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familyvideostevie · 7 months

Text

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable.

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets. You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her." Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something.

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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marvelfilth · 3 months

Text

The Witches Trap 3

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x f! reader

Warnings: Wanda finally makes an appearance, pet names, ghosts, paranormal activity

Summary: "Silly, silly girl. Isn't it obvious? I want you."

Masterlist

"She must've seen something, right?" Kate's voice rings through the room.

You blink, eyes adjusting to the darkness.

"She looked like she was about to fucking die," Yelena hisses, "of course she saw something. We need to leave."

"I don't think we can," Peter mumbles. "We tried, didn't we? And it led to whatever this is. I suggest we stay and leave in the morning."

"That's what she wants," Yelena objects. "Maybe you want us to just leave Y/n here alone, for good measure, to make that b- to make her even happier."

You groan, burrowing your face in the pillow.

What the hell are they talking about?

Kate's eyes flicker to you, seeing you no longer asleep. She clears her throat. "I think Y/n should decide."

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. You feel like you've been run over by a train.

"What happened?"

"W-what do you mean what happened?" Yelena asks. "You tell us what happened. You looked like you'd seen a ghost."

Kate nods in agreement, her eyes full of concern. You blink rapidly, trying to remember. "I went to the restroom, that's all," you mumble, unsure. You vaguely remember turning around and leaving the group, and after that everything is too hazy to make out.

They fall silent, disbelief all over their features.

"Crap." Peter starts pacing back and forth. "Okay, it's fine. Nothing happened. Everything is good. Everything's great."

"Looks like everything is okay," Yelena scoffs, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

You frown, oblivious to what caused the sudden tension. All of them look shaken up and ready to bolt any second. You look at Kate for some help, but she sits still, staring at the bathroom door, her eyes welling with tears.

"I don't like this, guys," she whispers.

"Hey, it's okay. We'll sleep here together, this room is not haunted at all, so we'll be safe," Peter reassures, stopping his pacing to look Kate in the eye.

You look around, only now realizing it's not the room you've previously been to. This one is a bit smaller, but the bed should be big enough to fit you all. This must be the other room Peter booked, the one across the hall from the haunted one.

You shake your head, getting rid of any lingering traces of sleep, and look at the clock.

2:08.

It's been two hours since your conversation in the haunted room, but it feels like you've been here for days.

Your friends get ready to sleep, occupying the bathroom one by one, and eventually settling on the bed sideways - to fit everyone. Peter wishes everyone good night and turns off the light on the nightstand.

Their breaths even out, chests rising up and down slowly as they succumb to sleep, leaving you to stare at the blinking light of the night vision camera. You sigh, and turn on your side, counting sheep.

Now that everything is asleep you're even more aware of every little creek and tap in the old building. The storm has passed, leaving the grounds a mess of dirt and wood, so you couldn't even blame all of the sounds on that.

Balcony's floorboards creak and your heart falls to your stomach. You sit up and look at the camera, wondering if it picked up any of the sounds.

Then you hear footsteps.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes and shake your head, trying to ward off the inevitable.

Whatever is outside stops just outside the balcony door.

It almost feels like an invitation.

You try to shake off the feeling of being watched, falling back on the bed and burrowing your face into Yelena's back, but it doesn't work. You still feel the looming presence of the outsider, you feel like you can't just leave them there.

Bracing yourself, you take a deep breath, grab the camera, and walk to the balcony door, opening it before you can change your mind.

"Hey stranger," a young woman greets, making you jump up.

"Oh, thank God," you exhale, rubbing your chest. "Hi. I thought you were a ghost," you let out a breathless chuckle.

She laughs along, her nose wrinkling in the cutest way. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I get scared by my own shadow, so staying in a place like this takes at least two years out of my lifespan."

You grin, and allow yourself to relax in her presence, coming closer to rest your weight against the railing, close enough to feel the warmth coming from her body, but not close enough to accidentally touch her. The woman is beautiful, arguably the most beautiful woman you've seen in your entire life and you struggle to form a sentence with her green eyes focused on you.

"I'm Y/n," you blurt out, suddenly feeling the need to let her know your name.

She smiles, nodding at the camera on your hands. "Ghost hunting?" She teases good naturally, gently pushing you with her shoulder.

You snort, "Something like that."

She chuckles, turning to look at the moon. "Any luck with that?"

You groan, bending to rest your forehead against the cold railing. "I think ghosts here like me." You sneak a glance, and find her looking at you with a small smile.

She turns to face you fully. "I can see why."

Your heart stops for a second, you're sure of it.

But before you can say anything in response the camera in your hand beeps loudly, making you jump again.

Way to make a great first impression.

"I- um… I think I need to charge it," you mumble, cursing inwardly.

"Come back when you're done? All of my friends are asleep, and it's too creepy being out here alone." She pouts slightly, fiddling with her fingers.

You nod, and quickly dart back inside, plugging the charger in the nearest outlet, failing to see a shadow of a little girl in the corner.

When you come back the woman is still there, her expression almost serene as she watches the moon.

"Why did you come here if you're so afraid?" You ask, moving to stand close to her.

"Why did you?"

You smile, feeling light for the first time since stepping foot in this hotel. "My friend asked me to."

She hums, and turns to look at you, her fingers so tight around the railing you're afraid it might snap.

"You must be a great friend to go through all that for him."

You blush slightly, and duck your face between your elbows where they rest over the railing. "I honestly didn't believe in any of that, thought it'd be a fun, spooky trip."

"And do you believe now?" She asks, her eyes burning with intensity.

You sigh, recalling everything that happened in the last six hours: the first time you felt something weird right away, in the lobby; the old door, still fresh in your mind, still calling to you to open it; the warmth and the longing, still clinging to your bones; flashing images of what felt like memories. It certainly feels way longer than that.

"I do," you answer simply, noting the way her shoulders drop in relief.

"I do, too," she says, now resting almost all of her weight on the railing. You frown, and make a move to reach out, halting just before you touch her, hesitant to cross a boundary. "Are you okay?

She hums, briefly closing her eyes. "I think I need to lay down."

You gulp. "Of course! I- do you need help?"

She nods, and reaches out to you, her hand trembling. Her touch sends shivers down your spine, both from the fact that it's her, and the fact that her hand is freezing cold. You allow her fingers to wrap around your elbow, feeling none of the warmth you've felt emitting from her mere minutes before. You feel goosebumps litter your skin as hair stands up on the back of your neck. Warning bells go off in your head, and your body starts protesting every step you try to take, but you can't just leave her here, you need to get her back to her room and then you'll be gone.

Your brain doesn't seem to listen.

Your vision blurs as the woman grips you tighter, and you have to take measured breaths in order not to throw up.

You walk beside her, turning left, and realize that the balcony wraps around the hotel. You gulp, feeling dread in your stomach - one more turn and you'll be right in front of the most haunted room.

You look at the redhead, almost falling on the spot when you see her pale face. She looks like she's about to drop dead.

"I should get you a doctor," you whisper, "or Agatha, she'll know what to do." You try to pull away, but her grip turns to steel, her eyes gaining focus as she looks at you.

"Not Agatha… j-just get me to my room, please."

You nod, and swallow your fear, turning left again. You walk past room 208 a bit quicker, and if the woman notices, she doesn't comment, simply leaning into you even more.

When you pass room 206 your feet grow heavier.

When you pass room 204 you feel cold sweat roll down your temples.

When you pass room 202, your body stops moving altogether.

You freeze before room 200, the balcony door somehow different from all the other ones you've passed. You feel immense pressure on your chest, your heart beating so hard and fast it might just break your ribs.

The woman is no longer beside you, she stepped back, her hands now at the small of your back, gently ushering you inside. "Open it," she whispers, her breath ghosting over the back of your neck.

You nod, your eyelids are suddenly too heavy to keep your eyes fully open. You blink slowly, struggling to keep yourself upright. She takes your hand and raises it to the knob. You turn it slowly, and it creaks loudly, the metal scraping after a long time of disuse.

"Now go inside," she breathes once the door is finally open, her lips inches away from your neck. She's molded against your back, so close she might as well be a part of you. You hum, head falling on her shoulder, your hand still on the knob.

"C'mon, silly girl, one more step," she urges quietly, her hands circling your waist. "Don't make me force you."

You nod dumbly, her words making no sense to your muddled brain, but understand her intent. She wants you in her room. You nod again, struggling to remember why you're even here. You remember going to sleep with your friends, but the memory feels too distant now, too gray and murky to make out anything beyond those minutes.

She pushes you forward, and your feet catch on the carpet as you step inside, making you fall on the floor, coughing as the dust rises around you. Your head is a little clearer without her proximity, and once you take a good look at your surroundings, you finally understand why your body reacted that way. You jerk, falling on your ass in haste to get back to the balcony, but the door is already closed, the knob not budging no matter how hard you turn it. There's no window to break, no other escape, but the old wooden door - the one that's been haunting since you first saw it, the one leading to the room you're now in.

The room looks as old as the door. Four poster bed sits in the middle of the room, the dark wood full of splinters, a deep red cloth draped over the mattress, inviting and soft. The walls are bare, cobwebs occupy the corners. The only other piece of furniture is a small table pushed against a wall, pieces of parchment littering it.

"Welcome," the woman breaks the silence. You look at her, frowning at the lack of fatigue in her voice.

Everything starts making sense little by little.

"You weren't actually sick, were you?" You mutter, standing rigid against the balcony door.

A corner of her mouth lifts up in a crooked smile. "I was. It's hard to manifest a physical body outside of this room. Your camera helped-" you gulp, understanding dawning on you, "-and your friends did too. Do you want to know what their fear tastes like?"

You shake your head, eyes blurring with tears, and close your eyes when she comes to stand in front of you, her chest against yours, her lips dangerously close to your own.

"It's too sour, I didn't enjoy it at all." She cups your jaw, catching your tears with her thumbs. "Your fear, on the other hand… it's luscious, tangy with a hint of sweetness. Addictive, just like I remember it." She coos when you start shaking, leaning down to inhale your scent, making you squirm. Her nose is in the crook of your neck, her lips scalding hot on your collarbone. "There it is…" she breathes, clutching your hips, and then, "Oh."

You stop breathing altogether, your hands in fists. "What?" You dare to question, opening your eyes to see her green pools full of hunger.

She chuckles, pulling away to study your face. "I smell honey, darling." She licks her lips, her eyes start glowing red. "You're terrified, and still… Such a silly girl you are. Always were."

You close your eyes, embarrassment creeping up on your features, cursing your body for having a reaction to her proximity. "Why am I here?"

She pulls away abruptly, her face twisting in anger. "I was calling for you all night, you were supposed to get here a long time ago. Agatha just wouldn't fucking leave you alone." You slide down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as she keeps muttering angrily. "That old bitch couldn't keep her nose out of my business, no, she had to stop you, had to keep warning you."

You look up, severely confused. "What are you talking about?"

She chuckles darkly. "You don't remember?" She smirks when you shake your head, half of her face illuminated by the moonlight, the other hidden in the shadow. "Looks like she took pity on you and removed the memory. What a shame, I spent a lot of energy to make you see all of us. But don't you worry, I got it back tenfold from you." She crouches inches away from you and forces you face up, inhaling deeply, tips of her fingers - so, so warm now - digging into the softness of your cheek. "You're making this very hard for me, pet."

You gulp, grabbing onto her hand still cupping your jaw, head swimming. Agatha… removed memories… What is this place?

"Just- just tell me what you want."

She leans down, laughing, the sound so light and angelic it almost makes you smile. "Silly, silly girl. Isn't it obvious? I want you," she whispers right in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. She pulls away to gauge your reaction, pupils dilating in satisfaction when she sees your wide eyes. "That's right. I've been waiting for more than a century for you. Do you think I'll let you go after that?"

You shake your head, blinking away the tears. Agatha words ring in your head, the painting Peter showed you flashes before your eyes.

"This can't be real. This is all a dream. A nightmare, a stupid nightmare."

Her eyes narrow to dangerous slits as soon as the words leave your lips. She steps back, harshly tugging you up to your feet. You follow her like a mindless puppet, your feet catching on the old carpet as you stumble after her to the other side of the room.

“Look,” she orders, shoving you against the table with unsurprising strength.

You gulp, straightening yourself before looking down at the old piece of parchment laying on the table. Your brows furrow, struggling to make out scribbled words, half of them splattered with something red - you think you can safely assume it is blood. It's a contract of some sort, binding two people.

“What am I looking at?” you ask, feeling stupid.

She molds against your back, her body almost scalding hot, her breath fanning your neck. “Think, pet.”

You shudder, gripping the edge of the table in a vice grip, and think back to what Agatha told you. That fucking portrait.

“I’m not who you think I am.”

She chuckles, lips ghosting over the juncture of your neck. “Yes, you are.”

You nearly whimper at the breathy tone, unconsciously relaxing against her. “I'm not her, I'm not the woman you saved.”

She hums, gently nibbling on your skin. “Yes, you are.”

You take a deep breath, reigning in your unwanted feelings. “What do you want from me?”

“Everything,” she growls, arms snaking around your waist. She holds you in an ironclad grip, unperturbed by your struggle, and tugs you to the bed before pushing you face first on the dusty bedding. You cough, pushing away from the old fabric to take a breath, your lungs burning.

She sits at the foot of the bed almost regally, her back ramrod straight, her jaw clenched. You scramble away, getting caught up in the layers and falling back on the pillows, her amused smile settling fury in your chest alight.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, eyes darting around the room in search of some sort of weapon. You think back to Kate and the cross on her chest, desperately wishing you had one too.

“There will be time for that,” she drawls, eyes flashing red, her full lips stretching even further, one corner higher than the other in a crooked smirk. “This will be easier if you stop fighting and accept your fate.”

You scoff, high on adrenaline and fear, your chest heaving rapidly. There must be a way to get out of this mess. You look around like a caged animal, searching for a way to escape.

“Calm down.”

“Don't tell me to calm down!” You yell, teeth bared.

