getting off track. It didn’t actually matter what real-Steve would do, anyways, since this was fake-Steve. And this was definitely fake-Steve because last Eddie checked - and by that he meant having spotted Harrington through the window of the Video Store before having entered and then promptly bolting like the coward he was just last week - Harrington was still just a hair short of six feet high, not barely cusping five damn inches.

Well, Eddie wasn’t getting anywhere just twisting his thoughts around in circles, and whatever drugs he’d accidentally got high off of obviously weren’t gonna exit his system anytime soon, so he tentatively reached a ring-clad hand out for the figure hunkered down in the corner of his lunchbox.

-------

And so it continues again :3333 watcha think so far?

#gt community #gt writing #sfw gt #g/t #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfic

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scapegrace74-blog · 1 year

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The Man from Black Water, Chapter 18

A/N From this point forward, the story diverges entirely from The Man from Snowy River, which ends when the Jamie character successfully retrieves the lost colt. Since I knew that simply wouldn’t fly, I’ve written Jamie and Claire the ending they both deserve. There is one more chapter to go, plus an epilogue.

Previous chapters can be found on my AO3 page.

Henry Beauchamp tore through Netherton like a hurricane, firing off orders left and right. The carriage was to be prepared to depart, provisions made to acquire two train tickets to Edinburgh and, most alarmingly, Claire’s trousseau was to be packed in a travel trunk.

“Rosemary,” he commanded, still breathing heavily, “you are to take Claire to Dundee and thence by train to the capital. Take this,” he handed over the hundred-pound reward into his sister-in-law’s waiting hand, “and arrange for her marriage. Some merchant’s son who won’t disgrace the Beauchamp name, but who isn’t going to renounce her if it turns out she’s been… sullied.”

“Father, no!” Claire cried from the foyer, where she’d overheard everything. “Jamie is a man of his word. He’ll be back for me in the spring. There is no chance I’m with child. You don’t have to do this!”

Henry ignored his daughter’s pleas, his mind made up. To her surprise, her aunt did not come to her aid, but instead began to pack her own travelling case.

“Aunt Rosemary, please. You have to tell father… I can’t just marry some strange man whose affections can be bought with money! I want to marry Jamie. I love Jamie!”

“Hush child,” Rosemary demurred. “You’re upsetting yourself unnecessarily.”

No matter how vociferously Claire protested, there was no moving either her father or her aunt. Shortly after lunch she was dragged towards the waiting carriage, still protesting loudly.

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” she vowed to her father, unaware she was repeating her mother’s exact words from twenty years before.

Henry’s jaw was set, but his eyes reflected immense pain.

“I hope one day you’ll realize that everything I’ve done, I’ve done for your future happiness.”

Claire turned away, unwilling to acknowledge her father as he raised his hand in farewell. With a crack of the whip, the carriage began its long journey. Looking out the window, Claire could make out Hamlet grazing placidly in his pasture. Whoever had set him free had the right idea, she thought grimly. Better to suffer in freedom than spend one’s life in a gilded cage.

***

The rolling motion of the carriage and the emotional exhaustion of the day sent Claire into an uneasy sleep. It was the sudden absence of the former that roused her from a strange dream that disappeared like smoke when she opened her eyes. Outside the window, the night was pitch black. A steady rain had begun to fall.

“Where are we?” she asked her aunt, who sat poised on the opposite bench as though awaiting some call to action.

Without warning, the carriage door opened, and a large figure draped in a dark wool shawl stuck its head inside. Claire scurried backwards on the velvet seat with a timid squeak.

“Have ye forgotten me sae quickly then, lassie?” the figure spoke. “An’ after I shared my best whisky wi’ ye too.”

Rosemary lit the oil lamp that hung near the carriage door, and the weathered, whiskered face of Murtagh Fitzgibbons sprang from the darkness.

“Murtagh!” Claire threw herself across the carriage and into the man’s waiting arms. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“Aye, I ken, lass. And if ye come wi’ me, there’s someone who I’ll wager ye’ll be even happier tae see.”

Glancing at her aunt, who nodded in encouragement, Claire stepped carefully down onto the sodden ground. Murtagh held his plaid over her head and guided her towards a nearby structure, slate grey and ominous. It was far too large to be a house, but it was only when the heavy wooden door gave way beneath Murtagh’s shove that she realized it was a simple country church. The inside was illuminated only by several lit tapers on the altar, but their capricious light was sufficient to show the figure of a man kneeling in prayer, his hair mirroring the orange glow of candlelight.

Claire was running down the aisle and into her beloved’s arms before he even had time to stand.

“Sassenach!” he exclaimed, cupping her jaws gently and turning her face towards the candle glow, looking for any sign of injury. Besides the traces of a few dried tears, she appeared unharmed.

“How did you know I was coming?” she sputtered, still disbelieving she was in Jamie’s arms. “I was certain I’d never see you again, and my father…” the rest of the words got clogged in her throat. Jamie made a low hushing sound, like she’d once heard him direct at Hamlet when he was fretful.

“I didna ken ye’d be here. Murtagh insisted on stopping at this wee church. Said we may as well ha’ a roof o’er our heads while we waited fer the weather tae clear. I found it strange, as he’s ne’er fussed o’er goin’ about when its uplowsin afore…”

Jamie petered off, head pivoting towards the back of the church. Murtagh and Rosemary stood side by side in the doorway, wearing twin expressions of smug satisfaction. Claire turned to follow his gaze.

“You knew!” she addressed her aunt with disillusionment tainting her voice. “You let me believe I was going to be forced to marry some stranger in Edinburgh, and all this time, you knew!”

“What?” Jamie interjected, his own temper now rising.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Rosemary appeased. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case the gentlemen weren’t here waiting for us.”

Murtagh grunted, a little perturbed that his devious credentials were being called into question.

“But why here, of all places? Couldn’t we have just met at the nearest crossroads?” Claire persisted.

“Claire…” Jamie’s shock had lifted, and he was looking at his godfather with newfound respect.

“Not now, Jamie. I’m in no mood to be forgiving when they could have…”

“Claire!” he interjected, tugging her by the elbow.

“What?” she spun to glare at him.

“May we have a moment alone, a goistidh, Miss Morriston?”

With a curt nod and a knowing smile, Murtagh led Rosemary back outside. As the door swung shut behind them, Jamie rose from the pew and began to pace.

“This wasna how I promised myself this would go at all,” he muttered loud enough for Claire to hear. Drawing himself up to his full height and squaring his shoulders as though preparing for battle, he came to stand before Claire and dropped to one knee.

“Sassenach. Claire. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, from the moment we first met, ye have proven again an’ again tae be the most intriguing, challenging, unnerving an’ passionate woman I’ve e’re met. Yer spirit speaks tae my soul jes as yer beauty favours my eyes. I’m no’ much o’ a prospect fer a wife, but if ye’ll have me, I shall spend my days makin’ yer life as comfortable as may be.”

Jamie took Claire’s left hand, chilled from the damp in the unheated church, and ran his calloused fingertips over her ring finger, silently grieving the absence of any token to offer her in witness of his vow.

“What say ye, Sassenach? Would ye care tae become a simple crofter’s wife?”

When Jamie dared to glance up from her delicate hand, the gold in Claire’s eyes had gone molten with tears. Her lips trembled upwards in a shaky smile.

“I’d care to become your wife, James Fraser, whoever you may be. There’s nothing in this world I want more.”

Letting out dual breaths of ecstatic relief, the young couple crashed together in a blissful embrace, words and murmurs of joy baptized by their tears.

“Jamie!” Claire laughed as their kisses grew increasingly passionate. “We’re in a church!”

“Aye, he’s a canny one, my godfather,” he replied, missing her point entirely.

“What do you mean?”

“I’d wager my boots he’s out there rousin’ the reverend, insistin’ he perform the ceremony.”

“What? Tonight?” Claire asked doubtfully.

Jamie’s boots were safe, because within an hour a sleepy but resigned minister had donned his vestments and was waiting in the chancel for the bride to complete her preparations in the vestibule. Jamie stood perfectly still before the altar, looking pale despite the warm tones of the candlelight.

“Breathe, lad,” Murtagh joked when he noticed his godson’s rigid posture.

Jamie dutifully inhaled, then exhaled his doubts.

“Am I bein’ honourable, a goistidh? Would my father approve?”

“Approve of ye marryin’ a lass ye care fer, an’ who clearly cares fer ye? When the alternative is her bein’ married off tae some ne’er do well in the big city?” Murtagh’s bushy eyebrows rose in disbelief.

“I canna judge if I’m bein’ selfish or no’. She’s the woman fer me, I’m sure of it. But am I the man fer her?”

Murtagh looked thoughtful. Jamie’s fingers tapped madly against the coarse wool of his trousers. He didn’t even have a clean change of clothes to don, let alone a ring to pledge his troth. When he pointed out these impediments to his godfather, the older man reached beneath his shirt, unfastening a simple chain he’d worn around his neck for as long as Jamie could remember. Dangling from the chain was a delicate silver ring.

“I had this made for Julia, twenty years ago, but I ne’er had the chance tae offer it tae her. Tis fitting her daughter should wear it.”

Jamie examined the finely wrought band, a continuous braid of three narrow strands, their intersections marked by engravings of Scottish thistle and English rose.

“Thank ye, Murtagh. Truly.”

With the rapidly warming metal pressed into his palm, Jamie regained some of his innate confidence.

“As fer yer other doubts,” Murtagh added, “I’ll share wi’ ye the wisdom o’ a man I greatly admire.”

Jamie listened carefully, eager to hear what he assumed would be his father’s advice.

“Claire can decide her future fer herself,” Murtagh pronounced with a significant tilt to his head.

Jamie had never been quite so happy to be bested by his own words.

***

Rosemary fussed with Claire’s hair, despite long ago coming to the realization that it couldn’t be tamed. The dress she’d magically produced from Claire’s trousseau was sufficiently matrimonial for the occasion, glittering like freshly fallen snow in the moonlight with silver embroidered leaves cascading down the bodice to the skirt.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Claire whispered, not for the first time.

“You’re certain it’s what you want?” Rosemary confirmed.

“More than anything.”

Reaching discretely beneath her corset, Rosemary removed the money Henry had entrusted to her and held it out to Claire. Her niece looked at the pound notes as though they might burst into flames.

“Are you mad?” she finally spoke.

Rosemary shrugged.

“Your father told me to use this money to establish you in marriage. Use it however you desire, but it’s yours.”

The older woman looked off in the distance, revisiting the past in her mind.

“I’ve lived my entire life seeing what evil can befall a woman when she doesn’t control her own destiny. It led to your mother’s death. I won’t see it destroy you as well, my child. Julia would have wanted you to be free.”

Claire embraced her aunt with tears pooling in her eyes, speechless for once. Once she’d collected herself, she tucked the hundred pounds down the front of her own dress and gave a decisive nod.

“You’re ready?” Rosemary asked with her hand on the vestibule door.

“Je suis prête.”

***

The ceremony was simple. Five people stood within the halo of flickering candlelight, but two of them were in a world of their own. Jamie stared into his Sassenach’s gemstone eyes as the minister, no doubt familiar with the peremptory nature of certain Highland weddings, skipped over the liturgical niceties and straight to the binding portion of the rite.

“I, James Alexander Malcolm Morriston Fraser, take thee, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, to be my wedded wife. And do, in the presence of God and before these witnesses, promise and covenant to be a loving, faithful and dutiful husband unto thee until God shall separate us by death.”

With shaking hands, he placed her mother’s ring onto Claire’s finger, not at all surprised that it was a perfect fit. The shame he felt in his appearance, in his impoverished state, in Lallybroch’s inadequate appointments for a lady such as Claire, all melted away as he watched her lift her hand close to her face and examine the ring with a kind of reverent awe.

“Can ye kiss yer bride sae I may return tae my warm bed?” the reverend urged, shaking Jamie from his stupour.

“Aye. Wi’ pleasure.”

He couldn’t have imagined that kissing Claire could be any more euphoric than their previous encounters, but there was something deeper to the way their lips met and caressed. More meaningful. She tasted like his own secret well of delight.

“Well,” Murtagh coughed when they showed no signs of disengaging. “If ye’re quite done, the weather seems tae be liftin’, and t’will be dawn soon enough. We should be on our way.”

Claire’s things were transferred from the carriage to Murtagh’s cart, with a promise that they would be delivered to Lallybroch “after ye’ve had a chance tae, ahem, settle in”. Claire and Jamie would ride Donas up the glen, which only left Aunt Rosemary’s destination in question.

“Surely, you’re not thinking of returning to Netherton?” Claire asked, suddenly concerned for her aunt’s welfare once her father found out about her elopement.

“No, child. I only ever stayed on to watch over you, and that’s your husband obligation now, God help him,” she smiled sadly. “I have some modest savings and a train ticket to Edinburgh. I may as well go there.”

“Must ye go sae soon?” Murtagh inquired with a pained expression. “I was hopin’ ye might stick around. Tae see the lass settled, that is.”

“And stay in that dilapidated hovel you call a bothy?” Rosemary countered with a sniff, nevertheless following him down the path.

“Tis a fine dwelling,” Murtagh argued as he hopped into his cart and extended a hand to help the gentlewoman onto the seat beside him. “All it needs is a woman’s touch.”

Their two voices could be heard bickering long after their shadows had blended into the twilight. Jamie and Claire exchanged looks of giddy disbelief.

“Are ye ready tae go hame, Mrs. Fraser?” he asked as he helped his wife mount Donas behind him.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Mr. Fraser. Take me home to Lallybroch.”

#my writing #outlander #fanfiction

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isabellavolere · 1 year

Text

Transformers Prime—Part 5: Victories Short-Lived

Masterlist

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Next Part->

Vroom, vrooom! You groggily wake up, lifting an eye as you hear a car revving its engine. You roll onto your side and try to go back to sleep when you hear the car rev again, this time a little bit louder than before.

What idiot’s revving his car engine on a Saturday morning? What a jerk.

All of a sudden you bolt upright as you realize the car engine belongs to Cliffjumper. Getting out of bed, you jog to the front of your house and open the front door, leaning out of the door frame. To your astonishment, Cliffjumper is parked in the driveway, headlights flashing in greeting.

“Are you crazy?” You ask in a hushed tone. “What are you doing parked in the driveway? If my parents catch you they will go crazy!”

“Good morning to you too,” replies Cliffjumper sarcastically. “Don’t worry, your parents left about an hour ago.”

You frown and step outside, closing the door behind you. Walking over to Cliffjumper you say

“Well I’m glad your loud engine didn’t wake them up like it did for me. Do you know where they went?”

“No idea. Besides, I was getting bored sitting in your driveway so I decided to wake you up. We can head to the base and watch cartoons,” says Cliffjumper excitedly. “Wait, do you even like cartoons?” He asks.

You shrug one of your shoulders and reply, “I don’t mind them.”

“Great, let's get going. But maybe change out of your pajamas first.”

You look down at your black tank top and knee length plaid shorts and grin sheepishly.

“Yeah maybe. Be back in a flash!” You say and race back inside.

You put on a vintage Star Wars shirt and denim jean shorts, brush through your hair, put it in a ponytail, and then tie your f/c bandana around your forehead.

After a quick once over in the mirror you slip on some shoes and walk back outside. As you walk back to Cliffjumper you can hear the hum of a motor and are surprised to see Arcee pull into your driveway with Jack straddled on top. He’s wearing a white motorcycle helmet with a tinted visor that he quickly takes off as he dismounts, tucking it away before walking over to you.

“Good morning Jack. What brings you two here?” You ask, curious as to how he and Arcee found your house.

“Morning y/n. Me and Arcee were just out for a little drive and uh, thought we’d see if you guys were still here,” he said, glancing back to Arcee.

“Out for a little drive huh?” Asks Cliffjumper.

“We were just heading back to base,” says Arcee.

“Wanna race?” You turn to Jack and say mischievously.

“Oh, bring it!” Says Jack, turning to grab his helmet.

You walk over to Cliffjumper and hop in the passenger seat.

“A race, huh?” Cliffjumper asks as he backs out of the driveway.

“Oh come on, a 1969 Dodge Challenger like you can go from 0-60 in 5.2 seconds, you can totally smoke them!” You say enthusiastically.

“Well I know that,” Cliffjumper laughs as he lines up with your house’s rusty mailbox.

Arcee and Jack pull up to the right of you and you roll down the window.

“Ready to lose, Jack?” You ask in a teasing voice.

“You wish,” comes Jack's reply, muffled slightly by the helmet.

You smirk and roll up the window, getting ready for the race.

“On your marks, get set, GO!” Yells Arcee, and both her and Cliffjumper shoot off, wheels screeching.

The force of the acceleration pushes you backward and you whoop loudly as cacti and other landscape rushes past you. Arcee was fast, you had to give her that, but as you watch, Cliffjumper slowly begins creeping up on her. You lean over and watch the line on the speedometer go up and up, marking 60 mph, 70, 80. You were going faster and faster and soon enough, you were in the lead. The speedometer now marks 92 mph and the desert is only a blur as you hurtle down the road. Looking in the rear view mirror, you grin as you see Arcee and Jack a few inches behind Cliffjumpers’ bumper.

“You know, for a two wheeler Arcees’ not doing too bad, huh?” Says Cliffjumper, and you can practically see the smirk on his face.

“Yeah, but if she really wasn’t doing too bad she wouldn’t be behind us,” you tease.

Cliffjumper lets out a boisterous laugh and says “That’s true. How fast are we going anyway?”

You look down at the speedometer and reply “Cruising at 107. Not bad for a muscle car!”

Cliffjumper laughs again and says “No, not bad at all.”

A large mesa towers over the car and you recognize it as the one the Autobot base is hidden in. Cliffjumper slows down and drives through the tunnel. The thrill of the race catches up to you and you can’t help but beam as Cliffjumper parks and lets you out, transforming after you’re out. You walk over to Jack and was about to tease him about losing when Optimus walks over and says “Autobots, prepare to…” but doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Roll out?” Guesses Arcee.

“Remain here. Ratchet, Cliffjumper, you’ll come with me. Arcee, we’ll be outside of communication range for some time so I’m putting you in charge,” says Optimus.

“Aww,” you whine quietly, frowning up at Cliffjumper. “Our victory is cut short and Optimus snatches you for a mission. Not fair.”

“I know, right? Now we can’t rub our success in their faces.”

You snicker as he grins and winks at you.

“Tell you what kid, when I get back we can do a victory lap around the base, sound good?”

“Deal. Make it a quick mission, ok Cliff?” You smile.

Cliffjumper smiles slightly but drops when Optimus calls for him.

“I’ll see what I can do, y/n.”

He walks over to Optimus and looks back at you once more before transforming and driving through the groundbridge behind Optimus. A moment of silence fills the base as the last lights of the portal dim.

“Ok, so, what’s on the activities list?” Asks Jack, turning to Arcee.

“I’m going on patrol,” she says in a bored voice.

“But Optimus told us to stay,” Bulkhead says.

“When you’re in charge you can call the shots,” replies Arcee. “Bee, with me! Bulkhead, you’re in charge.”

With that, Arcee and Bumblebee transform and race down the tunnel, leaving you, Jack, Miko, Raf, and Bulkhead.

“And then there were five,” you mutter under your breath.

“So, um, what’s on the activity list?” Bulkhead asks.

“How about band practice?” Miko offers and you turn to her, watching as she begins hooking up a black electric guitar to a Fender amplifier.

“But we’re not a band,” points out Raf.

“Why so antisocial? Come on Raf, do you play anything?” She asks enthusiastically.

“Um, keyboard?” He says, lifting up his computer.

“Laptops and samples, good! Jack?” She turns a hopeful face to Jack.

Rubbing a hand on his neck, Jack says “I, uh, sometimes mess around on the harmonica.”

“Do I look like I do country?” Asks Miko in a condescending tone. Almost desperately, Miko looks to you. “Please tell me you play something. Guitar, drums, anything?!”

“Weelll, I-I play the flute. And the violin…aand the piano. A bit.” You give her a small smile, somewhere between a grin and a grimace.

Miko signs dramatically and raises her arms. “Well maybe you and Jack can start a bluegrass band. For now, just cover yourselves in fake blood and jump around screaming.”

You share a look with Jack and shrug. Just then Miko starts strumming her guitar and a loud song blares out of her amplifier. You cover your ears, mirroring the other kids, but it does no good. Over the music you notice green flashing lights coming from the computer monitors, signaling an alarm going off. Bulkhead seems to notice the alarm too because he waves at Miko to stop.

“Oh come on!” She whines. “You can’t handle raw power?”

“Proximity sensor. Quick, hide!” Exclaims Bulkhead.

You rush to the same binding spot under the railing as the day before, and just in time, because Agent Fowler wastes no time in walking briskly into the base. Just as he walks in, you notice Mikos’ amplifier is still hooked up to her guitar, which she is still holding.