She swiftly closes the distance, cupping your cheeks, her face getting dangerously close to yours. Your breath hitches, blood pumping faster, your pulse drumming in your neck. She breathes in deeply, closing her eyes as she savors the smell of your fear and… something else you couldn't admit even to yourself.

“Breathe,” she whispers, slowly opening her eyes, “breathe with me, pet.” Her fingers circle your wrist before tugging it to her chest. The fabric of her shirt is soft to the touch, and you relax slightly, following her breathing, your heart slowing its rhythm. “Good girl,” she purrs, nuzzling into your neck. “Now we'll talk.”

You look away and nod.

She walks back to the table, and you hate how cold you feel without her close to you. She gives you the parchment, and this time you pay it the attention it deserves, with your head a little clearer now after you finally realized there's no escaping her.

“What's your name?” you whisper, looking up from the document in your hands.

She looks at you for a long moment, searching your face for something. “Wanda.” She says simply and sits beside you, falling back against the dusty pillows.

You nod, rolling the name on your tongue. It suits her, you think.

You set your attention back to the contract, unconsciously leaning back into the feeling of her fingers ghosting the small of your back. It's hard to make out most of the centuries old legalese, but you're sure you've seen “soul”, “binding” and “eternal”. It's enough to make you shiver.

“There's no reason for you to be afraid. You chose to trust me all these years ago. I saved you, now it's your turn to save me.”

You gulp, scooting away from her touch, missing the way her brows furrow. “What do I have to do for you to leave me alone?”

“Were you even listening?” she scoffs, pushing closer. “You're mine.” Her eyes glint, swirls of red flickering in the depths of her emerald pools, reminding you of the danger she possesses. “For all eternity. In this lifetime and in the next one, and when there's nothing to this world, but ash, you'll be mine in whatever world comes after.”

You shudder from the intensity, eyes flickering to her mouth just in time to see her tongue dart out to wet her full lips. You gulp, turning away.

You need to get a grip on yourself.

“Why me? Hundreds asked for your help, but you chose me. Why?”

You feel her fingertips graze your jaw, before she cups your face, turning it to face her. “None of them offered what I wanted.”

You blink. “And I did?”

The corner of her mouth quirks up in a smug half-smile. “You did. You've sought me out. You've made me listen.”

“But you… Agatha said-”

“I don't care what that lying old bitch said,” she growls, fury rising in her eyes. “She stole my power and confined me to the grounds, this very room, making me a prisoner. I was her apprentice once, a very long time ago, she even asked me to join her coven, but when it became apparent that I'm much stronger, much more powerful, she got enraged. The others noticed it too. There were whispers of an old tale, one hidden in the pages of Darkhold, about a witch so powerful she had no need for a coven, no need for a spell book or teacher. Agatha didn't want any competition.” She looks at you and you nod slowly in realization. You took Agatha's words at face value, unperturbed by the fact that she seemed to know what regular people couldn't, but now it's all starting to make sense, little by little.

“Scarlet Witch?” You take a guess, searching her eyes for the answer. She nods slowly, rage still shimmering in her eye.

“Agatha wanted power, and when it became apparent I had too much of it I became her target. She had to sacrifice her coven to bind me and banish me of my strength. I was biding my time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, feeding on those poor girls' agony, taking power from the unsuspecting, wringing their minds and souls, all to simply survive.” She looks at you, her expression softening slightly, making her look so young. “And then I heard you.”

You inhale sharply, her fingers running over the expanse of the skin of your inner wrist, thumb settling over your pounding pulse. You gnaw on your bottom lip, knowing damn well your pulse quickened noticeably. “What did I say?” You ask without a second thought, fully accepting your past self.

A corner of her lip quirks up, before she leans and whispers against your ear, “You got on your knees and begged. You promised me your body and soul, your heart and your mind. You knew how to make me listen, knew what attracts me most.”

You swallow, shifting slightly. You freeze when you realize just how wet you are. “And what- what was that?”

She chuckles, cupping your jaw in her soft, warm hands. “A desperate pretty girl, on her knees, ready for me to claim her.” She says against your lips before pulling you in a bruising kiss, her grip on you turning possessive. She tugs you on her lap, her arms tight around you, your hearts beating as one. When she pulls away you chase her lips, whining, your fingers tightening around her waist. “Please…” you murmur, not knowing what you're asking for.

“Please what, pet?” She taunts, pushing you off her lap. “Do you want me to let you go? Want to go back to your friends?”

You shake your head before she finishes her sentence, your head growing heavy, your body trembling. “No.”

She chuckles, curling your hair around her forefinger before pushing it behind your ear, her palm scalding hot on your cheek. “I like it when you're afraid, but I like you like this much more.”

You blush, putting some distance between you two. “What- what happens now?”

“Now you set me free.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #scarlet witch x female reader #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #the witches trap

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minarisplaything · 10 months

Text

Gala Gal ft. Blackpink Rosé

pairing: Rosé x male reader rating: Explicit wordcount: 2.8k prompt: a young journalist gets a chance of a lifetime with Rosé at a recent event.

Being a writer for a celebrity magazine has its advantages, such as getting to attend grand events like the Cannes Film Festival, or in this case, the MET Gala. Now you might think, where's the fun or excitement in that? A bunch of rich people dressed in overpriced clothing and posing on the red carpet while you have to ask them redundant questions that no one truly cares about outside a small niche of fans.

That is a reasonable question to ask, and a fair point to make. Hell, there are times when you wonder to yourself just how legitimate of a job this is. You certainly hear that question from your parents enough. But the answer to all of those questions comes from the woman currently walking towards you.

"Thank you for your time," you say to the current girl in front of you.

You have been interviewing some girl who is apparently 'the next Olivia Rodrigo,' which is a wild title to have, but you digress. As you bid her good-bye, a sudden chorus of "Rosé! Rosé over here!" erupts from the group of photographers, followed by a series of flashing light bulbs.

Your eyes flick over to the red carpet area near you to see none other than the 26-year-old starlet, Roseanne Park. Otherwise known as Rosé from Blackpink.

You have never crossed paths with her at any events you have covered; which you just toss up to bad luck or god punishing you for some crime you can’t remember. Either way, it seems like you will finally be getting your chance. Judging from this distance, she is just as beautiful as she appears in all her photos.

Her blonde hair is flowing down her back while loose bangs frame her face as she smiles for the camera. She is wearing a black dress that is form-fitting at the top, held together by two thin straps, and flares outwards at the waist. Frankly, she looks stunning. It is a classy dress that still manages to spark arousal in you. Though, you will keep that last part to yourself.

It is only a few moments later that you have to compose yourself as the press woman directs Rosé towards your vicinity. Adjusting your stance, and growing erection, you cough and put on a friendly smile as she walks over.

"Hi, I'm with Eros Magazine," you introduce yourself, managing to remain composed.

"Rosie, it’s nice to meet you," she says sweetly. She is even more beautiful up close, and that smile is practically paralyzing. Given that you don't trust your tongue at the moment, you decide to keep it simple.

"So how are you tonight?" you question, knowing how many times she must have answered it already.

"I'm great! It's a little cold tonight, but I'm excited to be here," she starts in her accented voice. "I love the Museum of Arts and supporting a good cause is always great. There are so many beautiful dresses and people here. So it's all feeling great right now!" she says, remaining smiling and bubbly throughout her answer.

For your part, you merely nod your head and smile, holding the recorder up to get every word. You go through the litany of typical red carpet questions: what projects are you working on, how's the music coming; all the typical things you could hand in to your editor when a story is due. You can see the press woman getting antsy though. Typical. Figuring you only have one or two questions left, you decide to venture out a bit.

"So, you're going to be going on tour again soon, that must be exciting..."

"It is! You're actually the first one to bring that up all night," she says, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"I do like to do my homework beforehand," you joke with a grin before continuing, "That being said, how do you manage to have fun and unwind? Even at these events, you have to keep a certain image, right?"

Rosé is quiet at first, and for a moment, she glances around as if to check that the coast is clear before she answers, "Oh, you know the girls and I find out ways to have fun. And this is actually my third year at the Gala, so I’ve found the little tricks and ways to have some fun."

There is something about the way she looks at you as she speaks that screams there is more than meets the eye to her words. Maybe it is the coy tone to her voice or the glint in her eye as she smiles. Whatever it is, you suddenly find yourself wondering exactly what ‘some fun' entails.

"By the way," Rosé says, interrupting your thoughts, "Eros Magazine...as in the Greek word for erotic love?"

Again she fixes you with that mischievous grin.

"Uh — yeah. Nice catch," you stammer, causing her to giggle.

"I like it" she says, a look you can’t read in her eye. Before you can ask anything further, the press woman begins to nudge her on to the next reporter. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too, have a good one," you reply, watching her intently as she walks away.

If that is your first and last interaction with the K-pop star, then you can say it has been interesting if nothing else. You get the feeling there is more to that little minx than meets the eye, you are only disappointed that you’d likely never get the chance to delve a bit further.

Covering the event means that you gain access to the party but hardly anyone does any real reporting. After all, these kinds of events are meant for the rich and famous. To cement their status as celebrities, they then sneak off inside to where they can have their fun. For the most part, you reporters stay together, talk, and drink the free liquor that is available.

You expect your night will be spent at the bar, winding your time down until it reaches an acceptable time to call it a night. But first things first, if you are going to be here on the company dime, you might as well get your money's worth.

"I've been looking for you all night!"

You are in the middle of ordering yet another drink when a familiar accented voice reaches your ears. Turning in your stool, you lay your eyes on Roseanne Park for the second time tonight, only this time there is something a little more...loose to her demeanor. You get an explanation when you spot the glass in her hands and briefly wonder how many she had at this point.

"Me? You must be confused," you say, both amused, curious, and a bit confused, "I don't think anyone at this party has said I’m wanted."

"Well, you are!" she says, smiling as she moves towards you, "And now that I've found you, I have something to show you."

"Don't you have famous friends to entertain?" you question more than protest as she places her drink on the bar and takes your hand.

You catch a glimpse of a hint of a pout on her features, "Don’t worry, they’re occupied." Again, there is that suggestion that something more is going on. Of course, there is the very realistic possibility that your mind is just running away with crazy, erotic theories. But that potential doesn’t stop you from being any more turned on by the thought. Coupled with the fact that Rosé is dragging you through a gala to god-knows-where and you are practically dreaming. In that moment, she could take you to hell for all you care.

"You're going to love it, trust me," she assures, looking back at you as she continues leading.

"Oh, I’m sure," you reply. Your mind is racing with things from a blow job to taking her from behind, so needless to say, you are a bit disappointed when she stops at your destination.

"A photo booth?" you ask, a bit amused at how silly it seems.

Rosé is either undeterred or doesn’t register your lack of enthusiasm as she simply nods, still smiling and pulling you into the booth.

“It's fun! Come on," the blonde insists, pulling you by the hand into the photo booth. Judging by the size of it, the booth is clearly an afterthought to the gala planners, or maybe it just isn’t meant for two people at the same time to occupy it. You do your best to squeeze yourself in so she can close the curtain behind you. To your surprise, Rosé neatly slides onto your lap, her perfect, tight ass sitting right on top of where your hard-on has been growing for the last couple of minutes.

"Alright, so it takes six photos then prints them out there," she points to the deposit box under the screen. She either doesn't feel the bulge pressing firmly against her ass, or she is very good at playing naive.

"Okay," you nod, as if you are bothering to pay any attention to the pictures.

As she shimmies on your lap to get into a better position, you decide to be bold and snake your arm around her slim waist, only to receive no complaints from the pop star. A countdown shows up on the screen, and when it says CHEESE, Rosé throws her arms around you, smiling openly as you try and fail not to look too bewildered. The screen replays your photo, and you can’t help but laugh at your own expense.

"Not bad," you grin, as the counter starts for the second photo.

"Not bad, but I think we can do better!" she says with a determined look on her face. When the screen says CHEESE again, Rosé suddenly leans over and licks the side of your face. You are so surprised you don't know how you react until the photo replays.

"Oh my god! That's great!" Rosé laughs.

You take the next few photos in the same fashion, going for ridiculous and silly in each one. After every photo, Rosé would shift her weight on your lap, rubbing against your erection each time. You are certain that she has to be well aware of what she is doing, and by the time the countdown for the last photo appears, you have made up your mind.

When the screen flashes, you turn Rosé's head to you and push your lips flush against hers. To your surprise, it takes less than half a second for her to respond, her hands moving up to cup your face. You kiss passionately like that until the simple need for air breaks you apart.

"I was starting to think all my work was for nothing," she says, a devilish grin on her face.

You raise an eyebrow at her; apparently, all your theories have just been confirmed. "You planned all this then?"

"I told you we know how to have our fun at these things," she comments, twirling a strand of hair in her finger.

"We?"

Mischief gleams in her gaze for a moment, “Maybe later. I know you’re a reporter, but you shouldn’t ask too many questions.”

She places a delicate finger to your lips as she gets up off your lap. The low ceiling of the booth doesn't allow her to stand up fully, but she doesn't have to as she crouches and reaches under her dress and begins pulling down her panties. "Fuck...these things are definitely ruined. I practically soaked them."

Her comment is more to herself than you, but your cock only grows harder at the revelation. You watch as she slides her thong down past her ankles, and her eyes fall to your crotch. With nimble fingers, she works on your button and zipper, springing free your aching cock.

"Oh wow..." she mutters, eyeing it with an animalistic hunger. "I would love to wrap my lips around that..."

"You're more than welcomed to," you groan, starting to get that sense of teasing with the amount of anticipation that is building. You are tempted to just force her head onto your cock, but you stop short when she speaks.

"Later. We don't have a lot of time."

Your disappointment at that statement is short-lived as she stands again and turns around. Rosé lifts her skirt and hovers over your lap. Grabbing hold of your member, you let out a groan as she positions it at her entrance, rubbing it for a second in her dripping juices. Unable to hold out, you thrust your hips slightly upward, causing your tip to pierce her folds.

"Mmm, somebody's anxious," she purrs, her accent coming out thick.