Crap! I sure hope Agent Fowler doesn’t notice the wire coming from behind Bulkhead. What’s he yelling at Bulkhead about? Something in Nebraska? Maybe he’s too busy with Bulkhead to notice…yeah probably not.

“So,” Agent Fowler concludes. “You tell Prime that-since when are you bots electric?”

Dang it.

“Uhh…” Bulkhead looks from you and back to Agent Fowler.

“What do we do?” You whisper shout to Jack, who grimaces and slides past you.

“Hey. How are you doing?” He asks.

You roll your eyes, but since you have no other idea, follow the other kids. To say Agent Fowler looked bothered by the fact that four teenagers just stepped in front of him was an understatement.

“Contact with civilians! Team Prime has really gone off the rules with this one. No, don't tell me, you're running a daycare!”

Bulkhead looks flustered and if bots could blush, you were sure he would be bright red. But with quick thinking, Jack makes up an excuse.

“We’re interns,” he begins.

“Student interns!” Raf adds.

“Earning extra credit in auto…” Jack trails off, unsure of what to say.

“Mechanics.”

“Robotics.”

You look to Miko and then quickly back to the agent, trying to recover the mistake.

“It’s both, cause you know, they’re cars and robots so we came here to study them for extra credit…so um…”

The look Agent Fowler sends you tints your cheeks pink, but you firmly meet his stare.

“Ok, let’s move. I’m taking you all into federal custody for your own protection,” he says, walking down the stairs towards you.

Bulkhead steps in front of you and the other kids, firmly saying “We are protecting them.”

“Is that so? Well, maybe you can explain that to my superiors at the Pentagon,” says Agent Fowler, angrily punching numbers on a telephone hanging by the stairs.

“Don’t use that phone! It’s…out of order,” says Bulkhead quickly, crushing the phone with one of his large fingers.

Agent Fowler looks up at Bulkhead, and you can feel the anger practically radiating off of him.

“This isn’t over, Bigfoot! Not by a long shot!”

Agent Fowler turns around and stomps up the stairs. He stalks into the elevator, turns around, and jabs the button. The elevator door closes with a dull thud, and after a moment of silence you let out a breath, blowing stray hairs out of your face.

“Well, I don’t think that could have gone any worse,” you say.

Jack lets out a nervous laugh and Miko turns to you saying, “Did you see the look on his face when Bulkhead crushed that phone? That was awesome!”

“I have a feeling that’s not the last we’re hearing of Agent Fowler,” Raf says.

“Maybe not, but for now we don’t have to worry about him,” you say, climbing up the rusty yellow ladder that leads to the large computers.

You sit down in one of the chairs, replaying the last few moments in your head.

Agent Fowler backed off pretty quickly to Bulkhead. For a guy who puts on this ‘tough guy’ act, he doesn’t seem to want to pick a fight with the Autobots. Interesting.

You log on to one of the human sized computers, hoping to see where Cliffjumper, Optimus, and Ratchet are. You turn around when you hear the other kids climb the stairs and head to the tv, Miko tuning it on and lazily flipping through stations until she finds an interesting one. You sign and shake your head as Miko and Jack begin to argue about the station, turning back to the computer.

All is quiet for a few moments before an alarm blares through the base and the computer screen flashes brightly in your face. You cover your ears with your hand, but it does little to muffle the sound.

“My ears!” Whines Raf, or at least that’s what you think he said.

“It’s an S.O.S. From Fowler,” comments Bulkhead, pulling up the alarm on one of the computer monitors.

“Did you trace it?” Asks Raf.

“Hm, location scan incomplete. Oh well,” says Bulkhead, shrugging.

“Oh well?” Asks Jack incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Fowler’s a jerk!” Retorts Bulkhead.

“Whether you like the guy or not, the Decepticons may have him!”

“Jack’s right,” you say, frowning. “And Agent Fowler knows the location of the Autobot base. If the Decepticons interrogate him, I bet they’ll make him talk.”

“Yeah, y/n has a point. I mean, didn’t we all see how fast Fowler backs down from a bot? The Decepticons will totally make him squeal!” Adds Miko.

“But we lost the transmission. Fowler could be anywhere,” says Bulkhead.

“Maybe I can narrow it down.” Says Raf as he sits in a chair next to you.

He grabs a laptop from his backpack and types furiously while explaining, “About five years ago, the government started microchipping their agents. You know, like owners do with pets.”

“Raf’s right. That’s what they had to do to my dad when he joined the army,” you say, watching Raf’s laptop screen. Jack and Miko look from you to Raf with confused and slightly concerned expressions on their faces.

“What? I saw it on tv,” defends Raf. “Anyway, if I can hack into the Fed’s mainframe, maybe I can pinpoint Fowler's coordinates.”

“You know how to hack? But you’re like, two years old!” Exclaims Miko.

“Twelve,” corrects Raf. “And a quarter!”

“Hmm, if you work on that, I can try logging into the mainframe,” you say, sitting at one of the computers. “If I can find the transmission from Agent Fowler, I can access the last coordinates transmitted from his helicopter.”

“You too?” Asks Miko, throwing up her hands.

Raf looks up at you and you meet his gaze, intrigue flicking through his eyes before you turn back to your work.

A few minutes later you pump your fist in the air triumphantly as you call out “I got it! Latitude 39.5 degrees north, 116.9 degrees west.”

“Ok, wait here,” says Bulkhead, already typing the coordinates into the groundbridge.

“Aww, don’t break up the band!” Wines Miko.

“Uh, Jack, you’re in charge,” says Bulkhead, ignoring Miko.

He rushes through the groundbridge, leaving us alone.

“And then there were four,” you say dully.

“I guess we have the run of the place,” shrugs Jack.

“I guess so. Hey Miko, do you-Miko? Miko!”

You scan the base but don’t see her. Looking again, your eyes lock with Jack and you can see worry flash across his face.

“What should we do?” He asks.

“Bulkhead may have not even realized she’d follow him!” Raf exclaims.

“Miko hasn’t seen the cons’ in action like we have. She has no idea,” says Jack.

Your head swims with visions of the cons doing all sorts of horrible things to Miko.

Oh, foolish girl! Why did you follow Bulkhead? He’s supposed to be your guardian but he can’t protect you from everything!

“Are the coordinates still locked into the groundbridge?” Asks Raf.

“Yep, still there,” you nod.

“Y/n, can you turn the ground bridge on from the computer?” Jack asks.

“Uh, yeah I think so,” you say, and start pulling up the ground bridge access.

“Good, fire it up. You’re in charge,” he says as he steps down the ladder.

Making up your mind, you take a breath and say “uh, now you’re in charge,” as you head towards the ladder.

“In charge of who?” You hear Raf say as you slide down to the ground floor.

“Jack, wait,” you say, running to Jack.

Jack stops and turns around, waiting for you to catch up with a silent question in his eyes.

“What, you didn’t think I’d let you try and rescue Miko all alone did you? I’m coming with you,” you say, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

He looks over at you and nods once, a fierce determination set in his eyes. You close your eyes and take a deep, steadying breath, readying yourself for the battle you felt was sure to come. You open them and look over to Jack, nodding your head once, to tell him you were ready.

“Here goes nothing,” you say, stepping closer to the groundbridge.

“Jack, y/n, wait! I’m coming too,” says Raf, running next to you.

You reach the groundbridge first with Jack and Raf following close behind you. You jump through the groundbridge, which feels like an assault on your senses. Bright purple and green lights swirl around you, which looks like the aurora borealis was turned into a portal. A loud sound somewhere between a whooshing and a buzzing can be heard, and when you jump out of the portal, what meets your eyes is worse than you could have imagined. You are in the middle of a wide rocky canyon, and what else is in the middle of the canyon but the freaking Decepticon warship!

Oh. Not good.

With your gaze transfixed on the warship, flashbacks of the first time you saw the ship cross your mind. You don’t even register that a few Decepticons come out of the ship with their guns loaded and ready to fire until you hear Bulkhead and Miko scream your name, which snaps you out of your stupor. The Decepticons begin firing and you, Jack and Raf dodge the blasts. Raf starts walking backwards, but he loses his footing and falls over, curling into a ball to make himself as small as possible. Without thinking you launch yourself on top of Raf, shielding his body with yours. Hearing a honking noise, you look up to see Bulkhead in his alternate form pulling up next to you, doors opening so you, Raf, and Jack can jump in quickly. You dive through the passenger door and scoot over to the driver side of the car, Jack sitting next to you and Raf sitting in the backseat.

After receiving our thanks, Bulkhead asks “What are you doing here?”

“We were worried about Miko!” Have you seen her?” Asks Jack.

“She’s in the backseat, Jack,” you say, looking through the rear view mirror and making eye contact with the girl.

She gives you a guilty grin and you roll your eyes. After driving behind a big boulder Bulkhead stops and opens the doors.

“Everyone out! And this time, please wait here,” begs the green bot, driving away.

He drives up a sort of ramp and starts climbing up the side of the canyon.

Ha like Miko’s going to do that. I bet she’s not even here.

You look around you and sure enough, Miko is nowhere to be seen. You sigh dramatically, like a tired parent, and scan the canyon for Miko. Not seeing her, you figure she’s probably still inside of Bulkhead. At least she has a better chance with Bulkhead then roaming around the canyon, being an easy target.

“Wait, where’s Miko?” Asks Jack worriedly.

Took you long enough. Luckily I’m way ahead of you Jack.

“Probably up there with Bulkhead,” you say, scanning the canyon walls. “If I can only figure out a way to get up to the warship,” you mutter.

“What if a Decepticon took us up there?” Jack asks in a worried voice.

“Hmm, that might work if we can find one,” you say, still focused on the canyon walls.

“I think we just did,” says Raf.

You turn around and are face to face with two purple Decepticons.

Well, that’s not ideal.

Masterlist

<-Previous Part

Next Part->

#Transformers prime #x reader #female reader #cliffjumper #optimus prime #arcee #bumblebee #ratchet #bulkhead #reader insert #tfp #transformers prime x reader insert

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ashyblondwaves · 2 years

Note

Prompt idea:

Wanda: what on earth are you wearing???? o-O

Vision: it brings out my eyes

You decide what he's wearing

Thanks for inspiring work number 99 on AO3 with this. Here you go!

Wanda opened the curtains, allowing the morning sun to stream in through the patio doors. It was the summer solstice, time to soak up as much sun as possible on the longest day of the year. She took a deep breath in through her nose and exhaled slowly, allowing her breath to part her lips as it left her lungs just as Vision padded into the living room. His blue, plaid robe was wrapped snugly around his body, and he had a book clutched in his hand.

“Good morning, darling,” Vision chirped. He wrapped an arm around his wife and kissed the top of her head as though she wasn’t just naked and wrapped in his arms in bed ten minutes beforehand.

“No clothes?” Wanda asked, lifting an eyebrow. She traced the plaid design with her fingertip and looked up at Vision. “What are you thinking?”

Vision smiled impishly, tapping his fingers against the beige hardcover in his hand. He lifted it up, showing Wanda Kama Sutra: The Book of Sex Positions by Sadie Cayman. A smile not unlike Vision’s spread across Wanda’s face.

“I thought we could look through it. It’s the longest day of the year, let’s not waste it,” Vision said. He moved from in front of the window and took a seat on the couch situated near the center of the room. He sat with purpose, and Wanda watched as the fabric of his robe fell away to reveal his muscular thigh. She followed the strong, sinewy lines further up, hoping to catch a peek but it was too dark to see anything else. She walked closer, standing next to Vision on the couch as he opened the book and began to look through its contents.

“May I?” Wanda finally asked. She looked at Vision’s lap, letting him know she wanted to sit there.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Vision said seductively.

Though there was plenty of room on the couch for her, Wanda slid into Vision’s lap, draping her legs over his thigh as she wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself and press a kiss to his cheek.

Read the rest on AO3

#scarletvision #wandavision #wanda maximoff #vision #wanda x vision #mcu #marvel #writing shit #scarletvision drabbles

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queenclaudiabrown · 2 years

Text

Ocean Eyes: XIII: The Lonely Sea

Chapter content warnings: Angst, reference to previous events (especially Emily’s past and Chapters 8, 10-12), medical difficulties, infertility, mentions of death, cousin bonding, funeral, mentions of injuries already received and blisters, I don’t know if I can label it as PTSD but I think that’s the right term for it, depression, implied/thoughts of self-harm, brief discussion of female reproductive anatomy, probably more cussing

Word count: 10,549 (114 more than Atlantis)

Spanish (Translation)

Emily was on the edge of collapsing from exhaustion as Becker finally drove back the shuttle truck onto Inn property. She sat in the passenger seat, and between her and Becker on the foldaway middle part of the bench seat was Connor so Becker could easily see him. Sarah, Claudia, and Jenny occupied the backseat, the twins holding hands and leaning on each other and the Egyptologist gazing absentmindedly out the window. Patrick was refusing to leave Charlotte’s side in the hospital, and Danny had stayed to support him. He and Emily had flipped a coin for who stayed, and it landing in Danny’s favor had been accepted since Danny would soon need to return to the seaside to recover his strength fully. Emily would take over for him at that point, but her cousins were insistent that she get home, sleep, and shower first.

“Claudia.” Becker’s voice came cautiously. “There’s lights on inside. I shut them all off before we left.”

Claudia mumbled French swears under her breath and picked up her pistol, passing Jenny’s rifle over to her. “Alright, whose arse do I have to kick now?”

The others got out of the van, all armed save Connor, who they guided into the middle, in case of any sneak attacks from behind. Claudia opened the door quietly with one hand, pistol in the other, and with clenched teeth charged inside.

Noise from the kitchen gave Connor and Jenny an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. Claudia was unaware of it, having not been with them at the time. She had forgotten about the hallway being a mess since it had mysteriously been cleaned up and she didn’t know where everything had gone down. With her gun at the ready, she pushed through the space that her sister and cousin found confining and claustrophobic and stepped into the kitchen doorway, gun flying up. But the sight she was greeted with shocked her.

“Kat?”

The woman in question nudged her glasses back up her nose. “Hi Claudia.” She nodded at the gun in her hand. “I’m not that evil sociopath, so can you put that down?”

Claudia lowered it. “What are you doing here, Kat?”

“I came here as soon as I could. You didn’t want me in London, so I thought I’d come straight here.” She took off her plaid shirt and put it aside. “I talked to Rachel. She’s flying over and should be here by tomorrow morning. We’re gonna cook and clean and take care of the Inn for you.” Her eyes swept over the group. “I think you’re missing a few. Is everybody alright?”

Claudia sighed. “Charlotte got badly hurt and she’s at the hospital. Patrick and Danny are there with her. Nick, Abby, and Stephen went into the Thames to go back to Atlantis and heal.”

Kat winced. “That’s horrible. But other than that, everyone’s alright?” Claudia nodded. “Good. And…Helen and her band of psychotic minions?”

Claudia snorted. “Rachel’s rubbing off on you. Um…I took your advice, to a point.”

The midlander’s eyes went big. “You set her on fire?!”

Claudia winced. “…Yes and no. She was already mostly dead, I just set her and her cronies’ bodies on fire to make sure they were entirely dead. And they might’ve had scientific notes or something with them, so I wanted those gone too. Fire seemed like a good idea.”

Kat nodded with a proud and pleased look on her face. “Awesome. As much as I’d like to ask for more details, I’m under strict orders. Rachel will be here by tomorrow morning, unless she gets held up, so I’m acting on her behalf until then.” She shrugged out of her plaid shirt and put it aside. “We’re gonna cook and clean and take care of the inn while you guys do whatever you need to do. I’m gonna tell her that you’re back safe.”

They protested, but Kat ignored them and texted Rachel, who quickly called with FaceTime. Kat set up the phone and the group huddled around, Claudia in the front.

A tired-looking brunette appeared on the phone screen. “Hey.” She greeted, wiggling her fingers to serve as a wave. “I couldn’t get a straight shot over so I had to do connecting flights. My plane leaves in 20 minutes.”

“You didn’t need to come all the way over here just for us.” Claudia objected despite knowing full well that it would have no effect.

“Claudia, you and Kat are my best friends. Work was slow anyway. Now, you and your family have adopted three merpeople and there were psychopaths running around causing problems for y’all. Of course I’m coming over. If those freaks aren’t dead or in prison, I’m gonna go ape$h¡t. If they are dead or in prison, I won’t have to, and I’ll help Kat cook and clean and manage the Inn until everything gets sorted out. Capiche?”

Claudia smiled wanly. “Capiche.”

“Good. Now, how’re you holding up, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine.” She replied. “You look tired.”

Rachel laughed. “I know. I didn’t sleep much and I didn’t put any makeup on. I will before I land in London. You don’t need rumors of zombies circulating around the inn. Look, you need sleep. All of you. Go upstairs, shower, put on some fresh clothes, and Kat will cook you a halfway decent dinner and clean up a bit. Then you’re gonna eat and go to bed and sleep for as long as you can, and then you’re gonna eat a decent breakfast and then we will go from there. I should be there by then, and Kat won’t let you out of that building until then. Balcony doesn’t count; fresh air is fine.”

Claudia mock-saluted. “Yes ma’am.”

“DΔɱɳ straight.”

Claudia reflected on her friends as she stood obediently under the too-hot spray of her showerhead, letting scalding water sluice over her and wash away the sweat and dust and dirt and grime of the day. She had scrubbed all her makeup off, which had been ruined before she’d even set foot in that house of horrors, before getting in, and had spent a good half hour detangling the knots from her hair- which had gotten snarled and nearly matted despite having been ponytailed (to be fair, it had come out at one point). She was fairly certain her clothes would need to be burned. They were filthy and torn and she wasn’t sure she could ever wear them again and not think of the day.

She picked up her loofah from the shower shelf and poured an (exorbitant) amount of exfoliating scrub that may or may not have belonged to Jenny onto it. Generously (harshly and excessively), she scoured over her limbs, her back, her chest, her stomach, her neck, her hands, her feet.

Maybe if she abrased enough off she’d feel like herself again, like the simple Inn-owning and merman-loving (she’d finally admitted it to herself) cook she was this morning instead of the killer she had become this afternoon.

Jenny sat on her toilet ‘crisscross-applesauce’ placing band-aids over the blisters on her feet. She’d changed from her more comfortable heels to her classier red stilettos last minute, a decision she regretted now. Although they had been handy in the fight against Caroline…. At any rate, she was making the proactive choice to wear solely fuzzy socks and slippers until the blisters were gone.

But all the pink fuzzy socks and koala slippers wouldn’t bring back her innocence.

Becker didn’t want to let Connor out of his sight, but they were both foul with the stench of the day, so showers were a must. Becker stepped into the bathroom and stopped short at the sight of Caroline’s makeup and toiletries and strands of hair littering the bathroom.

Caroline, the woman who had played his brother. Caroline, the woman who hours ago he had thought was a minor problem but even fewer hours ago he had helped his cousin kill. In the moment that it happened, and even the ones leading up to it, he had felt no guilt or shame or regret about it- no one hurt his little brother, no one- but now his feelings were mixed. He had wanted to be a soldier once, yes, but not to kill people, to protect and serve his country, to bring down those who meant innocents harm. In a way, Caroline and his part in her death fit that motive, but he couldn’t deny it had also been a quest for personal vengeance. Did that, and the fact that whenever he thought about what she did he was filled with a burning hatred toward her, make him a bad person?

Running a hand down his face, he started grabbing any and all traces of her and dumping them in the rubbish bin where they (and she, in his opinion) belonged. He couldn’t let Connor see them. Backstabber or not, she had still been his girlfriend, and he wasn’t so horrid as to let the reminder of what she had done and how she had died slap his brother in the face thanks to his own carelessness.

Connor hadn’t seen Caroline go down, but the image of her designer-dressed body sprawled out on the dirty floor, open eyes blank and unseeing with a darkly-oozing hole between them, was imprinted in his brain. He didn’t know who had fired the shot; his view had been blocked by Nick’s tank and Claudia’s body and the small windows through which he could see had revealed to him only a blur of movement. He hadn’t loved her, and her betrayal had cut deep like a knife, but despite how he’d spoken of her to Becker he didn’t think he hated her either.

He didn’t want to think about her anymore.

In her bedroom, Emily threw her hair-pick down on her vanity table in frustration. She’d deal with the mangled curls in the morning- before she again made the exhausting trip up to London to see how Charlotte was doing. She’d clung to Charlotte’s side until the doctors had told her and Patrick that they simply could not remain with her any longer, then to Patrick’s until the rest of her family and friends had arrived and taken her home. Danny and Patrick had reluctantly decided that the elder Quinn would remain in the hospital instead of Emily- they were only allowing two visitors for some unknown reason- because the brothers needed to be together. After their traumatic experiences, being close to each other superseded Emily’s friendship with Charlotte- which she disliked but respected. And right now she couldn’t focus on detangling her hair or doing her nightly routines or anything but worry about how her best friend was doing. She had a probable concussion, a head wound, a deep bullet graze to the leg, and a penetrative gunshot wound to the stomach with no exit wound. Her only consolation was that they had gotten her to the hospital quickly- Patrick’s hand compressing an absurd amount of fabric to his fiancée’s stomach on the floor of the shuttle van as Emily careened through the packed London streets and broke probably twenty or thirty laws in the process- and that she had immediately been taken in by the doctors for emergency surgery.