"Can you fucking blame me?" you say through gritted teeth, reaching out to grab her waist. Before you can yank her down, she beats you to it and spears herself on your rod. "Oh fuck," you let out, feeling how tight her petite body is.

"God, you feel fucking amazing," you mutter into her shoulder.

"Ah~...and you're...much bigger than you look," she says, clearly trying to adjust to the size she just filled herself with in one go. Apparently, the discomfort isn't so bad as she soon begins lifting and dropping herself on your cock slowly. "Try not—ooh— to get too loud," she moans out, her ass rocking against you.

"Speak for yourself," you grunt, your hands gripping her waist firmly as you start to move your hips to match the movement of hers.

You can't wrap your head around the fact that you're fucking a member of one of the most famous girl groups in the world in a photobooth at a gala with hundreds of celebrities. Thankfully, you don't need to wrap your head around it, as long as you keep fucking her. With that in mind, you take control of the pace, gripping her waist and forcing yourself up into her. Each time you spear her pussy, it's like another piece of heaven. Her pussy is squeezing you like there's no tomorrow, only increasing the pleasure you get with each thrust.

"Shit, yes, yes! Fuck me," Rosé chants in a loud whisper as she puts her hand on the console to steady herself as you thrust up into her.

"God, you're fucking tight," you moan, continuing to pound her Australian pussy. "Someone could look in here at any second."

"Oooh, I know," she lets out a shuddering breath.

"You're getting off on that, aren't you?" you continue the dirty talk, sliding a strap off her shoulder so you can push her top down to fondle her pert breast.

"Yes, yes! It fucking turns me on," Rosé pants.

For a moment, you fear she has given you away, but you're too far gone to truly care at this point. Her hands slide down the console, and you're only aware of what happens when the shutter of the camera makes you look up. Looking over Rosé's shoulder as she bounces up and down, you see your photo displayed, Rosé's mouth opened in pleasure.

Grinning to yourself, you increase the speed of your thrusts, determined to get her orgasm face by the last photo.

"OH!" she squeals, surprised by your sudden turn of action. "Oh fuck, right there. Keep going," she pants, her hand covering yours and holding it firmly against her breast.

You squeeze firmly, shoving every inch of your meat deep into her snatch. Her lithe body arches back into you. She's panting heavily, each thrust causing her to take a sharp breath. You turn her head towards you and kiss her, her hand gripping the back of your head. It's sloppy and passionate, perfectly fitting the current heated moment that is occurring.

"I'm close. I'm so fucking close," Rosé chants, continuing to grip your head as she moves her hips to yours.

A few moments later, you have to cover her mouth with your hand as she shrieks her orgasm. Her walls clench around you as she comes, her juices flooding your cock.

"I'm going to cum," you warn, knowing you aren't going to last through her orgasm.

"Mmmph," Rosé says, until you remove your hand, "In me! Cum inside me!"

You don't take a second to question it, instead thrusting your hips upward, your cock pushing into her one last time as you empty rope after rope of your seed into her womb. You continue unloading into the star for what seems like eternity until you both finally collapse in the booth. Her body heaves on top of yours as she tries to catch her breath.

"I don't think I've ever cum that hard before," you pant, causing the Blackpink singer to giggle.

"Don't speak too soon," she says, leaning back and kissing you softly on the lips. Thinking of what she could have planned only causes your cock to twitch inside her with anticipation.

One thing is for certain: this girl certainly knows how to have fun.

BUY ME A COFFEE - if you enjoy my stories considering buying me a coffee! always appreciated, never required.

#kpop smut #blackpink smut #male reader #rose x reader #rose x male reader #park chaeyoung x reader

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writers-potion · 27 days

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How do I accurately include diversity, and not make it look like I’m just putting it in there for the sake of it?

Writing Diverse Characters - Things to Remember

Honestly, there's no definitive answer to this.

Your characters are people with clear goals, desires and a role to play in the plot. As long as they aren't just sitting there with little else but their race/gender/disability, etc. as their ONLY personality trait, at least you're on the right path.

As for representing a diverse character realistically, here are some things you can consider to get started.

Do's

RESEARCH. There are plenty of blogs/YT vids/websites that exist to help you! Meet people!

Get beta readers.

It doesn't have to be explicit. Racial identities become quite clear early on through the setting, name, and initial description(hair, eye/skin color, body shape, etc) without having to drum it into the readers each time. Gender diversity can be conveyed through the use of certain pronouns without awkward declarations.

Character first, diversity second. Please don't intentionally create a diverse character and then think about how you can push them into the cast. Have a working character, who happens to belong to a particular group.

Read works that have represented a group well. There are plenty of non-fiction works, movies and documentaries that capture the lives of people around the world with a good eye.

Use the correct terms/language

Include different types of diversity

Don'ts

Race/gender/diability is NOT a personality trait. Please. Telling me that you have a Korean girl tells me next to nothing about the character herself.

Using sterotypes. Now, it's all right if your character has a few sterotypical traits, but definitely not if sterotypes are the only thing they have.

Diversity is not a "shock factor". Suddenly revealing that a character is actually gay and has been in the closet all this time as a refresher so that it draws readers' attention? Not a good idea.

One diverse character does all. This can often be seen in female characters of slightly dated works where one woman will play the role of supportive mother, sister, femme fetale and sexy Barbie at the same time. Don't write a diverse character who basically does everything a diverse character can possibly be. All that it proves is that the writer is lazy.

Things I personally hate seeing:

Weird pronunciation of languages. As a Korean person, I always get turned off by works (mostly badly written fanfics, yes, I read those...) that try to transfer Korean dialogue directly onto the page without even checking for the correct way to spell them out. A similar example would be pinyin for Mandarin. Please, this makes the character sound stupid throughout...

Character sticking out almost painfully. If your character isn't from the region but have lived in it for a long time, what reason do they have not to blend in?

Relying on variety shows/dramas as reference. Media representation of diverse characters that are meant for entertainment is not the best source for authentic research. I die every time someone lists a number of Korean rom-coms they've watched for "research". IT DOES NOT COUNT.

As a last note, remember that there's no limit to the kind of characters a writer can writer. Accept that our job as writers is to step into other people's heads, not seeing things from one (our) perspective - and it is not going to be easy.

Hope this helps :)

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nothorses · 3 months

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Hello there, I found on my tl this post presenting a different view on "baeddelism" from the perspective of a trans woman that claims that she was actually there when the og group existed and explains why the word has become somewhat of a transmisogynistic slur. And I wanted to ask you If you might have any thoughs on this reading of the subject matter?

www.tumblr.com/euniexenoblade/741692501713387520/anyways-baeddel-is-a-slur-against-trans-women

I mean, I think there's merit to the idea that calling people "baeddels" when they don't actually claim to be one themselves is at best counterproductive. The term refers less to A General Ideology, and more to a very specific movement- or, more accurately, two unrelated-but-similar movements that happened in the early/mid 2010's.

There's a term for what folks are usually talking about when they call some random trans woman a "baeddel" when she says she believes trans men oppress trans women: "TIRF", or trans-inclusionary radical feminist. It's a term that was coined by people who call themselves by it, and it's a lot more broad & generally useful here. It doesn't come with ties to a group that dissolved because of sexual assault allegations & rape apologism, and it isn't rooted in an Old English slur, which means it's a lot less charged. It's less likely to get people to shut down or laugh your whole point off because of how clear it is that you aren't listening to or engaging in anything they have to say with good faith.

So yes, I agree, calling random people "baeddels" is not in good taste. Don't do it. "TIRF" exists, it's more accurate, and it's less likely to hurt your argument anyway.

That said.

I take issue with the implication that:

a) Baeddels were tiny and utterly non-influential (therefore all references to them at this point are malicious exaggerations and bogeymen), and

b) Everyone self-describing as a "baeddel" today is actually just reclaiming a slur, exactly like people do with "tranny" and "faggot".

Baeddels (on Tumblr; again, there was a "baeddel" movement on Facebook at the time as well, but it was unrelated and ideologically distinct) were not so small that they had no impact, and to characterize them as widely unpopular- or, worse, influential only in that everyone hated them so much that alt-right bigots immediately revived "baeddel"s original meaning as a slur to in order to victimize all trans women- should immediately ping some alarm bells.

Baeddelism's core ideology centered around the idea that trans women are the most oppressed group, that transmisogyny is the root of all oppression, that trans women are always victimized, never safe, never understood, except around and by exclusively other trans women. This sucks, because there is very real oppression and trauma being preyed on here; trans women are encouraged to be paranoid and distrustful of anyone different from them, and their own experiences with oppression are weaponized against them in order to do so. This should remind you of the recruitment tactics cis radfems use.

That aside, there are some places where baeddelism's influence has been documented: @baeddel-txt is one example. Note that a lot of the posts archived there are recent. Here's one of the original crew, still active and spewing the same shit. Baeddelism has been experiencing something of a renaissance in recent years, too. Here's one of the original (ex-)baeddels talking about it as recently as 2021.

This is not "reclaiming a slur", these people are referring very explicitly to the original ideology & the desire, or observed desire, for that same movement to be brought back in the present day.

Does that make every TIRF-y trans woman a baeddel?

No!

But it is incredibly, and suspiciously disingenuous to deny the harm they caused, the influence they had, and the admiration people still hold for their ideology. And it is downright ahistorical to claim that the term is now, or was at the time that the group was most popular, used genuinely as a slur (sources, I am begging you).

Do not call people "baeddels" unless they're claiming the word for themselves. Do not allow anyone to make you think, even for a moment, that transfeminine people are The Enemy; they do not oppress us, they do not benefit from our oppression, and the vast majority of them are not interested in any kind of lateral violence against us in the first place. They are our allies. Do not forget that they are our allies.

Forgetting that trans people are each other's best allies is what lead to baeddelism in the first place. We need each other. Things can only improve for any of us if we fight for each other. Don't let resentment sabotage you- or hurt our trans siblings.

#baeddels #baeddelism #transunity

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satuguro · 1 year

Text

*ೃ࿐TO FAULT A NET

[ ACT V: HE IS WHAT HE HIDES ]

spider-man! ethan landry x black cat! reader

#SYNOPSIS— ethan takes a photo of mindy in an ambulance, chad's screaming about webs being shot, and ethan thinks the ambulance blanket is cold.

#CONTAINS— enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, implication of ptsd, gore!!, blood, murder, death, reader is overly flirtatious

#AUTHORSNOTE— thank you so much for following this series so closely <3 this isn't the end yet, there's still an epilogue xx

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

you had learned from your years in the criminal world that to underestimate someone driven by revenge was a mistake.

you had seen countless people go to unimaginable lengths just to seek the satisfaction of victory. of finally having the upper hand over the one person they believed caused them so much turmoil. you had heard men and woman alike compare it to hero's work. and you understood them sometimes, but not when their victims didn't deserve it. not when their victims had more of a right to seek them out.

which was why, as you stood uncomfortably with chad, danny, tara, and sam, listening to tara and chad bicker with danny about how he pulled them on and split mindy and ethan up from them, your eyes were set on every person around you. everyone was dressed in costumes, as it was finally halloween day. but that meant that more people were wearing stab masks everywhere around you.

"i don't understand why we couldn't have just taken my car," you muttered, eyes set on every person wearing a stab made. beside you, tara sighed.

"too many of us. besides, roads are packed right now because of halloween." tara shifted uncomfortably next to you and chad, moving away from the strangers around her. "do you think they'll be okay?" she asked you.

"who, mindy and ethan?" you asked, trying to be nonchalant, as though you hadn't completely broken ethan's heart and your own yesterday.

you kept reminding yourself that it was for the best. but you still felt that ache in your chest just at the mention of his name.

you still had a deal to finish. after everything, it'd be over.

"they'll be okay as long as they stick together," you murmured to tara, making her nod worriedly.

"right. as long as they stick together."

the lights flickered on the subway, making you freeze and hover your hand over your side. you had brought your gun (which you had stolen, of course) with you and a knife. two things that would be incredibly incriminating if any of the group were to see you with it, but you couldn't just go into the plan empty handed. you were taught better than that.

besides, how do you think you survived this long? by following the rules and not bringing a gun around with you during your heists?

the lights flickered on again, making you and the group relax slightly. holding tightly onto the pole of the subway, your body swinging with every movement, you could only hope that you wouldn't have to use the gun too much.

you had killed before. you were willing to kill again.

halloween night was in full swing, full of traffic and busy streets. the ground was slightly damp from the unexpected rain that happened through the day, but the clouds had cleared up to reveal a starless sky. kirby led you and the others to the theatre yet again, urgently pushing all of you in and using her card to open the gate.

"i cleared the place before you all got here." the gate slammed behind kirby as she turned to all of you (except for danny, who sam had told to not join). "so this is the only way in or out. he steps in through the first door, both doors lock automatically, trapping him inside." a triumphant smirk appeared on her face. "we turn it into a kill box."

"weapons?" sam asked with her arms crossed over her chest.

"one gun, and i hold onto it," kirby said. you and sam sent her a disapproving look, and she rolled her eyes. "i'm the only one with a badge here, and that's the way it's gonna be."

if only she knew about the gun on your side. and the knife on your other side. her blissful obliviousness made you bite back a laugh. if only they knew.

"we're safe here," kirby said reassuringly, her words making you narrow your eyes out of doubt.

"i'm gonna check in with mindy. see if they're close," sam said, walking away with tara and chad trailing near her. kirby's eyes were set on you, her obvious suspicion making you raise a brow.

"what?"

"you don't like the plan?" kirby asked you with a tilt of her head.

you shook your head confidently. "no. it all seems too easy—" your phone buzzed in your hand, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes when you saw an unknown caller calling. "hello?" you asked as you held the phone to your ear.

"y/n?" ethan's panicked voice made your eyes widen, your heart dropping. "mindy's at the er— the killer stabbed her in the hand. like right through. i'm outside, can you let me in?"

you glanced at kirby, who gave you a warning look. she didn't trust him— rightfully so, from her perspective —but you nodded to the gate.

"open the door and stay here. let us both in." you told the agent, trying not to let your obvious distrust for her (you had been running from policemen for years, and she was fbi) show on your face.

the gates creaked open as you walked down the steps of the gate, unlocking and opening the door for ethan. he looked more disheveled than usual, his eyes clouded over with worry, stress, and what seemed to be hurt when he saw you. "thanks," he breathed, and you nodded, making your way back up the stairs and through the gate kirby held open for you.

"where's mindy?" kirby asked him, and ethan pulled out his phone, showing mindy on a stretcher, ready to go into the ambulance. she was flipping off the camera witt her non injured hand (typical, and you smiled a bit at the sight) but she was okay. an unreadable expression befell kirby's face, but she nodded with a sigh. "fine. you two stay here.. i'm gonna clear the area upstairs one more time."

you nodded stiffly, already tensing up just by being around the brunette next to you. but you had to work with him, you knew that. you told him yourself. coughing awkwardly, you moved away from him, walking to look around. "are your web things with you, or.."

ethan avoided your gaze, nodding his head once as he looked around the area around you. "i'll use it only if i really need to," he mumbled.

the lights were working, but old, making them flicker and fade ever so slightly. the smell of asbestos and old wood filled ethan's nose, and with every flicker of light, he could feel himself tensing up more and more. ethan found himself staying around you as a result, as though he was seeking the comfort of your presence. and you let him— because you were seeking the comfort of his presence too. "i'm guessing you have your stuff, too?"

"couldn't bring my gloves without being horribly obvious," you muttered in response. letting out a sigh, you leaned against the door. your mind had been on edge ever since you willingly entered the theatre, the possibility of something happening out of nowhere weighing heavy on your mind. sucking in a shaky breath and exhaling, you could feel his brown eyes finally look at you. picking up on all the details. all his observations.

"i'll let you know when something is happening because of the.. uh.."

"spider tingle?"

"i like to use the word sense, but sure." ethan swallowed thickly. he sighed, the exhaustion getting to him. he pinched his nose bridge. “i was able to stop the killer from doing more to mindy.. they still injured her regardless.”

you were silent for a few seconds, weighing your options and responses in your head. “i told you that you’re stupid if you blame yourself for stuff like that.”

"i know."

"don't blame yourself for something that you couldn't avoid from happening."

and before he could respond, the lights went out. "y/n?"panic settled into his bones as ethan immediately walked to where you were standing, his chest accidentally bumping into you.

"i'm fine—" the sound of a whirring overhead and what sounded like cheesy movie music began to echo from the theatre nearby, making you and ethan walk towards it, your hand hovering over your knife. ethan walked in front of you before pushing the black curtain out of your way.

you made eye contact with sam, who looked just as confused as you did as the three of you stared at the movie play out. it was a stab remake— a poor one, you noted —that looked like every other stab homemade remake on the internet.

but your focus on the movie made you fail to notice ethan's frown as he stared at it. he had seen it before, but where?

"we have to get out of here—" sam said you as you led them towards one of the exits, heart jumping into your chest when you came face to face with tara and chad.

"go back, go back now!" ethan yelled, senses going haywire as he grabbed tara and chad, pulling them through the door. he shut the door behind him, turning his back on it as you and the others rushed to the middle of the theatre, looking around you frantically.

"it's kirby! kirby is the killer—" sam rushed out, making chad groan.

"yeah, no shit!"

"the entire theatre is a kill box for us," you breathed, searching all around you for any kind of exit. ethan looked at the balcony view, eyes widening when he saw the exit doors flashing up ahead.

"up there! maybe it leads to the roof?" he sent you a look, and you nodded. you both had to get them out of here. and you were both willing to put your own lives at stake for that.

"let's go, let's go—"

ethan lunged forward right as the killer jumped from behind the theatre, pushing tara aside. she only received a cut on her arm, but another swing gave ethan one too. he groaned at the slice his arm received, the deep cut making annoyance thrum through his veins.

sam dodged the killer's swing over her head, and chad ducked under before the killer could stab him. but before the killer could swing low and slice chad, you lunged at his side, tackling him to the ground. "go!" you yelled to the others, shoving yourself off the ground.

ethan grabbed the camera behind you, swinging it towards the killer before they could get back up. he shot them with webs, unable to stop himself from wanting to slow them down. even with the mask, you could see the genuine shock the killer had on their face as they made quin work of trying to get out.

"c'mon!" grabbing his hand, you ran to the back where the others were. ethan made you run ahead of him (much to your chagrin). if anyone was going to get hurt, it might as well be him.

ghostface was hot on your heels and it was much too cramped and small of a space for you to turn around and shoot them, especially since ethan was in the way. so you could only grab his hand in yours, dragging him behind you as you ran behind chad.

you ran into the snack bar, ethan throwing down the popcorn machine behind him. but ghostface prevailed; he lunged after chad, who dodged one of the killer's swings before they forced themselves onto him, pinning him against the wall. you, tara, and sam all forced the killer off of him, before the killer send a punch towards you that you narrowly ducked under to grab your knife at your side, stabbing them in the stomach, twisting it, and pulling it out.

"what the fuck—" sam's eyes widened in fear when she saw your weapon, realization dawning over her face. you hadn't said anything to kirby about being armed.

"you?" tara asked, horror ghosting over her face.

"no! not me— why would you come to this place and not be armed?" you yelled in exasperation, ethan moving quickly past you to tackle ghost face to the ground, his advanced strength making him over power him easily. ethan turned to you and the others, eyes frantic as he yelled, "go!"

your eyes widened in horror when you saw two other killers appear from the sides, their knives flashing. one jumped on top of him, but ethan had already sensed them, grabbing their arm and throwing them off of him. but then another came up to his side, shoving him to the ground, giving the other two time to stand up.

"ethan—" you screamed, already grabbing for your gun, but chad was already grabbing you.

"y/n, let's go!" chad yelled as tara and sam ran back into the theatre.

"i have to help him—" you protested, reaching for your gun and pulling it out, shooting at one of the ghost faces. it hit their shoulder, making them turn around eerily. their blood seeped into the black fabric of their cloak, but you knew that a single bullet wouldn't stop someone determined for revenge.

ethan shot a web at their feet, stopping them from walking further towards you, his eyes panicked when he saw two of them turn their attention to you and chad.

"did he just shoot a fucking web?!" chad screamed, his movements faltering and making you escape his arms, pointing your gun at one of the ghost faces and shooting repeatedly before shooting the other.

your face fell when you saw they barely winced. they were wearing bulletproof vests.

one of the killers was still focused on ethan, and with his mind solely on your protection, he failed to stop the knife from sinking into his side. you watched in horror as the killer twisted it, the wet sound of gushing blood making anger run through your body.

you watched as the light dimmed in his eyes, ethan's face paling as his eyes stayed on yours. the killer grabbed at his wrists, feeling the web shooters and tearing them off of his body and slamming them to the ground. the two killers who were webbed cut themselves free and advanced towards you.

"ethan—" you screamed, aiming your gun and trying to get a good shot, to no avail. one of the killers swiped at your stomach, making you narrowly dodge it. chad punched them before they could try more. but as your attention was on them, you failed to miss the quick swing the other killer made towards your arm, cutting deeply along the expanse of it and making you drop your gun.

immediately, you tried to go for it, injured arm desperately reaching for the gun as one of the ghost faces did the same. you kicked them in the stomach, grabbing your gun and hiding it as they tackled you. their knife was right in front of your face, threatening to stab you right in the eye. you could see the shine of the blade right in front of you as you screamed, using all your strength to get them off.

ethan shoved off the killer with his strength, ignoring the pain as he ran up to the killer on top of you, grabbing them and throwing them against the wall. chad kicked the ghost face he was taking care of in the stomach, his hand on the new stab wound on his side before running into the theatre. "let's go!"

"c'mon, c'mon, c'mon," ethan said, pushing you and chad into the theatre, slamming the door shut behind him. he felt your hand over his hand, applying more pressure to his stab wound, and he offered you a strained smile. "y/n, i'm gonna be okay."

you swallowed the worry that brewed in your throat, not giving him a response. blood seeped through your hand.

"dad! dad i fixed it, i swear i fixed it—" you sobbed, shaking your unconscious father. you could feel the blood that stained your hands, the warm liquid slowly turning cold.

ethan grabbed your hand, pulling it away from his stomach and squeezing it. his eyes immediately clouded over with worry when he saw the large gash that ran up your arm, the blood seeping from the deep cut like a faucet. it reached all the way up to your palm, making you hold your gun in your nondominant hand.

the three of you ran towards sam and tara, who were standing in the middle of the huge shrine. your back was to tara's as you held the gun up, watching as the ghostfaces came up all around you. it stank of the poignant smell of iron, the blood spilling out of all of you filling the air with its stench.

the sound of a gun ricocheting made you all duck. kirby, crazed with blood flowing from the side of her face, pointed the gun all around the theatre.

"you," you seethed, eyes narrowing as you began to raised your gun at her.

"it was you the entire time," sam breathed, making kirby shake her head quickly.

and as if it was all on cue, detective bailey walked into the theatre, his own gun pointed at kirby. he was practically vibrating in anger as he spat, "was it you? did you kill my daughter?"

"dad?" ethan asked in shock, face falling when he saw him. but something was wrong. something was horribly wrong, and he felt it more than he felt everything else. that pit in his stomach that foreshadowed what was coming.

"she killed her, ethan!" wayne snapped at his estranged son. "she killed our quinn!"

"jesus christ! whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen to him— he's probably the killer!" kirby hissed, making you look at detective bailey, your gun still pointed.

your eyes narrowed as it travelled down to the white webbing stuck on the side of his shoe. and right as kirby screamed that something was right behind him, you shot at his side. but it was too late; two shots already hit kirby, making her fall to the ground. and immediately, his gun was pointed to you. ethan immediately moved in front of you, his hand on his bleeding side.

looking down at the gunshot into the side of his torso, wayne grinned, pulling his shirt up to reveal his bullet proof vest. police grade— of course. "good job," wayne praised, a sadistic smirk appearing on his face. both the ghostfaces walked up next to him, their knives stained with your blood in their hands. "both of you."

"you?" tara asked, and wayne shrugged.

the cop rolled his eyes. "ah, 'course it's me. i honestly expected more from the two of you after what you did to us," wayne said with a growing smirk. "i'm sure ethan here can tell you all about it."

"what?" ethan felt everyone's eyes on him, realization on his face when he connected the dots. all the effort to get away from what is older brother did. all the effort me made to change his name, to move across the country, to leave his own family because despite how he grieved, ethan never forgave richie for what he did. all the lies his father said about wanting to escape from richie's crimes.

he lied to him.

"ethan, what is he talking about?" you asked ethan, expecting him to deny something. anything. to say that his father had just gone batshit, to say that his father was just trying to drag him into his killing game.

but ethan stayed silent, avoiding your eyes.

"ethan, what're they talking about?" chad asked again warily, backing away from his roommate, tara right behind him as he protected her.

"you didn't.." ethan breathed, and suddenly he felt like he was sitting alone at richie's funeral again, silently seething as his mother and father praised him for being such a wonderful man, for being such a wonderful son, even though they knew they were raising a future murderer. "you killed her? you killed quinn?" he asked, his voice breaking as he felt the bitter taste of pennies in his mouth.

"how 'bout you tell them your real last name, ethan?" wayne pushed further ignoring his words and pointing his gun at you aggressively. "about who you really are? tell everyone! including your fucking girlfriend here—"

"fuck you," you growled, and wayne's eyes shone bright in anger.

"you weren't part of the plan. you and that pathetic excuse of a son," wayne yelled, his gun pointing to ethan now. he was careless as he waved it around, obviously at the brink of sanity. and then, he broke into mirthless laughter, still pointing his gun towards whoever he pleased. "take off your masks."

the ghostface to his right tore off their mask, revealing a woman with dirty blond hair and an angled face. she was tall, around the same height of wayne, and her thin lips were in a sadistic smirk. her siren-like eyes stared daggers into tara and sam, and you would've crossed her off as some psychopath extra character if it weren't for the color of her eyes, which made your face fall; they were the same golden brown hue as ethan's.

"ethan," his mother crooned, voice dripping with disdain as she eyed her youngest child with contempt. "you've grown," she drawled, unimpressed eyes looking over him.

"mom," ethan breathed, his face paling. he could hear his blood roaring in his ears and his skin pricking with goosebumps as his senses went haywire. suddenly, he was hyperaware of every fiber of his clothing sticking to his skin, of how there was win rushing into the theatre from the exit doors on the roof, and how his mother was looking at him the same way she looked at weeds in her garden back home.

and to make matters worse, the other ghostface removed their mask too, revealing familiar red hair that made ethan's throat run dry and tears well in his eyes.

his sister always had eyes that he had been envious of; they were grey, like a constant storm that would brew over the ocean. he always thought they were so cool, much cooler than his brown ones, but when he looked into quinn's eyes, he saw no constant storm. he saw that sociopathic glint that richie always had when ethan did something that he hated. that glint that showed no remorse, no care, and no love.

"hey, roomies," quinn dragged out, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she stared at tara and sam as though they were her prey. and then, and then, she turned to ethan. and the way she looked at him.. it was as though he hadn't grieved for her the entire week. as though he didn't constantly blame himself for not doing more to save her, as though he wasn't the same boy she used to care for as a child.

quinn looked at him as though he was a parasite.

"quinn," ethan choked out, voice cracking as tears began to blur his vision. he wanted to bring himself to be happy, to hug his sister and scold her for ever making him go through that mental turmoil, but ethan didn't move. because he realized that quinn would easily make him go through it all again without a care in the world.

"hey, baby brother," quinn said in acknowledgement, grey eyes of steel sparking with fire as her smile turned into a grin. "nice to see you finally got some," she said, eyes flicking to you as she took a step forward.

"you better back up," you hissed, pointing your gun right at her and making quinn's face contort in anger.

"you're a fucking bitch," quinn sneered, pointing her knife at you. ethan grabbed your arm, moving his body to protect yours. quinn laughed. "of course ethan would get attached to a fucking liar just like he is."