She would go up to the hospital in the morning. Right now, she needed to shut her eyes and try not to see her best friend unconscious and bleeding to death- or the three men she had killed for her.

Tying off her damp black hair into a practical braid, Sarah moved to her dresser and closet and pulled out an outfit and a bathing suit. Wherever she had to go- to the hospital to see Charlotte or underwater to see Stephen- she wouldn’t have to hunt around the next morning or in the middle of the night to find clothes.

She lay down in her bed and shut her eyes, trying to get the image of Stephen on that gurney, suffering and half-dead already, out of her head. She knew that whether Stephen lived or died she’d regret not going in with him. Maybe they would have caught her quickly and killed her, or worse, but she’d never know now, and therefore it didn’t matter. But she couldn’t silence that irritating voice in her head that told her that maybe Stephen wouldn’t have suffered so if she’d gone in with him.

Emily couldn’t sleep, so after a few hours of tossing and turning she got up and went for a walk around the property. The garden creeped her out at night, so her feet carried her to the orchard that Charlotte loved- the same one Patrick had proposed to her in. She and Charlotte had shared many a pleasant stroll arm-in-arm through the sun-dappled patch of land, among the trees that bore apples and plums and pears and crabapples and cherries, under the weeping willows and maples and oaks and hickories and magnolias. It made her heart ache for her best friend, and she prayed desperately for her survival. Emily felt cold and exposed without the comforting warmth and presence of her best friend beside her on the foot-worn path.

Leaving the orchard, Emily intended to simply walk the long length of the beach and coastline before looping back to the inn (and her bed), but the sound of a muffled sob from the clifftop had her stopping short. Frowning, she walked closer and cleared her throat loudly enough to be heard. The almost inaudible sniffling ceased immediately, and a moment later either Claudia or Jenny’s voice called out “Yes?”

“It’s me, Emily.” She replied softly. “Can I come over?”

A beat. “Yeah.”

Emily walked over to the tree closest to the cliff’s edge, pained to see Jenny Lewis sitting at its base in a silk nightgown, furry pink slippers discarded nearby, band-aid-ed feet in the grass. “Oh Jenny. What’s wrong?”

Jenny sniffed noisily, telltale that she’d been crying for a while. “It’s stupid, honestly.”

Her cousin sank down on the ground beside her, placing a hand on Jenny’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sure it’s not. If it’s making you cry, it’s important. Tell me.”

Jenny wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I killed Caroline and Leek.” She finally said. “And another man- I don’t know what his name was. And I think I might’ve killed someone else, but we were all shooting and there was a couple of them, so I don’t know if it was me or not.”

Immediately Emily’s mind went back to the three men she had definitely killed, and a wave of sympathy for her cousin coursed through her. She pulled Jenny closer, resting her cheek on her head. “And how’s that stupid?” She pressed gently.

“I shouldn’t be crying over them. I know what they were part of, what they helped with, who they worked for. When we found Abby and Nick, there were a half-dozen or so men manhandling her. I don’t wanna think about what they might’ve tried to do to her if we hadn’t gotten there in time. Leek and Helen were monsters and Caroline knew they were and went along with it anyway and she scr3wed with Connor. I hate them all.” She swallowed, and when she spoke again the venom was gone from her voice. “I don’t know if I killed any of the men who had Abby, but I know I killed a man outside where they were keeping Danny, and I know I killed Caroline and Leek. I looked both of them right in the eye and put a bullet in their heads and I didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. I’m crying because I feel guilty for killing them even when they were such horrible people, and it’s stupid that I feel guilty but…wouldn’t that mean there was something wrong with me if I didn’t? That I was a sociopath? Or is there something wrong with me and that’s why I feel guilty?”

Emily wrapped both arms around Jenny tightly, letting her cousin cry on her shoulder and shake and shudder in her embrace while she silently shed a few tears of her own for her cousin and friend’s suffering.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” She soothed, stroking Jenny’s hair. “The rational part of you- and the vengeful part too- knows that they were horrible people, and that killing them was the right thing to do. But the human part of you feels remorse, and you know what? It means that you’re a moral, good, decent person. Because if you weren’t, if you were a sociopath, you wouldn’t feel torn up about it at all. Okay?”

Jenny sniffled again and nodded.

“I killed three people too.” Emily admitted. “You were there for two of them- saw one, actually. The third one shot Charlotte. I don’t regret any of them, but…I know how you’re feeling. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Even with Henry. I was angry, sometimes, angry enough to want to hurt someone…but if I’d acted on it, I would’ve just as soon thrown a book at him as put his razor on my wrists. I never did, though.”

She gave a weary sigh. “Yesterday morning, we were all different people. We wanted to protect ourselves from others, not our own actions. None of us had ever been kidnapped, and almost none of us had ever used a gun. But then…thanks to the madness and inhumanity of just a few people, we had to change. We had to become different people to get out alive. I killed people. So did you, and Becker, and Danny, and Claudia. Claudia set someone on fire. You helped rescue three merpeople, and you’re dating a half-merman. Nothing in our lives is normal, and maybe that’s okay.”

Jenny gave Emily’s hand a squeeze. “Look at you, certified therapist.”

Emily snorted. “Come on- let’s go inside, and I’ll make us both a toddy. I think there’s some ice creams in the freezer too. Put your slippers on.” Jenny obeyed, slipping back into them and standing. Emily put one arm around her cousin’s shoulder and Jenny slid one of her own around Emily’s waist.

Hot alcoholic drinks and pistachio ice cream (caramel, in Emily’s case) weren’t going to solve anything, and it was the unspoken truth between them that they both knew it. But it was the best Emily could come up with at the moment, and maybe the toddies would help them sleep.

Together, the cousins walked home.

The next morning, shortly after breakfast, a London cab pulled up to the Inn, and its passenger got out and collected her luggage, paying the cabbie a handsome fee and thanking him gratefully.

An exhausted-looking brunette came inside, precariously toting three orange suitcases and a gingham tote bag purse. “Estoy aquí.” She called. (I’m here.)

Kat and Claudia met her in the hallway and Rachel dropped her luggage, wrapping her arms around Kat first. “Hey amada.” (Beloved). She let go of her and pulled Claudia into an embrace. “How you doing, honey?”

“I’m doing.” Claudia replied with a sigh.

The American breathed a laugh into her auburn hair. “That’s a me response.” She let go and waved to the others. “Hi. Alright, you guys eaten breakfast yet?”

“Yeah, we finished a few minutes ago.” Kat confirmed.

Rachel nodded approvingly. “Good. Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do.”

Becker groaned. “Not even in the army and I’m taking orders anyway.”

Emily hadn’t slept a wink of restful slumber the night before, but she had showered and gagged down a dinner and breakfast (which were both perfectly fine, she just had no appetite) as per Claudia’s friends’ stern orders. She’d dressed in leggings and a long, loose blouse, finished with comfortable shoes and a hair tie.

She drove herself up to the hospital in London in the shuttle truck and hated that she knew her way around the building well from her stay many years ago. She’d been admitted not long after Henry’s arrest, and her time there had been extended by her ligation surgery.

Her feet carried her down the path to the surgical waiting room, where upon opening the door she found the more-pleasantly-familiar form of Patrick Quinn, sitting hunched on a couch. At the sound of the door opening he turned his head, revealing dark bags under weary and bloodshot eyes. He perked up almost imperceptibly when he saw her. “Hey, Em.”

“Hey.” She returned softly. Her eyes flicked around the room. “Where’s Danny?”

“Getting lunch from Chicken Castle…or something. I forget.”

She nodded, shutting the door with a click. “How did her surgery go?”

Patrick shook his head. “Not great. It was seven hours. They, uh, they lost her on the table twice. She’d lost a lot of blood and the bullet went through multiple organs. The wound on her leg missed the fu- the famor- uh, the leg artery, I can’t remember what it’s called- but it did nick some ligament or tendon or something connected to her Achilles, so she’ll probably have a little bit of a limp.”

Emily closed her eyes and swore softly. “That’s awful. Is she awake? Can we see her?”

He shook his head again. “Not yet. She’s in a coma and in intensive care- they’re not even letting me see her. They’re gonna do another surgery, do a more thorough and long-term repair on what got damaged. With what happened last time they focused more on keeping her alive and not fixing anything that didn’t need to be fixed to do that. It’s scheduled for the end of the week.”

She sank down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders as comfortingly as she could while she tried to sort out her mind. Her best friend, who she’d known since they were both just thirteen years old, had died twice in the last sixteen hours and she hadn’t been there. And yet still she wasn’t out of the woods.

Charlotte could still die.

Emily didn’t know if she or Patrick would survive that.

Claudia had been banished from her own Inn by Rachel and Kat, and had busied her restless self by collecting the blank bullet casings scattered across the sand and fine gravel and dirt where the attack had taken place. Kat had already taken care of everything that Claudia, Sarah, Emily, and Becker hadn’t dealt with before leaving the previous day, but dozens if not more bronze-colored cylinders still lay scattered on the ground, a metallic reminder of what had happened.

Splashing had her head snapping up and her eyes seeking the source of the noise. It was Prince Ryan, peering at her from where he bobbed in the water beside the end of one of the docks. She shoved her handful of casings into her coat pocket and strode down the dock, crouching to be closer to the prince’s level. “Claudia, if I’m not mistaken.” He said.

“Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you, Prince Ryan?”

“I came to keep you informed on Nick’s behalf.” He replied. “The Atlantean army has ensured that all parts of the facility in which our people were imprisoned is at the bottom of the ocean. The bodies of their captors and anyone helping them have been covered with rocks so that they will not float to the surface and arouse suspicion. Among the wreckage we discovered the body of one of our own, and unfortunately we believe it to be Daniel Quinn’s father.”

“That’s why you couldn’t figure out who he was.” Claudia realized. “He was dead.”

Ryan nodded. “I’m afraid so. It’s a great tragedy and a travesty what that small group of humans has done to Atlantis, and what they planned. But it is a credit to humanity that so many could come to cherish our kind as more than just wonders or freaks of nature, and that you could come to put your lives at risk for ours. We are sincerely grateful for all that you did for us.”

Claudia nodded. “I’m sorry we couldn’t- didn’t- do more to protect them. If I could change the past….”