"ethan, tell us the truth right now," sam said lowly, making you grip your gun tighter.

"yes, ethan," ethan's mother said, narrowing her eyes at her son in anger. "tell them the truth."

ethan's jaw clenched as he shook his head. "you know i was trying to get away—"

"say our last name, ethan!" wayne yelled, making ethan jump. never had he felt so much like a child again, crying as he was blamed for yet another one of richie's sadistic 'pranks' that borderlined torture.

and just like ethan did when he was a kid, he began to plead.

"dad, please—" ethan forced out through gritted teeth, only for wayne to laugh in disbelief.

"ethan kirsch." ethan's mother spat, as though the mere mention of his name on her lips brought poison to her tongue. "the name i gave him when he was born was ethan kirsch." she flashed a smile at sam, tara, and chad. "sound familiar?"

he couldn't breathe. the constant onslaught of reveals and the realization crashing over him made him unable to move. he was only vaguely aware of tara and sam's reactions as they finally connected the dots, of chad's loud questions as he desperately tried to get him to talk, and his family's demands for him to speak. it was all jumbled up for him as his breathing and heartbeat quickened.

and he could only feel you move in front of him as though you had the superpowers, not him. your gun was aimed at the three of them, shaky breaths escaping you as you put yourself between ethan and his family.

another person's history didn't dictate you own. you knew that first hand. and to hear sam and tara yell at ethan for lying, for being a traitor and for never uttering a word of his connection to richie, and to had chad stay quiet because he knew he saw ethan shoot a web moments before, that ethan was spider-man, and yet he stayed silent, only protecting tara behind him.

quinn and her mother began to walk around the theatre, slowly circling the four of you as they looked at you like wolves with their prey. quinn jumped forward, slashing tara's arm teasingly, a laugh escaping her lips as tara yelped in pain.

"i don't know what you believe," sam began, keeping an eye on ethan's mother as she circled them slowly. "but i didn't commit those murders in woodsboro—"

"they're not here for that, ethan said warily, sniffing harshly as he glared at his father. despite the sensory overload, his anger still shone through as clear as day. "they're here for richie."

wayne scowled at that, his eyes darting to ethan for a second before returning to sam again. "we know you didn't commit those murders in woodsboro— what, do you think this is based on some bullshit conspiracy theory? who do you think started all those rumors about you in the first place?”

quinn raised a knife-wielded hand towards sam, smiling triumphantly. you could hear wayne's sadistic laugh behind you. "do you know how easy it was to turn sam from the hero of woodsboro," she said with faux dreamy eyes, "into the villian? how easy it is to convince the world to believe the worst in people, rather than the best."

"and all the best lies boil down to one truth; that you, sam," wayne said, pointing a finger towards her, "are a killer."

"she was never the killer, dad," ethan scowled, pointing a finger to him, "you and mom raised one and did nothing! nothing, because you were just as fucking insane as he was!"

quinn jumped forward and tried to slash ethan's bicep, only for his other hand (which was supposed to keep pressure to his wound) grabbed her wrist. he kicked her back against the glass case, golden brown eyes now brass as he glared at her. "you don't get to talk about him like that!" quinn hissed. "you were just jealous of him. jealous because he was the son you never could be—"

"shut up."

your eyes met sam's, her eyes set on the gun you could barely wield due to your injured. wordlessly, you nodded, backing away from ethan until your back met sam's. your gun slowly lowered and you made a quick switch into her hand. your uninjured hand grabbed your knife and held it up.

"you can ask our parents now!" quinn yelled in disbelief, eyes crazed and dilated with adrenaline. "go on, ethan, ask them! 'was i never as good as richie?' i can tell you the answer now if you want—"

your fist collided with her face before she could say another word. the sickening crack of her nose made the pain in your body all the more bearable. your injured hand grabbed ethan's as sam shot at ethan's mom's leg, making her move away from you quickly.

you all tried to make your way to the ladders, the three of them immediately running after you and stopping you yet again.

"real great parenting job, by the way," tara said with a sneer, making quinn's eyes flare in anger over her bloody nose.

"shut your whore fucking mouth," quinn screamed, making sam shoot at her before she could step closer. the bullet grazed her ear, narrowly missing her head, and the redhead grinned at ethan's avoidance in looking at her. "what, can't handle a little blood?"

ethan only ignored her.

"did i overindulge in richie's love for these little movies? yeah," wayne sighed. "maybe! for me they're just a little dark. but.. " tears welled in his eyes, making yu grip the knife tighter in your hand as he stared at ethan. "richie really loved them. didn't he, ethan?"

"don't even talk to him," you snapped, making wayne grab your injured arm, his thumb burying into the gash inside of it. the feeling of his finger inside the fresh cut made you scream in pain, the sound echoing in ethan's mind and making him see red.

he shoved his dad hard, hard enough that he nearly stumbled and his back hit the edge of the stage. above his head, the sight of a young richie made ethan's blood rush louder in his ears, the sight of his oh-so-innocent looking older brother making him almost physically sick. and wayne only laughed a maniacal laugh at ethan's face.

"your girlfriend's fiesty!" wayne laughed. "richie would have loved her." he said, watching as your face contorted in anger.

"you better shut up," ethan growled, brows furrowing as his fists clenched at his father's words.

sam was practically shaking with anger, the gun pointed right at wayne as she forced out, "what happens next? what, after you're done with us, you'll just disappear?"

"no! i gotta hurry over to the hospital to make sure mindy and gale won'e pull through— which will be harder because my dear son decided to intervene with mindy's stabbing last minute — because everybody dies, sam!" he pointed the gun right at her, ignoring the gun she had in her hand. "everyone who had anything to do with the death of my son suffers and dies."

yells of encouragement from wayne's wife and his daughter echoed in theatre. "so now," wayne said lowly, "sam, put on the mask."

sam's eyes fell, as she sighed, the indifferent look on her face making tara look at her in disbelief at what she was doing. "he was.. so pathetic."

"maybe not the best time to say that, sam!" chad said, hands gripping a brick he had found earlier.

"what? no he wasn't." wayne said, gun aimed straight at sam's chest.

"yeah, your son," sam said, finally looking up at wayne with emotionless eyes. "he was a man baby who made his girlfriend do all the killing." her eyes darted at you, your head lowering slightly in understanding. "he was a limp dick little fuck who cried before i slit his throat."

"shut the fuck up!" quinn screamed, running towards sam before chad slammed the brick against her head. sam immediately shot at ethan's mom, who ducked under her shots and tried to lunge towards her, making her dodge it quickly, groaning when she felt a cut to her stomach.

using your uninjured nondominant hand, you threw the knife at wayne, making it lodge deep inside his side before ethan kicked the hilt, making it dig deeper. his scream of pain only fueled you as you and the others took advantage of his weakness and ran. tara began climbing up the ladder with sam and chad hot on her heels.

but you and ethan stayed behind.

"go with the others! we'll take care of this!" ethan yelled at them, tara's eyes widening when she looked down at the both of you.

"are you crazy?!" tara screamed frantically, climbing into the balcony and looking down at you. "come with us!" a shot towards her made her duck, chad immediately going to cover her with his arm.

"we have to go," chad urged her, pushing her towards the exit.

you turned away from them, swallowing thickly as you looked at where wayne stood, his gun pointed right at your head. you ducked under another bullet he shot, ethan grabbing your arm and pulling you behind him as you dodged his bullets.

"just like you to run away, ethan!" wayne yelled, knife still in his side as he watched you.

ethan's mom hummed in agreement, golden eyes shining with vengeance as she walked closer and closer to you. "changing your last name," a shot from wayne, "moving across the country," another shot, "ignoring your brother's death!" she stood in front of you and ethan, knife glinting in the dim light. her eyes met ethan's. "i'd rather you have died instead."

that sentence had been circulating in ethan's head much longer than he would admit. hearing her say it only confirmed his past thoughts, but that only made him angrier. with how she treated her, he could barely call her his mother.

ethan's jaw clenched as she lunged forward with her knife, narrowly missing his stomach. he grabbed her head with his hands and kneed her in the face, making her groan but prevail. she slashed at his leg, the pain making him only wince before he was slamming a punch into her face.

a shot that grazed your arm made your head snap towards where it came from. wayne's crazed smile made you immediately duck as another shot was sent towards you, and another, all making you farther and farther away from where ethan was. "oh, y/n," wayne srawled as you hid behind a glass case, eyes darted around as you tried to look for something to defend yourself with.

"you know, we did a search on you— there never was a y/n vaughn until around 10 years ago." wayne peeked behind a glass case, disappointment flashing over his face that quickly disappeared.

the mention of your change of last name made you swallow hard, ears listening to your surroundings behind richie's homemade movie still playing on the projector. "someone went to great lengths to change your name, you know. couldn't even find anything in the department," another peek, only to find nothing behind the case. he scowled at that, his patience wearing thin. "no mention of any parents. no guardians— just child protective—"

you jumped on wayne's back, grabbing the knife from his side and using it to dig it into his shoulder, his gun firing behind him wildly as he tried to get you off of him. but you were far too agile, for as soon as you stuck and twisted the blade, you were gone again, hiding behind some souvenir with the knife in your hand.

a beat followed your attack, the sound only being your rapid heartbeat as you tried to calm yourself. you were weaker now, especially because of your wound that seemed to continuously gush blood.

another beat. another pause.

and then you heard the rapid footsteps.

it made you turn around as ethan fought his mom, and as you turned around you came face to face with quinn mid air as she jumped at you. your duck was a second too late before you found yourself pinned to the floor. your head hit the concrete ground with a sickening crack, the power of it making you dizzy as quinn raised her knife to her throat, her hand holding your wrist with your knife.

"i knew there was something off about you ever since i caught ethan staring at you," quinn seethed, her bloodied mouth and nose dropping blood onto your face. "i also knew," she began to grin bloodily, showing her missing teeth from chad's punch with the brick, "that you were just some slut who wanted to fuck a superhero."

you groaned as her knife pressed deeper against your neck, hard enough to draw blood.

"i should've known little ethan was spider-man. it makes sense you know— he's always been too much of a coward to do shit on his own—"

"you and your family talk too fucking much." you raised your injured hand to your knife, quickly grabbing the hilt before you stabbed her lower abdomen, using the knife to push her off of you and for you to get on top of her. taking your knife out, you raised your knife and stabbed it into her again, listening to her gurgles as you stabbed her again. and again. and again.

but you underestimated her thirst for revenge. quinn's hand went up to stab you in the middle of your torso, twisting it back and forth with a horrible squelch squelch sound. the pain was unimaginable, radiating out everywhere as she forced you off of her. you wanted to get up. you needed to get up, but you had lost so much blood already. consciousness kept slipping out of your fingers as you laid there on the ground, blood seeping out of your mouth.

and yet again, you were alone. you only heard water in your ears, as though you were submerged under the ocean. you knew quinn's dead body was next to you, but she had already long succumbed to her wounds.

and you would've too. it felt as though you were 16 again, sobbing after killing the first two people you had ever killed in your life, desperately needing someone to come along and hold you and comfort you. but as you stared up at the abyss of the black ceiling, you found the abyss staring back at you.

you had no one then and you had no one now. you had pushed everyone closest to you away. you had put yourself here.

and to die alone was a scary thing. to die alone would be to dying just like your father, shot dead right at the edge of freedom, right before he could go home to his little girl.

until you heard him. his frantic voice calling for you, and suddenly, the waves disappeared, and all you heard was him.

and when he saw you, he could only feel panic. ethan had felt all of his family members' deaths as they happened. first his sister, then his mother, then his father, who sam had come back to take care of on her own.

he had no one before, but he truly had no one now. no one except for you. and to see you practically choking on your own blood on the ground, he was frantic because he couldn't lose you.

ethan was too stubborn and too selfish to lose you. maybe he was more like you than he thought.

he rushed to you, lip quivering when he saw the state you were in. "hey— hey—" ethan's hand came to hold yours as he put your head on his lap.

tears pricked his eyes as he looked down at your face, so beaten up and weary, but still looking up at him.

studying him like your favorite painting. taking in the color of his cheeks, the color of his eyes, the color of his lips— everything. and weakly, your hand went up to trace his face like you always wanted to, shaking hands remembering his every angle. his every curve.

"ethan—" you choked on your own blood, tears falling from your eyes as you stared up at him. his lip was cut and he had horrible bruises all over his face, but he was here. you weren't alone. not when he was here.

"i'm here," ethan said, tears dropping onto your face. he swallowed thickly as his senses went off again and his father's anguished scream echoed through the theatre. millions of nerves in his body practically electrified him at once. and there went his father.

"it's over. it's done. it's over, y/n."

but there was no witty remark. nothing but your eyes staring up at him and blinking slowly with every passing second. still staring, still studying, still remembering.

because once you closed your eyes, you'd never be able to see your favorite painting again.

sam walked up to the both of you, face falling when she saw you in ethan's arms. he was holding you so tight to him, your head almost limp as you struggled to stay ground. "the ambulance will be here any minute," she forced out, unable to look at the deep hole in your torso.

"hurry," ethan begged, looking back down at you. his eyes widened as your head began to fall back, his heart pounding out of his chest as he struggled to keep you with him for just a little longer. "stay with me, okay? i need you to—" he choked on his own tears. "i need you to stay with me."

"i'm sorry," you breathed, hand caressing ethan's cheek softly as he cried. you wanted to punch whoever was up there playing with your fate. you wanted to curse them out for making you die now, right when you realized that you would stay as long as ethan asked you to.

"don't say that, please," ethan pleaded, brushing tears from your eyes as he sniffled harshly. "you'll make it up to me. you'll make it up to me for treating me like such shit," he reveled in the weak laugh you let out, his own tearful laugh escaping him, "and we'll be okay. the deal won't matter and we'll be okay."

ethan's lip quivered as he stared at you, your eyes half lidded as you struggled to keep yourself with him. "you just need to stay with me. that's all i want— y/n?" ethan's face fell when your eyes shut and didn't open again. he could feel cold rush through his body as he shook you.