“You did nothing wrong.” Ryan assured her gently, breaking his typical stoic demeanor. “We are aware of Charlotte Cameron’s condition, and we wish her well. Unfortunate there is nothing we can do to assist her healing.”

“On that note, how are Nick and Abby and Stephen- and King Lester- recovering?”

“My father is recovering well. The trip to aid you with the Trident of Poseidon set him behind some, but he will be fine. Nick and Abigail are completely recovered, but Stephen is not doing so well, so they refuse to leave his side. He was severely injured by Helen Ambrose, and it will take him time to heal. Unfortunately, it is possible he has lost the will to live.”

Claudia was relieved that Nick and Abby were fine- Nick especially- but the thought of Stephen having endured all that he had only to die hurt. “Wait here for a minute, please. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She ran back to the house, startling the group in the living room. “Sarah.” The Egyptologist in question lifted her head. “Stephen isn’t doing well, and they’re worried he doesn’t have the will to survive. Is there anything you can think of you could send back to Atlantis to remind him of you?”

She jumped to her feet and ran upstairs, returning a few minutes later with a seashell, clear duct tape protecting her driver’s license and attaching it to the shell. “Here. When he gave me the shells he told me they reminded him of me, and maybe the picture will help.”

Claudia nodded, taking the extended items. “Got it.”

She hurried back outside and gave them to Ryan, explaining their purpose. To his credit, he didn’t question or mock it in the slightest. “When you next see Daniel Quinn, remind him to swim in the open sea soon. The river is not very clean and a poor substitute. He is welcome to return to Atlantis whenever he likes. And his father’s funeral will be in three days’ time. I will return in time to escort him since he has never made the trip alone, should he choose to attend.”

“I’ll tell him.” She assured the prince, who nodded and vanished into the briny.

True to his word, Ryan returned at first light three days later, and Danny was ready for him, already transformed but sitting on the docks again. He couldn’t wear normal funeral attire down there, so he had bought a black swimshirt for the occasion. Jenny sat beside him, holding his hand supportively in silence.

Ryan popped his head above the water and Danny took a deep breath. Jenny pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and squeezed his hand, then got up and walked away. Danny slid forward- careful to avoid getting a splinter or catch on a nail- and into the water. He was grateful that Ryan had come to escort him, since he couldn’t remember too well the route.

“Would it be alright if I visited Stephen and Abby and Nick while I was here?” Danny questioned the prince hesitantly. “The others will want to know how they’re doing.”

Ryan sighed, the puffing-out of his breath sending a rush of bubbles toward the surface. “I would like to say that you can. But the healers are hard at work and must not be disturbed in their task. Stephen suffered greatly, and his wounds were more than to his flesh. Pieces were taken from his scales and his fins. He was carved into and parts of his bones were taken out. There were chemicals used on him that could take weeks to flush out and repair him from on their own. Abigail and Nick were not so harmed, but they still were not unscathed. They refuse to leave Stephen’s side, and in doing so they forget to rest or to feed themselves. I do not think it would be wise to disrupt the fragile routine that has been implemented.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Even the Heirs of Poseidon are not above the command of the healers.”

Danny nodded, disappointed but understanding. “Well, I hope they recover soon. They’re good people.”

Ryan nodded as well. “They are.”

It seemed that all of Atlantis had turned out in honor of Gordon. It seemed their idea of mourning or funeral clothes were tightly-woven net vests filled with rocks. Danny was also given one, which he put on atop his specially-purchased black swimshirt. Even the royals wore them, who had no other jewelry or accessories save their crowns and their crowns alone. When Ryan had given it to him he explained that the confining garment and the weight of the rocks was meant to physically represent their emotional heaviness of grief and sorrow. It made sense in its odd way.

Danny was ushered to the front of the procession, positioned at the head of his father’s almost mummified body. His corpse had been wrapped in a small-holed net of sea plants, much like the vests, that also encased him with seashells, pearls, fishbones, a few personal trinkets, dead sand dollars and starfish and seahorses, and rocks. This combination weighed his body down and kept it from floating to the surface, and also represented him, his death, and his species.

As family, Danny was responsible for holding one of the eight ropes coming from the mummy (eight representing the tentacular limbs of krakens). Gordon’s other family members- his wife Fiona; his children Iain, Gareth, and Jason; Jason’s wife Elly and sons Cassius and Noah- took up the seven others. Fiona and Danny (the eldest child) held the front two, with Iain and Gareth behind them, followed by Jason and Elly, and then ending with Cassius and Noah. Thus his pallbearers of sorts were the ones who knew and loved him best, even if the form-fitted wrappings and lack of coffin made it feel rather morbid.

They traveled from where he was embalmed at the family home, which was like Stephen’s but bigger, to the castle. The royalty, wearing rock vests of their own and no jewelry but their crowns and their crowns alone, were waiting for them. King Lester held his trident but passed it to Ryan to crown Gordon’s wrapped head with a carefully-made wreath of shells and fishbones and dead and starfish, and they had woven them together with the incredibly strong strands of hair from his family. Then the king took his trident again and the royals bowed their heads to the family.

“The Children and Heirs of Poseidon offer you our sympathy and grief for the loss of your kin.” The king told them solemnly.

Fiona nodded once in acknowledgement. “We accept your sharing of grief and offering of sympathy with gratitude.” She replied.

That seemed to complete this part of the ceremony, for the royals then moved to the head of the procession with King Lester in the fore-end with his children following suit in descending order of age, led the group through Atlantis to another massive underwater cliff on the far side of the main city. Engraved with rune-like carvings was something that Danny couldn’t translate set above a wide doorway in the mountainside. The doorway was covered with a curtain-like door similar to the ones that covered dwelling entrances.

Ryan and Matthew removed the curtain and pinned it to the ground with its weight-stones before retaking their places. Then the procession entered the tomb, which was quite spacious of its interior and contained many smaller doorways, all curtained off as well.

They proceeded onward to one of the doorways, which a different inscription was engraved over, and through that was a chamber with even smaller chambers within. Some were closed off and engraved over, but many others were open and blank, and one open with an engraving. Each engraving in the entire tomb consisted of a series of different runes followed by the same tunes above the greater chamber’s entrance. Somewhere in his mind Danny realized the repeated runes were probably some form of surname, and the different set was the first name. He made a mental note to one day learn the runic alphabet of his father’s people.

They wrapped the pull-ropes around Gordon’s body, and carefully they steered him into the small space. It wasn’t a coffin or sarcophagus, but it seemed to be their equivalent- a tomb just big enough to hold a body and marked with the name of said body.

Fiona slipped her fingers into her vest and fished out a single stone, placing it into the entrance of Gordon’s tomb. Then she moved away, allowing the rest of his family to come forward and place a rock from each of their own vests. Danny put one from his down and took his place with the rest of his father’s family.

After they had put their stones down, the royal family was next, and following them was the commonfolk. Through these little rocks piled into place a barrier was formed, closing off the tomb from the rest of the greater structure. A glance around confirmed that all the other occupied tombs were sealed with a collection of similar rocks. Perhaps it was their equivalent to everyone throwing in a handful of dirt onto a coffin.

Then they withdrew, and the princes curtained off the tomb again. The royals led the procession toward the family home again, and every member of the commonfolk entered one by one and left something within- a shell, a rock, a pearl, a fishbone, something- then swam away to their own home. The royals were the last to do so, but their gifts were not ostentatious compared to their people’s.

And when everyone had left, the family shed their vests and laid them aside, and the funeral was over.

Fiona took Danny’s hands in her own, squeezing them gently. “You’re very welcome to come and stay here whenever you wish, and however long you wish. You are his son, and though I am not your mother my sons and daughters are your brothers and sisters.”

He nodded. “Thank you. But I’m a little confused, I’m afraid- it doesn’t upset any of you that I’m half-human, or…illegitimate, as we say on the surface?”

Fiona shook her head. “If you had been born after Gordon and I married, perhaps, but you were born before we even courted. I have no reason to be angry, and neither do your siblings. We see you as his family, and that makes you our family too. You will always be welcome in our homes, and although the human girl I’m told you’re quite sweet on- Jenny, I believe her name is- cannot come to us, perhaps one day we might visit her.”

That brought a small smile to his face. “I think she would like that.”

He ended up staying the night in his father’s home, painfully void of his one connection to it, and swam home in the morning. Jenny wasn’t out waiting for him, instead he found her in Caroline’s old bedroom, sorting through the traitorous backstabbing wench’s belongings. Becker and Claudia were with her, and Rachel was bringing out heaps of toiletries and makeup from the bathroom.

Jenny examined a lipstick. “This is unused and it’s worth £30, I’m keeping it.” She declared, shoving it into her pocket.

Rachel lifted a blouse and gave it a look of disdain. “People pay hundreds or thousands of pounds for this? I’d get prettier stuff out of a dumpster.”

Becker and Danny were inclined to agree.

Jenny threw a few tubs and tubes into the bin with enough force to move it slightly. Danny eyed it, suddenly wary of her strength when annoyed, then rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. The occupants of the room looked to him, and Jenny’s face brightened.

She jumped up and quickly came over to him, wrapping him in a hug that he gladly reciprocated. “How was it?” She murmured into his shoulder.

“Weird. Peaceful. The royals turned up for it.” He answered. “His family’s nice. They want to meet you someday.”

They parted, and she was wearing an adorable frown. “Your father’s family…want to meet me?”

He nodded. “Apparently they don’t mind me since I came before he got married or had any kids, and they see me as family and want to meet you too. What’s all this?”

“We’re going through Caroline’s stuff. Her and Leek’s mobiles and Leek’s laptop got delivered to one of the docks and Connor’s working on fixing them so we can leave emails and stuff to divert police attention away from us when they turn up missing. We’ll sell some of her stuff on eBay and keep or bin the rest. Rachel and Kat and I are cooking up a cover story.” Jenny answered.

“I hope you’re all good liars.” Rachel commented with a wicked smirk. “’Cause if not…y’all f***ed.”

“Eloquent.” Becker quipped. She gave him a sarcastically saccharine grin and disappeared back into the bathroom, kicking a toiletry bag out a minute later.

“Did you see Nick, or Stephen or Abby?” Claudia asked.

Danny shook his head regretfully. “I wasn’t allowed to see them. Prince Ryan said that Stephen’s the worst off and it might be weeks or more before he’s healthy again.”

The room descended into worried silence.

The three-and-a-half hour car ride from Torquay to London wore on its travelers, and they quickly decided to take two-day shifts so no one was making two trips back-to-back. The hospital had only allowed two people to be there for Charlotte in the beginning, so when Danny had returned to Torquay for his father’s funeral, he elected to remain there so Emily could be the other person. She hadn’t left since, and a couple days later the hospital had loosened up their restrictions, so Danny had driven Sarah up and neither had left. Danny and Emily would remain permanent fixtures until Charlotte was discharged, and Sarah would come up one day, spend one or two solid days up there, and then return to the Inn for a day or two. Despite her deep friendship with Charlotte, she was hesitant to be away from the Inn for too long in case there was word of Stephen.

This day in particular was one of those days that Sarah woke up in the hospital waiting room. Groaning, she got off the sofa and pulled her shoes on, heading down the long ‘shortcut’ route to the cafeteria by way of three hallways and four elevators. She acquired a large coffee, used to the feeling of its heat seeping through the papery material of the takeaway cup into her hand and nearly burn it, and collected a handful of oversize butter croissants as well, ignoring the stares of the regular staff who eyed her and her unbrushed hair and her ghastly eyebags with pity.

She sipped her coffee on the way back, not caring how it scorched her tongue, and settled into an armchair. Eyes half-lidded, she observed the other occupants of the waiting room in their unconscious states. Patrick lay in a recliner, snoring softly with his feet covered by a jacket after he’d fallen asleep- not before as he continually insisted he wouldn’t sleep so he wouldn’t miss any updates, but he always crashed eventually. Danny’s massive frame took up the other, larger sofa, his legs hanging from the knee off one armrest. Emily was curled up in an armchair with Danny’s giant coat wrapped around her, face curtained by messy chocolate curls.

Sarah eyed the digital wall clock’s red numerals with distaste. They proclaimed the time to be 07:22, which was very irritating to the night owl. She slurped her hot coffee annoyedly.

It was 08:19 when the waiting room door swung open and a tall blonde man in a white coat strode in. Sarah jumped to her feet. “Wake up! Someone’s here!” She urged her sleeping friends.

Danny sat upright and ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in staticky spikes, and Patrick jolted into consciousness and practically flipped forward, using his legs to shove the recliner’s extension back under the seat. But as he did so and made to stand, his jacket got pinched in the mechanism and his foot slid into one sleeve. He didn’t realize what was happening, only that he was sitting and standing up in one movement and promptly faceplanted.

Emily jerked awake at the noise, lifting her head and sweeping her hair aside so she could see what was going on. “What’s happening?” She slurred, blinking like a cat.

“My name is Dr. Nirrane, and I’m Ms. Cameron’s surgeon.” The man said. “May I ask everyone’s relation to Ms. Cameron?”

“She’s my fiancée.” Patrick replied. His throat swelled with the too-familiar tears wetting his eyes for the millionth time. “My Charlotte.”

“He’s Patrick Quinn, I’m his brother Danny.” The hybrid supplied. “And Emily Brown and Sarah Page, her friends.”

The surgeon nodded, directing his gaze to Patrick. “Well, Mr. Quinn, you’ll be glad to hear that her last surgery went smoothly. We’re not seeing the need for any further surgeries, and we believe she’ll make a full recovery. There were some unfortunate results of her injuries, unfortunately, but nothing life-threatening. We’ll discuss it further later.”

Patrick swallowed hard. “Can I see her?”

The surgeon nodded again, giving a warm smile. “She’s unconscious still, but she should wake up in a few hours. You can go in to be with her, but just one person for now. Once she’s awake and we’ve checked on her, the rest of you can go in and visit.”

They nodded, and Emily touched Patrick’s arm. “You go. We’ll wait.”

“Are you sure? She’s your best friend.”

She gave him a gently reproaching look. “She’s your fiancé. Priorities, Patrick. Go.”

He relented and followed Dr. Nirrane to Charlotte’s room. The moment he laid eyes on her he completely blanked the surgeon and everyone and everything else around him, moving to her side. He sank into a conveniently placed chair and carefully took one of her limp hands in his own, mindful of the cord bandaged to the tip of one finger and what appeared to be an IV connected to the back of her hand as well.

It was hard for him to comprehend how the woman lying still and unconscious before him could be his Charlotte, the same woman who was so full of life, dancing in long dresses in shadows and sunbeams under trees with carefree and joyful laughter and smiles. She was pale, her skin almost ashy with a disquieting pallor, and the amount of wires and tubes coming out of her was unsettling. The room was filled with the racket of all the machines beeping and her vital signs on the monitor. He scanned the screen with tired eyes, but other than heart rate he didn’t understand any of it. He looked away from the neon pixels and back down to his fiancée, somehow lifeless and still alive at the same time.

“Oh, Charlotte.” He breathed, eyes he had thought completely dried out brimming with tears again. He lifted her hand and bent his head, kissing the back of her hand. “Come back to me, my love.”

Three weeks passed since the day of the incident. The seconds felt like eternities and stretched into minutes and hours and days and weeks, wearing everyone down, down, down. Sarah was tasked with bringing toiletries, clothes, personal items, and homemade food from the inn to the hospital and back on her trips. Kat and Rachel reluctantly left after a while, but they both called or texted with Claudia almost daily.

Those that remained at the Inn had been paid a visit by the authorities, but there was a convenient lack of evidence, and everyone’s stories matched up and the fake trails of breadcrumbs that had been orchestrated led them on a merry goose chase far away from the Inn and its residents, alluding to the band of sociopaths being part of a cult and planning to cut ties with civilization and live off the grid.

Below the surface, far from the Brown Beachside Inn in the underwater kingdom of Atlantis, in its capital city of the same name, two merfolk- one male and one female, a pair of fair-haired cousins- watched with weary eyes as the Atlantean healers moved in a steady circuit through the chamber in which Stephen was being kept. Two mermaids and a merman- Hannah, Douglas, and Mabel- toted out a net filled with bioluminescent sea life while James, Jonathan, and Lucy brought in a new group. This wasn’t an uncommon sight- after all, such fish and other creatures were the Atlantean version of indoor lighting.

Laila and Andrew, two of Atlantis’ best healers, remained inside, still toiling away wearily but determinedly at their task of nursing Stephen back to health. Abby and Nick had long since healed from their minor wounds, no longer even needing any kind of bandage. But they refused to leave the healing chambers, remaining close by in case of any changes. Ryan and Matthew had had to literally drag them away to force them to swim around for a little while before reluctantly allowing them back, and even then they had stared pointedly at the cousins to make sure they ate a healthy amount.

Laila emerged from Stephen’s chamber for the first time in two weeks. She looked exhausted and haggard, almost in need of healing herself. She raked a hand through her blood red hair. “I have news.” She announced.

Nick and Abby exchanged worried glances before leaning closer to the mermaid.

Sarah Page felt like a zombie.

She walked, she talked; she ate, she slept; she did chores, she watched the telly. But it wasn’t living, and she felt dead inside. Her limbs felt heavy, like limp bags stuffed full of lead, and she was never hungry. She seemed to constantly be exhausted and lethargic, and the days dragged like her feet. She had fallen into depression, but no one could blame her, as the same affliction had blanketed everyone around her as well in varying degrees. Two of the half-dozen people she cared about most in the world were unwell, possibly dying or dead, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Currently she was inadvertently following in Emily’s footsteps and was leaving the orchard after a lonely walk through it. Already drained of energy from the frankly short trip, she headed back to the main Inn building, intending to collapse onto a sofa.

“Sarah.”

A voice she had thought she would never hear again spoke behind her, calm and collected. She turned around slowly and her eyes landed on Stephen, hair still wet and half sticking up spikily while half slicked back, clad in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants that didn’t reach his ankles. He had clearly just gotten out of the water, some webbing from his fins still between his toes and his gill flaps open just a tad.

“Stephen.” She breathed. “You’re back. Are you- are you alright?” It was hard for her to believe that the (mer)man who stood in front of her now, strong and healthy, full of life and strength, could be the same as the one who lay too weak to even open his eyes as he bled from the wounds inflicted upon him in the name of science and consequently lingered on death’s door for three weeks.

He gave her a small smile. “I’m alright.” He came closer, seeing perfectly stable on his two humanoid legs. He put his hands on her cheeks, nearly covering completely the sides of her head. “I’m alright.”

She let out a little sob, in relief and in memory of that awful day, and threw her arms around his stomach, standing on her tiptoes. He carefully got down on his knees, bringing them to almost eye level, and pulled her closer.

“I saw your injuries that day. Some of them, at least. My dad’s car got ran into by another car as he was leaving for work one day when I was seven, and Mum and I had to get him out of the car. There was so much blood, and bits of glass stuck in him. You looked worse.”

“It’s all a bit of a blur.” He confessed. “I remember being in pain, so much pain. I remember being terrified and wanting to tear Helen apart with my bare hands. I thought I was going to die. I thought Nick and Abby and the others were going to die. I remember wishing I could’ve said a better goodbye to you.”

Sarah pressed her forehead to his chest. “You don’t have to. Neither of us are going anywhere, and nothing bad is gonna happen to either of us.”

“Better not.” He murmured. “’Cause I’m not ready to let go of you again for a really long time.”

His tiny smirk gave her a half-second of warning before he scooped her up princess-style, eliciting a shriek of surprise. Her arms went around his neck and she lifted her head, only to find herself breathless at how close his face was to her own.

She chose to (for now, at least) completely blank the elephant in the room- the elephant being said proximity. “Why’d you pick me up?” She queried instead, a little miffed at that.

Stephen shrugged (something that was very weird for her given how he was holding her). “You’re so short.”

“I’m really not.” She replied indignantly. “You’re just really tall.”

He shrugged. “Compared to me, you’re short.”

“Compared to me, you are a giant.”

He smiled, earning a bemused frown from her. “What?”eH

“You’re adorable when you’re angry.”

She huffed (adorably) and took her arms from around his neck, crossing them petulantly (and adorably), fighting down a smile. “Usually when a man says that to a woman, it’s patronizing, but you…you really mean it. You’re not demeaning me, you actually think I’m cute when I’m upset with you.”

Stephen kissed her forehead. “Not just when you’re upset with me.” He teased, then grew serious. “But I don’t ever want you to be upset with me over something important, alright? Talk to me.” He looked down. “I’ve spent too long in pain because I didn’t think I could talk about how I felt. I’m not putting myself through that again, and I’m not putting you through that either.”

Sarah’s chest warmed with his words, irritation at his incorrigibility melting away into pure affection and adoration. She put her arms back around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. “I promise.”

Satisfied, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her ebony-haired head. “Good.”

The dock was where Connor felt closest to Abby when she wasn’t near.