"y/n, c'mon." ethan shook you again, tears blurring his vision as he tried to get you to wake up. he wanted you to open your eyes and smile that genuine smile of yours and call him stupid for ever thinking you'd die just like that. he wanted you to kiss him and tell him that everything was okay and that you would be oaky, and he'd take you to museums and watch you stare at your favorite pieces of art and ramble to him just like he does to you. he wanted that.

but he received nothing of the sort. nothing but the warmth that was slowly disappearing from your body.

"no, no, no, no—" a broken scream left ethan's lips as he hugged you tighter to his chest, his back heaving with repeated sobs. "don't leave me. don't leave me, please don't leave me, y/n," he begged you, pleading with a dying body for something akin to a miracle. ethan was begging something— a person or a god, it didn't matter —to keep you with him. but whoever he was begging to was cruel, because he received nothing. and ethan could only cry as he continued to beg.

the blanket was cold. ironic for its purpose, but that's all ethan could think about as he sat in the ambulance.

his family was dead. he was the last one alive, and maybe he would've felt better about if it he didn't continuously replay the image of the knife he wielded going into his mother's throat. or the sound of her drowning in her own blood before ethan heard his sister do the same.

he blamed it on the heightened senses.

they were retrieving your body now. they had to practically force ethan out first so that his wounds could be dealt with.

his emt was more than mildly surprised when she saw how his blood vessels were steadily healing. she gave him a bandage that he had to stitch up at the hospital (much to his chagrin). but ethan hadn't uttered a word ever since everything happened. his vocabulary didn't seem to stretch past just a few nods, shakes of his head, and grunts. his empty eyes couldn't even look up from the ground.

tara and sam were both getting patched up already. he guessed chad was doing the same, until he felt someone sit next to him with a sigh.

chad didn't say anything. he just sat with him, and maybe ethan appreciated that more.

"spider-man, huh?"

nevermind.

ethan could only nod once. he couldn't even manage a whole spiel on how he got bitten, or how he didn't want chad flaunting that his roommate was new york's friendliest hero. but chad understood that, because he only nodded in response. "nice."

silence enveloped the both of them as they sat next to each other in the ambulance. kirby passed by them on a stretcher, barely hanging on to her life, followed by three body bags. ethan almost turned away just at the sight of them, but he forced himself to look with angry tears slipping down his face.

he wished it was anyone but them. that whoever was behind the mask wasn't the very people ethan was trying to get away from, because it was different to have them be across the country instead of dead in a body bag. he was so full of anger towards them. for being so encompassed with revenge and vengefulness that it led to their own demise, that they hated ethan so much that they were willing to kill all his friends and him, that they resulted in your death. your lifeless body on the ground with a gruesomely made hole in your torso.

but then he saw the last stretcher come out, and his throat ran dry. it was you, attached to an oxygen mask and barely hanging on, but it was you.

EPILOGUE

#AUTHOR'S NOTE— posting this right before finals week lol but i hope you guys enjoyed! remember, there's still an epilogue so look out for that

#TAGLIST— @ethanlvndry , @iloveneilperry , @starsfilm , @goosenoggin , @aminatic , @wenvierismycomfort , @l5byrinth , @wroetoslut , @briefwinnerpersonaturtle , @oliviapopewannabe , @wzrlds , @raggedyoldwitch , @hotweeb , @marsyay78 , @valenftcrush , @bonkyandsteeb3000 , @bubs-world , @danis-stuff-is-here , @nuhteyam , @ravenstrueluv , @taeversity , @heartipods , @gcidrvsh , @theapulidooo , @volturi-girl-imagines , @duolingofanaccount , @buorke , @grxcisxhy-wp , @strangerdangerwrites , @mrslandryy , @michaelangdonsslut , @netey6m

#scream 6 imagines #scream 6 smut #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x y/n #scream fanfic #scream 6 fanfic #ethan landry fanfiction #to fault a net—!#scream 6 imagine #scream vi imagine #scream vi smut #scream vi imagines

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constant-mason24 · 6 months

Text

The Gut Feeling

Soap MacTavish x Reader

⚠️MODERN WARFARE THREE SPOILERS⚠️

Reader (Nicknamed Klepto for her scavenging skills) has a tendency to sense terrible events before they happen.

°•°•°•°•°

Klepto stood behind the others, leaning against a table full of weapons and gear. She wasn't listening as Laswell and Price spoke about whatever move they were making next, and her focus was suddenly brought back when Soap came and leaned up next to her.

"You good, lass?" He asked, quietly so they others wouldn't be interrupted. Klepto nods.

"Just thinking... Too much has been happening lately."

"Aye," MacTavish agreed with a sigh, moving his gaze to the others who were discussing some suspicious shipment at the moment. "The sooner we catch this bastard, the sooner I can rest easy."

"Same here." Klepto breathed. "I've got that feeling again."

"The stomach thing?" Soap raises a brow, looking over at the woman. "Like before Graves turned on us?"

"Exactly like that," She nods. "But twice as strong and it hasn't stopped for a week. I think something bads about to happen."

"We should let Price know."

"What good will that do? 'Hey, Cap. I don't feel so good, can I sit out this mission? No I know we need to kill this ultranationalist before he kills more civilians, but my tummy hurts.'" She elbowed Soap gently in the ribs, who pushed her back with the same amount of force.

"No, we should tell him you've got that... premonition again."

"Premonition?" Soap nods in response.

"That gut feeling of yours have saved my life quite a few times now. I know better than ignore your stomachaches."

"It's saved you?" Klepto asked, glancing st Price as he looked their way.

"Aye. It saved me in Las Almas. Twice. And in Chicago, and again in Verdansk." He lists them off on his fingers, about to speak again when Klepto waves her hand.

"But that doesn't mean Laswell and Price will just... what, stop everything? Because I seem to have an acute sense of danger?"

"They just might rethink their plans." Soap shrugs, clapping a hand on her shoulder and leading her towards the team. "Can't hurt to mention it."

Klepto just hums and nods, allowing MacTavish to lead her to the group. The conversation seemed to have lulled to a stop as they stepped into the circle.

"And what were you two discussing over there?" Price tilted his head, half teasing the pair. It was no secret they had a soft spot for each other.

"Klepto's sixth sense has been going haywire recently." Soap patted her shoulder before lowering hand. Ghost leans his head back with a slight nod, knowing full well about her 'sixth sense.' Everyone else just looked confused.

"She can always tell before something terrible is about to happen." Ghost grunts out, drawing the groups attention back to himself. "Took us a while to figure out that's what it meant. She's our very own canary in the coal mine."

"I just think something going to go wrong here. I can feel it. But I understand if that's not enough to act on, Captain." She nods at Price, trying to convey some kind of desperation in her eyes. "Still, I ask you not to take this lightly. I've never felt it this strongly before."

"We can't stop what's coming." Price shakes his head. "We can't afford to back out on this one. But we'll be especially careful, I can promise you that."

"I understand." She frowns. "This is too important."

"Right." Price went back to discussing the hacker Makarov had been working with. It seemed he was in London, and the taskforce was hoping to catch him this time...

°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The feeling was only getting worse. They were pushing through the train tunnel, Soap and Klepto following the Captain's lead. Between dodging fire from the Konni soldiers and the trains passing through every so often, Klepto was finding it hard to focus on anything happening.

The squad reached a point in the tunnel where the Konni men seemed to be staying in place. As they cleared the place, Soap pointed out that they were guarding a bomb, and Klepto's stomach did a flip.

"This is it!" She yelled, firing on an enemy and watching him bite the dust. "I feel it."

"I'll defuse the bomb. You two cover me!" Soap yelled sliding into place next to the bomb. More soldiers came from behind the team, and Price and Klepto laid down cover fire as Soap got to work on the bomb.

She planted herself right between Soap and the incoming troops, firing into the clouds of smoke that the enemy had popped. Soap called for Price to come help with the bomb, but Klepto didn't move from her post. She felt damn near nauseous now, the feeling only worsening as Ghost called through the radio.

Makarov was here. And he was closing in.

She back herself closer to the bomb, and her teammates with it. She focused all her attention on the tunnel ahead of her, trying to swallow down the feeling of illness climbing up her throat. Suddenly a shots rang out and a bullet slipped past Klepto- hitting Soap right on the plating.

Price tried to get Soap to return fire, but Soap argued he couldn't due to the bomb. Klepto took her place firing back at the enemy until it was clear and Price returned to the bomb.

Just as the two were about to defuse the bomb, footsteps and a gunshot came from behind Klepto, and she turned to see Soap falling to the ground as Makarov made a run for Price. One of Makarov's men fired at Klepto, and as she tried to hit them back, the bullet hit her shoulder and she went down.

Makarov tried to shoot Price, but as Klepto was recovering from her wound, so was Soap. MacTavish stood and leapt at Makarov with a knife, plunging it into the man's shoulder. Makarov grabbed Soap's arm, breaking it and raising his gun right to Soap's temple.

By this time, Klepto was on her feet, but she had lost her weapon. Still, she knew had to move, and she dropped her uninjured shoulder in front of her, charging at the man aiming at MacTavish.

Makarov's gun went off just before her hit the ground, and Klepto threw herself on top of the man. She landing punch after punch to his face before Makarov's soldiers reacted. One of them fired at her, hitting her right in the chest plate and knocking her off the man. As Makarov stood up, the second team suddenly came barreling behind them, shooting down the Konni.

The enemy took off running, and Gaz and Price ran quickly to the bomb. As much as they both wanted to give chase, defusing the explosive took priority.

The two cut the wires and the bomb deactivated, leaving Gaz with a sigh of relief. Captain Price seemed to take a moment before turning to Soap, Ghost, and Klepto.

Ghost was kneeling next to Soap's body, and Klepto sat with his head pulled into her lap. She had a piece of cloth ripped from a shirt held to his head, and Ghost moved his hand away from Soap's neck.

"Is he-?" Gaz asked, unable to finish his question.

"He's alive." Ghost breathed heavily. "Broken arm and a graze to his head, but he's alive."

"Thank fucking God." Price groaned, standing over the rest of the team. Gaz knelt down to put pressure on Klepto's shoulder, chastising her for ignoring her own wounds as she was losing blood.

"All stations- this is Bravo in the blind. Threat neutralized. Bomb is safe. Two WIA." Price huffed into his comms, as Gaz took Klepto's weight upon himself as he helped her stand.

"He's okay." She mumbled, feeling dizzy from blood loss. "He's okay."

"You won't be, if we don't get you medEVAC soon." Ghost grumbled, lifting Johnny up as well. Price led the way, gun raised as the rest of his team limped to freedom behind him.

#soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #call of duty mw3 #cod x reader #mw3 #mw3 spoilers #cod spoilers #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #call of duty

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ilenissu · 1 year

Text

This is short and shitty but women's day transfem!Stevie x cis!Eddie for your souls

It started off simple with cropped shirts and lip gloss. Eddie didn't think much of it at first, just complimenting his boyfriend's outfit and 'pretty raspberry pink lips' and basking in the light radiating from Steve as he did so.

When Steve started growing his hair out, Eddie cheered happily. They could finally braid each other's hair, although Eddie wasn't as good at it as Steve was. He finally had a model (and an excuse) to learn.

Then, one day, when the kids started fighting over who gets to call shotgun, Eddie shushed everyone bluntly and opened the door for Steve instead. "This carriage is meant for a princess". The look of pure bewilderment on the kids' faces were nothing compared to the blush on Steve's cheeks.

Steve went shopping with Nancy and Robin at least once a week - unless there was a special occasion, then even more often. His makeup developed into much more complicated eyeliner+shadow combinations. He got his ears pierced and picked out little silver flowers as his healing rings. Also, there were the sparkly (and quite long, almond shaped) nails.

Then he heard it. Robin talking to Nancy as he walked into Family Video to deliver his two favourite people their lunch.

"Stevie's not coming. She's got a date night with Munson... I don't know, but I don't think she told him. I've been trying to tell her he won't mind or be a dick about it, but she INSISTS the guy will leave her cause she's not 'a guy' anymore. I know, total bullshit."

Eddie stoos there, frozen. Leaving the lunch on the counter, he ran out of the store before anyone even noticed his entrance.

March 8th. With a huge bouquet of pink and red roses, a box of cherry-filled chocolates and a bottle of champagne in a white, festive basket, he knocked on the Harringtons' door.

Nancy opened. Well, that wasn't the lady he was expecting, but he had to make do.

"Eddie. No offence, but we're having a closed group meeting."

Eddie blinked, but soon shook his head quickly. "I respect that. I just wanted to give my... the owner of this house... a gift." He cleared his throat.

Nancy raised her eyebrow. "You want Harrington to have this? Sure. I'll hand it over. Anything else?"

Well. That was rude. He took another deep breath. "Dude. I know you guys are busy but I just want to wish her happy women's day and I'll be on my way. Here," he pulled a single rose out of the bouquet and handed it to Nancy.

She snorted. "Trying to bribe me?"

"It's a token of friendship. And feminism."

"What's taking so long, Nance, did the pizza guy kidnap you or something?!" Robin's voice was heard from inside the house along with some shuffling and grumbling. Soon enough, the love of Eddie's life stood in the hallway, staring at him in shock.

"Hey, baby," Eddie offered a small wave along with a soft smile that made Nancy completely abort her mission of blocking the doorway and disappear into the living room.

"What are you- I didn't know you were coming over- What's-" Stevie's brows furrowed, the makeup making the whole thing even cuter if that was even possible. "What's that?"

Eddie raised the basket a bit. "It's for you."

Another frown. "Why?"

"March 8th. Every fair woman deserves a bunch of flowers almost as pretty as her, hm?"

The look of pure panic made Eddie backtrack. Oh, he fucked up. Stevie wasn't ready, Robin had been joking, he misread EVERYTHING.

Just as he was spiralling, Stevie ducked her head and soon threw herself at Eddie, wrapping both arms around his neck and clinging onto him as she sobbed into his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, come on- It's that bad?" Eddie offered quietly, wrapping his free arm around his partner's trembling body.

"You- You don't mind?"

"Jesus, baby, I loved the living shit out of Steve, and if you'll let me I'll love the living shit out of a much happier Stevie. So if that's okay, if you still want this, I'd love you to be my girlfriend. How does that sound?"

"But you're-"

"Stevie. You're doing the thing. Self-sabotage? I don't care about labels, when I have the love of my life in my arms. And if she happens to be a girl, then a girl I shall be attracted to."

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steve x eddie #st4 #steveddie #eddie x steve #transfem steve harrington

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bonefall · 3 months

Note

Do you have a design for Bright Storm? I'm fond of the wise older figure thing you're doing with her

I do NOW

Made her, as well as a revamp of my old Thunder Storm design (I last drew him like a year ago!!) in preparation for some character summaries I plan to bang out after finishing a couple drafts, but Bright in particular gets requested so much (anon you're like the 4th person) that HERE, lady girl and her son be upon ye

I'm thinking about doing the BB!DOTC character summaries in "family" posts, so they're all grouped together the way I plan them to act in the story. Every family is telling a little mini-story of its own, in a way, from the Frost family and their inventing prowess, to the Heart family and how the kits react to Bumble's exile, to the Storm family and how they grapple with Clear Sky's influence.

I wanted to make sure Bright Storm was very large and powerful looking, but in a round, kind of "humble" way. She downplays her strength, her intelligence, and even her better judgement.

So she has these big cheeks, fluffy primordial pouch, poofy tail, keeps her head low-ish. Tends to deny compliments.

I was commiserating with my partner the other day about how intelligent characters aren't allowed to be thick-bodied. So between my fat, beloved Bumble the translator and Bright Storm the wise woman battle strategist I'm feeding us both

I needed to "finalize" their stripe pattern, because I actually plan for TIGERSTAR to have the same one. I'm probably going to update my Tawnypelt and Bramblestar designs to have it too; if they don't look better with Goldenflower's.

I just like the irony and bitterness of it. That these ancient stripes, once so associated with compassion and righteous fury, turn into a "legacy" so divorced from what Thunder Storm and Bright Storm stood for.

Becoming a symbol for the idea of modern ThunderClan and the culture of the new times, not the principles it was founded on.

Also I HAD to do the design thing where Thunder Storm's stripes look like top surgery scars lmao, my beloved transmasc boy

Anyway, I've decided that Thunder Storm was a REALLY dark orange. It bugs me a little, especially in-canon, that he looks nothing like either parent. So in BB he's not too far off color-wise from his mama.

I also removed the old "mane" and replaced it with combination white chest + his father's shoulder burls. The mane is going to become a Forest Cat trait, which is why it's going to get so prominent in ThunderClan.

Instead, Mountain Cats have a REALLY high concentration of ear tufts in their genes. They're also huge and generally hairy.

Funny enough though they're also "oily." They come from the Lake Cat population which was pretty water-resistant because of constantly dealing with the lake, and they haven't lived in the Mountains long enough for natural selection to get rid of it.

It's going to become SUPER advantageous for those who move to the River Kingdom, but become less prominent in the other populations.

But for now, Mountain Cats are kinda... well, naturally 'stinky.' That's not a BAD thing to cats who are animals who LIKE strong smells, but it is a notable trait that I'd like The Wind Runner in particular to comment on.

Thunder Storm: "Well? What did she say?"

Bumble: "Ummmmmm......"

Thunder Storm: "be honest"

Bumble: "she says she smelled you coming when you were upwind. rudely."

99% of the time when I'm changing character eye colors, it's to make them NOT blue because there's too many blue-eyed characters in WC imo. BUT.

I think it was another tiny waste to have the narrative constantly stressing Clear Sky's blue, blue eyes, almost like they're hypnotizing, and then they never really comment on what Thunder's eye color signals to other people.

So I've got an idea; instead of amber, Thunder Storm has ELECTRIC BLUE eyes. Almost green, like his mother's minty ones.

Intense as his father's, but more focused. Sharp. Shocking.

Side note: in my research I actually learned it's easier for tripod cats to RUN than it is for them to walk. They can "canter" like a horse, but when they go slow they have to hop. Taking this into consideration.

I put a splash of white on the little bit of lower limb that Thunder Storm has on the leg, so it sticks out a bit more. I don't want it to be hidden I want it to be prominent

I also figured out a hilarious trick for Bright Storm to pull on Sky's Clan at some point lmao

Thunder's crew is in conflict with Sky's cats and the attacks are getting more and more frequent. They decide they need some extra time to carry out some kind of hunt or diplomatic mission, but Bright Storm only has a small group of cats to pull off a stunt with.

She knows she can't fight them head on, but she NEEDS to buy her son more time, so she hatches a plan.

Clear Sky values his intelligence and his ferocity very much. To a fault, even. He loves to outsmart his opponents and overpower them-- so Bright Storm gets all her cats to build a very large, very tall, nearly impenetrable wall out of briar thorns. There's only one way in; the well-guarded tunnel they've constructed in the front.

It would be a challenge for a lesser cat. But Clear Sky, clever devil he is, realizes they've made a fatal flaw; they've built their camp right next to the trees. His fighters don't need to jump over the wall or push through it, the oaks are their allies!

So, while Thunder's cats are all surely sleeping, he gathers his best men and come through the canopy. In well-trained patrols, they swoop down into the camp and prepare for battle.

and no one is there.

You see, there was only one way in... and only one way out.

And Clear Sky and his best fighters watch with HORROR as the tiny crew of guards seals that entrance up like the neck of a bag. There are no trees to climb INSIDE the wall, and it's too tall to hop out of. It won't hold them forever, but it will hold them JUST LONG ENOUGH.

Bright calls this little plan "Operation Timeout."

#I can't help it. Ever since I mentioned how cool a warlord gray wing would be now I can't stop thinking about Bright Storm doing--#Art of War Looney Tunes tactics lmao #LET THE BATTLE CATS BATTLE #BB!DOTC #BB!Bright Storm #BB!Thunder Storm #BB!Thunderstar #Better Bones AU #It feels very fitting for Bright to have a lot of very ''annoying'' but nonlethal plans like that #Though she CAN and WILL hurt others to defend her family #She doesn't LIKE doing that.#One thing I do want her to keep from Gray is his aversion to violence #But unlike him she's able to come to terms with the fact she HAS to defend what she loves.#And though a lot of it does come from the love she had for Clear... it also comes from her compassion and kindness towards others.#She's been lead astray and blinded by her love of him in the past (especially in how she abetted what happened to Bumble)#But unlike Canon!Gray she's ashamed of what she did after she sits with the consequences #She doesn't want to hurt anyone. But she did. She let it happen. Contributed even #And that's rough.#YOUR HONOR. I LIKE HER.

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whateverisbeautiful · 3 months

Text

♥️ Ranking Richonne

#20: I Don't Have A Problem (S3E12)

Clear. 🤩 One of The Walking Dead's best episodes for many reasons, but especially for the beautiful seeds it planted between Rick and Michonne. The fence is where their lives became interlocked, and Clear is the start of where their hearts became interlocked. And in this scene right here, Richonne became absolutely inevitable...

This whole episode is something special, and I love Rick and Michonne's every interaction, with an honorable mention to their “the mat said welcome” scene. 😋 From the moment they met, these two had some romantic tension brewing, and it nearly boils over in this scene that just had to make the top 20.

Rick has brought Carl on his first run and decided to bring Michonne along to help and to see what she’s about. It'll forever be telling to me that Rick felt comfortable enough to have Michonne on this run alone with him and his kid.

Despite some arguing that Rick was strictly skeptical of Michonne during this era of their relationship, I think the fact that he brought her out here to his former neighborhood and then, even more, let Michonne go out unsupervised on a crib run with Carl showed that there was some level of trust here that I don't think Rick would give to just anybody. Like while Rick initially tried to fight how drawn he was to Michonne in season 3, his behavior with her still painted a clear picture that to him...

And Michonne shows both Rick and Carl just how special she is and proves that she’s the real deal in all aspects throughout the episode. Especially in this scene here.

So what I love about this scene is that in a moment where Rick is feeling visibly frustrated and disappointed, Michonne’s regal calm spirit practically tames his defensive energy. He asks if she has a problem with the new approach they have to take, despite her showing no signs of having an issue. And Rick asking this will just always make me amused because no one got him hot and bothered quite like Michonne just existing.

Like she was silent for a literal second, but that was enough to evoke a reaction from him. And Andy, to me, found the perfect way to ask where it was defensive without sounding overtly challenging or particularly offputting.

And then Danai just makes all the right choices in this scene cuz Michonne knows that she doesn’t need to match that testy energy. Instead, she turns slowly and looks right at Rick and sets the tone by gently saying, “No Rick, I don’t have a problem.” 👏🏽👑

Something about even just her saying his name has some weight to it. And I love that this is the approach she takes. This is genuinely me every time I hear Michonne perfectly deliver that line...

Michonne had been a bit quieter and apart from the group prior, and this line is her elegant offering to let Rick know she isn’t his opponent and wants to help - that she isn’t a problem and doesn’t have a problem, not with his approach, or just doesn’t have a problem in general that he has to worry about.

And then to make that verbal offering of her alliance even more physical, Michonne hands Rick the lone bullet she picked up. Rick takes it and the way they focus on their hands again feels like it’s an important exchange. It’s like their first peace offering. And it’s one of the first of many things Michonne and Rick will hand each other, including a very special pack of mints that parallels this scene a bit. 😊

I love that Carl is visible in this scene and noting this exchange between his dad and the woman who will become his mom and his best friend. Carl knew something was up here and that something was different about this. He was still skeptical of Michonne at this point, but I think it was at this moment he began to tell that Michonne has some sort of unique impact on his dad.

This scene is also special because this is Rick in the freshest stage of being a single dad. He has to raise his son, who went through the trauma of having to put down his mom, and he also has a newborn to take care of, who he knows is actually Lori and Shane’s baby. And he has to deal with all this madness with the Governor. The weight of the world was on Rick's shoulders, and you see him really frustrated that the lack of guns at the station is yet another L. But Michonne is just so calm about it which is the energy he truly needs in his life.

She just asked if there’s a new solution cuz she only envisions winning. Even just when hearing Rick earlier explain how he was the police in this small town and there are other places to check and all that you can tell that he’s used to being second-guessed and challenged by people, and having to prove himself...But Michonne isn’t other people. She gets him, and she’s not rattled by their situation, so he doesn’t have to prove himself.

I also love how, even as they speak, it’s tense but not harsh. There’s just always this passion pulsating between them, even as strangers.

There’s so much power in the fact that Michonne wasn’t hostile back, but rather calm, collected, and compassionate. The way she looks at him here just says she sees Rick in a deeper way than most. Even that early in their relationship, she understood him.

So even with Rick bugging out, it doesn’t intimidate her or put her off, Michonne gets it and she handles it beautifully. If Rick and Carl didn’t know they were rocking with a queen before then, they knew now.

And y’all, I know Rick knew they were with someone special because of his reaction after this exchange.

Rick’s reaction to Michonne after she hands him the bullet and looks right in his eyes with that soft knowing expression before walking away is the cherry on top of this golden scene because homeboy looks like he’s been fully enchanted. Like Rick's whole energy is giving...

Rick pockets the bullet and takes a whole moment to collect himself after the way Michonne looked at him. His look up to the sky was a 'dang, can Lori see me falling for another woman in just a few short days?' look. #DirectMindQuote 😂

Rick and Michonne felt a spark right then and there. I know it. And no characters would have an exchange like this unless it was a seed toward something romantic growing.

Even deeper than that, I love that this moment was an insight into so much of what makes Rick and Michonne's relationship special. They can speak to each other and reach each other in any state. They can be a calming presence. They can enchant each other. They are so clearly the exact type of person the other needs in their life. They have such a unique and positive influence on each other, and this was the beginning of many moments that show that.

I love that it was this moment that had even Danai wondering if Rick and Michonne were endgame and that it was then confirmed that for Gimple, Richonne really was in the works during this episode. I mean after an exchange like this, the road to Rick and Michonne falling in love was pretty much guaranteed.

So I love seeing Rick and Michonne in this early stage, especially knowing they will go on to become beloved family to each other in the fullest sense. #Husband&Wife 😌

#richonne #top 30 #number 20 #rick x michonne #reveling in richonne #twd 3.12 #top 20 #twd towl #the ones who live

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ohbo-ohno · 6 months

Note

congratuwelldone on 1k! well deserved!! how about 'being followed' for the prompt game?

-391780

1k game here - no more please!

i know it's been DAYS lmao im so sorry for dropping off on these. i actually forgot how to speak english for like 4 days there. anyways!!! @391780 tysm for the prompt! i went with price since i know he's your guy :) hope i did him justice!

1.2k of walking home from the bar and running into price. no smut! very sweet actually, i think (cw for implied past bullying in like 3 lines)

Your hands are buried deep in your pockets, one hand wrapped around a can of pepper spray and the other trying not to shake.

God, it's cold. Your nose has gone completely numb, and every puff of breath nearly blinds you until the air clears again.

You curse your past-self for ever being stupid enough to go out with an old group of high school friends. You should've known they'd leave you stranded, and you certainly should've known better than to not take your own car to the pub.

Now here you are, a couple glasses of wine in, taking the miserably long walk home.

It's shameful. You're shamed.

You're so caught up in your own self-pity, you don't even notice that there's someone following you, the crunch of ice and sleet beneath their boots loud. You don't notice until there's a hand wrapping around your elbow, and a low voice saying, "Excuse me, miss-"

You don't think, just react. You're already screaming as you whirl around with your pepper spray held high, spraying it into the night air.

To line up with the rest of your horrible night, it doesn't work. You push down the button at the top over and over again, and yet nothing comes out.

You and the stranger stare at each other, both with wide-eyed shocked expressions.

He's far more properly bundled up than you, with a matching knit hat, scarf, and gloves, and a thick green jacket that looks impossibly warm. You can still see that the tip of his nose is red, even surrounded by all of the bushy facial hair he's got.