Like Nick and Claudia, they always met on the same one. Caroline had followed him there the day Stephen and Nick had told their stories, which had annoyed him at first since he had gone there to wait for Abby to return from Atlantis.

He laid on his back on the rough sun-warmed wood, wiggling in place to get a nail out of his back as he stared up at the bright blue sky. If one could see as far of the ocean as one could of the sky, maybe he’d be able to see Abby, wave to her and smile at her and mouth conversations back and forth.

Something disturbed the water beside him and he shot upward, heart jumping hopefully into his throat. His prayers were answered and wishes were granted as he found himself looking into the cornflower eyes of Abigail.

“A-Abby! You’re back!”

The mermaid blinked back at him, the hint of a smile gracing her lips. “It’s good to be back.”

Connor came low and close to the edge of the dock, bringing his face to less than a foot away from hers. “I missed you.” He blurted.

Her smile grew. “I missed you too.”

They grinned like idiots at each other for a long moment, and then Connor’s smile- and mood- dropped. “Abs, I’m sorry about how things were between us. We weren’t speaking and I was all wrapped up in…Caroline-” he spat her name like a disgusting curse or a slur “-and when you seemed to stop coming around I thought you were sick of me and I stopped trying and…I’m sorry. I never meant to blank you.”

“It’s okay, Connor. I was jealous of Caroline.” She admitted. “She was sweet, and pretty, and she laughed and smiled and she made you laugh and smile, and she was human. I knew there was something off about her, her…giggling and swooning looking fake, but I thought maybe it was just because I didn’t like her.”

Connor shook his head. “I should’ve known better than to trust her. And I should never have dated her- she was nothing like me, nothing like who I want. I suppose I was flattered, that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me. Leek was right- guys like me don’t get girls like her.”

“Well, I should hope not.” Abby interjected with a smirk, causing a hurt look to cross his face. “You deserve better than conniving, backstabbing b¡tches like her.” She elaborated.

The clarification caused him to chuckle, but he sobered again almost immediately. “I didn’t wish her dead, but I’m…I’m not sorry she’s dead.” He confessed quietly, looking away. “I try not to think about her. About any of that day, actually.” He met her eyes. “I can’t get that picture out of my head, of you when we found you. Those men that had you, jerking you around. I’ve never been that angry at anyone before, not even Caroline.”

“I’m touched.” Abby admitted, though her tone was dry. Tilting her head with a small frown of confusion, she said, “You could’ve left with Emily and Patrick and Charlotte, but you didn’t leave me until I was back in the river. Why’d you come after me if you didn’t have a gun?”

“I lost you once, Abby, I wasn’t losing you again.” He was growing almost distressed, as if the mere suggestion of having left her there was his present reality. “I couldn’t- I love you!”

That had been the last thing she’d expected him to blurt out, but she wasn’t disappointed.

Fearing he had overstepped and entirely misreading her emotions, he tried to explain it in a less bold manner. “Abby, I- I want- I mean…” He cut himself off, then tried again. “I feel that we- I want us-”

This time, she cut him off. “Connor.” He closed his mouth, bracing for the worst. “Shut up.”

But instead of entirely rebuff him- or worse, perish the thought- she lifted herself, leaning up to press her mouth to his. Their eyes fluttered shut and one of her hands came to rest on and span the back of his head, while one of his was placed on her comparatively much larger ones on the edge of the dock.

Much too soon in Connor’s opinion, she pulled away, but he remained in the exact same position, eyes closed and lips slightly pursed with a slightly dazed expression on his face. “Are you okay?” Abby queried teasingly, humor coloring her voice.

It seemed to break him out of his trance, and his puppy eyes opened again. He smiled a goofy grin- the most lovely smile she’d ever seen, in her opinion- and moved forward, dropping into the water beside her. This time, he kissed her, full of enthusiasm and reciprocation and love.

They broke apart again a few minutes later, both of them needing to breathe but sporting wide grins and rosy blushes. Abby pressed her forehead to Connor’s, their noses brushing. “I love you too.”

Claudia had caught a glimpse of her cousin kissing a particular blonde mermaid in the water next to one of the docks, and after a brief moment of being happy for them, had quickly went in search of said mermaid’s cousin.

She found him on the dock where she and him had usually met, struggling with the buttons of a striped shirt, the last piece of an outfit she had neither put together nor put out. Her heart soared in her chest and she toed off her shoes to avoid falling as she all but ran down to him.

Whether he heard her coming or felt the vibration of her first steps on the dock, she didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter. He looked up, sapphire eyes stopping her in place. She was breathless, heart seeming to want to beat out of her chest as it fluttered wildly like the wings of a bird.

Nick’s eyes lit up and a smile curved his mouth the moment he saw her. “Claudia Brown.”

She had missed her name in his mouth.

“Miss me?” She asked, fighting to keep her composure (but not the wide smile on her own face).

“Yes.”

She had to confine herself to a swift walk and not run. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pressing his face into her hair at the crown of her head as she laid her head against his chest. His heartbeat thumped against her cheek.

He lowered himself into a kneeling position, which made them almost exactly the same height. He scanned over her face with such tenderness and concern that she blushed.

“You look tired. Are you okay?”

“I haven’t been sleeping well.” She admitted sheepishly. “Bad dreams.”

She didn’t need to explain what they were about.

“By the way-” Claudia’s tone changed, lighter suddenly. “-before you left to go track them down, you kissed me. On the lips.”

He remembered that quite well (in fact, it was one of the few things that had brought him any semblance of comfort from the moment of his capture to this present reunion). He fumbled for words for a moment, eventually coming out with “I know.”

She put her arms around his neck, grinning impishly. “I liked it.” She whispered, and kissed him again.

They didn’t let go of each other until twenty minutes later when Jenny found them, coming to deliver more good news.

Rhythmically tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a song she couldn’t remember the name of, Emily watched anxiously out the windscreen for the doors to open. Danny sat on her left, eyes also glued to the hospital entrance/exit from his seat, which was lower and farther back than Emily’s to accommodate his size.

Finally, the doors opened, and Emily perked up. One of her own afghans was draped over Charlotte’s lap as Patrick wheeled her out of the hospital, a nurse beside him. They brought Emily over to the side of the sedan they’d borrowed from Sarah for its closeness to the ground, and the nurse opened the door. Charlotte gathered up the blanket to avoid stepping or tripping on it and lifted her booted feet off the footrests, which Patrick folded up before standing straight and holding out his hands. Charlotte hung the blanket over one of her shoulders and took her fiancé’s hands, using him for leverage to stand while the nurse held the wheelchair steady. Emily let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding when Charlotte was finally on her feet, leaning a little on both one leg and Patrick but almost entirely supporting herself.

He helped her get into the car, then thanked the nurse and got in beside Charlotte. Emily twisted in her seat to look at her friend, who was still pale and fatigued but seeming better. “How do you feel, Charlotte?” She asked, reaching back a hand to her.

Charlotte took it and gave it a squeeze. “Ready to go home. I’ve missed our room, and the orchard.”

Charlotte and Patrick had (easily) gotten permission to share an Inn room once they got engaged, so they’d moved their things into a room with a queen bed some time ago and Danny had relocated to a single-bed room to free up the two-bed room he and Patrick had been sharing. Even a child could’ve discerned from a mere glance who slept on which side of the room. When they had received the news that Charlotte would be coming home soon, Sarah and Claudia had cleaned the room and tidied up the little messes that had been left in a hurry for the summit.

“Being back somewhere comfortable will do you a world of good.” Patrick agreed. “And so will the fresh air and sunlight. The hospital is so stifling.” Emily made a humming noise in her throat in agreement.

Despite the optimism of Charlotte finally being discharged and well-healed and coming home, she had still suffered some permanent effects from her kidnapping, imprisonment, and escape. As predicted, she did have a slight limp, but she didn’t mind it too much, and her physical therapists had all assured her that she would still be able to walk down the aisle and dance with Patrick on their wedding day, and maybe even still wander and dance in the forests and orchards if she was careful.

The other lasting consequence of her injuries was caused almost entirely by the bullet she had taken to the abdomen. It hadn’t hit her bladder, instead getting embedded in the back wall of her uterus. Unfortunately, due to how much blood she lost and how much damage the bullet had done, Charlotte had lost the possibility of ever safely carrying a pregnancy to term.

It was a blow, but Emily knew Patrick wouldn’t love Charlotte or want to marry her any less for it. Besides, there was still surrogacy, fostering, and adoption. Still, it made Emily almost with Helen and her cronies had died pore painful deaths for robbing Patrick and Charlotte of that opportunity.

As she pulled into the Inn’s parking, Emily hoped that the trip between London and Torquay would be the last they’d have to make in a very long time. The Inn was a sight for sore eyes, and there was nothing quite like the feeling of coming home.

Patrick helped Charlotte walk inside, and everyone else was gathered in the living room to congratulate Charlotte and welcome her home. She settled down on the couch and Patrick and Danny unpacked the sedan before joining her and Emily and the others to relax.

Every person- human, merfolk, or both- had been marked and changed in some way by what they had endured, and none of them would ever be the same as they were before. Some had been bent and some had been broken; some had hurt and some had killed. And somehow, they were both the same people they had been before and different people entirely.

But in spite of all that had been abided and acted, it was all over now, it was done, and they were together and happy and home.

Dividers are used with permission from their creator, @animatedglittergraphics-n-more ; top image is a collage I made of pictures used with permission from their creator/poster, @kahuna-64 ; I borrowed and semi-edited some lines and scenes from Primeval. Title is from “Sea-Fever” by John Masefield

| Author’s note: Behold, the last angsty chapter! There are two more installments in this book and *spoiler alert* THEY’RE BOTH FLUFFY AND HAPPY!

Contrary to the usage of the word ‘y’all’, I am not Southern. I just say it sometimes. And I’m not Hispanic/of any Spanish or Hispanic descent, but I took Spanish in high school and I mix the words into my regular speaking. My mother took German in high school and I grew up listening to her do the same thing.

Chicken Cottage is the restaurant Patrick was referring to, and it’s a real place in London near the hospital I picked out. I’ve never been there, but it was close by and opens early enough to fit the plot, so I picked it.

I don’t know how English hospitals differ from American ones so if it’s incorrect for a surgery to be taking place at the time of day I listed I apologize. I just spent three weeks visiting my father in the hospital so I wrote a lot of this based off personal experience (note: my father was not shot, it was a heart issue, and I had this planned for a while before my father was even unwell. It just got detailed like it did because of personal experience.)

And I’m so sorry about the wait. I hope I’ve made up for it.

Ocean Eyes Masterlist

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