You both stand silent for a few moments, your aggressive taps to the top of your pepper spray slowly petering off. Then it just gets... awkward. Just you and the stranger you'd try to pepper spray.

"Uh," you finally say, taking a few steps back from him. His hand falls away easily, but he's quick to reach out and try to steady you again when your heel slips against the sidewalk. "Can I help you?"

He makes a low sound, somewhere between a noise of disbelief and a laugh, and his whiskers twitch around his face. "I was trying to help you, love." He holds a small black square out to you. "You dropped your wallet."

It's hard not to let your mouth hang open, but you manage to keep some of your dignity. Instead of gaping, you snatch the little square of leather with fingers that are just barely shaking, stuffing it and the pepper spray back into your pockets.

"And you thought it would be a good idea to follow me - for multiple blocks - and grab me?"

He rubs his chin with a gloved hand, and you're quite sure that if it were any brighter out you'd see a blush coloring his cheeks. "Well," he gruffs, voice deepening slightly before he clears his throat and starts again. "I suppose I hadn't thought of how it might seem to you."

"A stranger grabbing my arm in the middle of the night? You hadn't thought of how that might look?"

Now you can see his blush. "I'm sorry for the scare, love, truly. Better off scared than without a wallet though, yeah?"

You're still a little shaken up, so you cross your arms tight over your chest and turn up your nose as much as you can. It doesn't work too well, considering no matter how much you try to look down at him he still towers over you.

"I guess," you concede. "Still. It's bad manners to scare a woman like that."

Now he smiles, his eyes crinkling. "Well, I wouldn't want you to think I don't know my manners. How about I take you to dinner, to make up for it?"

Your first instinct is to say no, to continue on your way home and keep an eye out for any shadows following you. And maybe it's the few glasses of wine, the rejection you're still nursing, but it occurs to you that it has been quite some time since you went on a date.

You give the stranger another long look. He's tall and broad, big in a way that sparks interest low in your belly. He's also blocking the wind from chilling you further, and you're not in any rush to lose that.

You sniff, shift a little and roll back your shoulders. "Why?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "Why?"

You make a hurried little gesture with your hand, like yes, obviously.

"Does a man need a reason to ask a pretty woman on a date?"

"He does when he's just followed her several blocks from a bar."

He laughs again, a harsh, booming sound in the nearly empty street. "You're not going to let that go anytime soon, are you?"

You try to bite back the small smile you can feel growing, know you fail when his own grin grows. "No, I don't think I will."

He steps a little closer, offering an arm. "Good. I like a woman with a spine."

You laugh as you take his arm, leaning probably a little too close considering this man is still a stranger. "You'll get all that and a little more with me. Now, if you expect a date, we're going to have to find the closest breakfast place."

He hums, tugging you a little closer and beginning to walk a different direction that your house. "Breakfast?"

"Yep," you pop the 'p', just barely resisting the urge to burrow further into him. He's warm. "I've had wine, which means I need pancakes. No pancakes, no date."

He laughs again, and you feel the vibrations through his side. You can't help but giggle yourself, feeling unexpectedly comfortable.

"Pancakes it is, then. By the way, what's your name, love?"

You tell him, then he repeats it back to you.

"I'm John. John Price."

"Do you carry an ID? I should send someone a picture if we head off together. Make sure they can find my body and all that."

He shoots you a bemused glance, eyebrow raised. "If you're worried I might hurt you, shouldn't you be running the other direction?"

You roll your eyes. "If I ran away from every person I thought might hurt me, I'd never go on a single date again. Is that a no to the ID question, then? Because I'm afraid we'll be cutting our date early if that's the case."

"No, no," he assures, digging his own wallet out of his pants. He holds out his ID a moment later, and you pluck it easily from his fingers with your phone camera already pulled out. "It's good you're so vigilant, love. Feel free to send that to whoever you'd like."

You hum, snapping a picture and quickly making sure it's come out clearly before texting it to your best friend with a quick recap of your little meet-cute. "Military?"

"Yes, ma'am. Captain."

You nod like you know what that means, tucking your phone away again and nudging him forward. "Are you important, then?"

He laughs, this time wrapping an arm around your shoulder and tucking you into his side. "Something like that. Now, I believe you demanded pancakes?"

You can't help but giggle at the word demanded, doing your best to nod seriously. "Of course. Lead the way, Captain."

He hums, rubbing your shoulder, and you can't help but feel hopeful for where the night will go.

#this one kinda got away from me im sorry 🫠#1k celebration #john price x reader #price x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #bo writes #391780

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espinosaurusrexex · 1 year

Text

Flooded

SteveRogers x Female!Reader

summary: There was something off in the air that morning - Y/N should have known. But bad things always happen when you least expect them. The life she was living was threatened by the one secret she hoped would never be revealed. And now that it had, there was no going back.

a/n: Welcome to heartbreak city! This is dedicated to my 2015 teen wolf obsession (make sure to tell me when you find the passage). I know it's sad and angsty; but I put a bunch of fluff in there too. I hope you enjoy - as always, feedback is appreciated!

word count: 5.5k

warnings: torture, trauma, drowning, experimenting on people (in flashbacks), mentions of abuse, mentions of dying, angst (in case that wasn't clear), swearing, idiots in love, fluff, and a happy ending :)

I don't think the bad parts are super descriptive, but please do not read if anything mentioned in the warnings makes you uncomfortable (18+ only!).

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

This just captures the vibe too well. You'll know the passage... i'll never fall in love with myself - Zeph

It’s normal to feel your heart in your head right? Like it’s pounding so hard that it literally makes your veins jump beneath your skin? There was a rush of adrenaline shooting through Y/N‘s Body. Pain sharp as lightning zickzacking its way down her spine and up again. Her lungs felt tight. Solid. As if they were of stone weighing her down and not giving in to her urge to breathe. It felt like that. And the look at the rusted metal door with the white number ’15’ brought back an awful lot of pain. Blue and green splashing their way through her brain, voices layering over one another, and a distinct smell of chemicals in her nose. Oh no. She was back there. Right now. How was that possible? How did it get that far? Were there not a bunch of people making sure that this would never happen to her again? A shiver overtook her but at the same time, sweat assembled on her skin. The room was wet and moldy and sterile all at once. No. No. No. She escaped, she was safe - fought her way through hell to get there. There was no way this was really happening.

Dull voices broke through to her. “We’re at 12 Minutes”. “180, going down”. Beeping of sorts and then - somehow, through all the water and noise, the unremarkable sound of pen on paper. What an odd thing to remember, right? But Y/N recalled thinking ‘what an odd thing to hear’ back then. Not now, though. Now it was… normal. But that day it wasn’t. It was in fact the very first time it had ever happened and the moment everyone had seemed to work towards. Even if Y/N didn’t know it back then, she was the breakthrough Hydra needed to create yet another group of human weapons. One that luckily never saw the light of day.

They didn’t know. And it should stay that way. Y/N didn’t want to be associated with Hydra anymore. She never did. She wanted to be herself when she joined the Avengers. A woman with power and endurance and, well, certain enhanced abilities. There was one person that knew how she got them, and that person was Nick Fury. But he had promised to keep his mouth shut. Y/N held onto that promise because it kept her from losing her mind - reminded her that she became who she was without their help. She had escaped, and fought, and grieved, and wept in order to get over that old self. And yet, despite all the hard work, she was in that old skin again.

It shouldn’t be possible though. She had put a recognizable amount of time into burying every piece of evidence of her past life - Her dumb anxiety included. But here it was: dark and strong and the thing that would ruin everything, every piece of harmony she had associated with its absence.

Y/N was frozen to the ground, the image of the door branding itself into her mind and leaving a burning hole in its wake that made her head feel blank. Because that’s how it had always been: at first there is so much going on in your head that it feels like exploding and then, all of a sudden, it's wiped off everything. And all you are left with is this shell of a body that is not responsive to anything.

She didn’t know how long she had been standing in that hallway. A minute? Maybe an hour? Time moves differently when you’re not really there. But after whatever amount of time had passed, another voice rang through to her. A deep, and reasoning one, pressing and dripping of worry, though. Y/N shook her head. Steve. Steve was here.

❁ ❁ ❁

“I can’t have my team zoning out on missions.” The impatient voice echoed through the room accommodated by an expensive pair of shoes clicking on the polished floor. “We’ve had the problem before and I don’t like being lied to. Tell me what’s going on or she’s off.” Toni was pacing the floor of the common room until he came to a stop in front of Fury with his hands resting on his hips impatiently. But the man dressed in black didn’t do so much as move a muscle. He was casually lounging on the cushioned chair, waiting for his employee to finish.

“This might not feel like a big problem to you, Nick, but wait until half the Avengers are wiped out because Will Byers over here risks their lives by not cooperating.” Fury’s eye twitched when it lifted to the woman tugged into the corner. She had already been staring at him, trying to drag out the unavoidable, but there was no stopping this. She knew that, and he knew that too.

“I can’t.” He said while still staring at Y/N. Nick would have done everything to prevent this very moment from happening, he had kept his promise for years. But this - this was the signal for her to know: ‘It’s on you now. You make the call.’

Y/N stared down at her hands that were nervously fumbling in her lap. Though from a distance it might have looked like she was disinterestedly avoiding everyone's eyes on her. Because they were - especially a specific pair of blue ones. Every single person in the room was expecting her to say something. Even more so the man whose worried expression hadn’t faded ever since he had dragged her out of that base hours ago. And even now - away from harm and safely huddled in the confines of the compound, his unrelenting stare was drenched in fear and urgency. Y/N didn't even have to look up to confirm her suspicions. Steve had not moved ever since she sat down in that chair, his arms crossed, shoulders hunched, and eyebrow furrowed as his gaze locked on her. He probably tried to find something - a twitch of a brow or the corner of her mouth - something to tell him that she was okay. But Y/N fought with everything she had not to give him that - because she was in fact not okay. She was far from it, and the storm of emotions rioting through her stomach did very well prove it as nausea crept up her throat.

She was about to reveal the very thing she had kept hidden for years - something she never thought would get dug up again. But here she was: moments away from having every assumption about her changed for the worse. And Y/N hated it. She hated that this would be defining who she was from now on. Because it always did. It happened with Bucky and it happened with Wanda, hell even Steve didn’t get away without being associated with Hydra. Even if his story bore a different relationship to the World War II organization.

Y/N didn’t want to tell them, but deep down she knew that she would. Because what were her other options? Leaving the Avengers and drowning in sorrow over the lost family she had gained not too many years ago? God, that sounded like the villain origin story. No, she had to come clean, even if it hurt her and her status and possibly every other person surrounding her right now.

A wave of heat overtook her body, but her hands were cold. There was no going back - Y/N owed it to the team. Tony had every right to know what had put his people in danger today, but that didn’t change the fact that it would hurt nonetheless. Because she would be brought back there in her mind. And when she slowly inhaled to talk again, she tried to remember what it felt like to be free, even if the rushing of water already flooded her ears.

“You know when you’re drowning you don’t actually inhale until right before you black out.” Y/N was still staring at her fingers, desperately holding onto something she could feel. She was nervous to say the least, even if she knew exactly what her next words were going to be.

“It’s called voluntary apnea.” She had known it for years, starting with picking up pieces of conversation in the labs and ending with a reality-shattering file search that settled the gravity of what had actually happened to her. Y/N closed her eyes as she remembered that day, trying to hold the hot tears pooling in her eyes at bay.

“It’s like no matter how much you’re freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding.” We’re at 12 minutes. 180, going down. Just fucking breathe. “Then when you finally do let it in, that’s when it stops hurting.” Her voice was shaky now but she was determined to pull through. Though her head was still hanging low - almost ashamed at what she was going to say next. “It’s not scary anymore, it’s… it’s actually kind of peaceful.” She shrugged weakly. “At least that’s what I told myself.”

She paused then, mentally preparing for the next part was impossible, but for some reason, she still couldn’t get it over with. This was it. This was the moment she was going to change in their eyes. The moment she would turn into a charity case that deserved nothing but sad looks and encouraging shoulder taps. And the thought of that made the lump in her throat grow. One last shaky breath and then she finally looked up, eyes locking with that of a blonde Super Soldier whose posture had faltered drastically since she last looked at him. A grey and brooding shadow had overtaken his cerulean orbs and it was shaking with the plead that settled in between: ‘Please tell me that’s not true.’

The first tear found its way down Y/N’s cheek, goosebumps rippling through her but her next words were said steadier than ever before. “I drowned in that room. One hundred and eighty-six times.”

And there it was: pity. Thick and unmistakable - smeared all over their faces. Y/N didn’t want it - dismissed it like a hot plate, pushing it further and further away from her on the table until she, herself, was backed up against the wall. They should stop pitying her. Try to feel what she felt but that proved itself difficult. Because Y/N didn’t feel anything. She’d expected to hear the voices in her head shouting numbers or smell the sterile smell of sanitizer or be unable to move - anything. But her mind was blank. It had all stopped buzzing as soon as she had stopped talking. With that last syllable, all the flashbacks faded into darkness and all that was left was this huge empty space. And she reveled in the calmness in her head for a second, but then Steve stepped forward with a heartbreaking look on his face and when he said her name and reached out his hand, that’s when her pulse picked up.

Y/N couldn’t do this - not from Steve, who was the only person whose opinion really mattered to her. Those dreadful eyes bored into hers when she sprung up from the chair, legs screeching over the dark floor, and then, she bolted.

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve watched as Y/N ran out of the common room, a blank stare covering his features while his heart grew heavy with every step she took from him.

“Why didn’t you tell us?!” Tony screamed.

“She didn’t want you to know.” Fury answered, and his voice hosted a sense of sadness.

Y/N. A Hydra experiment. And Steve hadn't known. He would have never known had they not happened to raid the base she had been kept at. It killed Steve to know that he could have prevented today from happening. He could’ve told Fury what a bad idea it was had he just known. But he didn’t. Somehow it unsettled him that Y/n chose not to tell him. It was traumatic and painful but did she really think that he would judge her for it? He of all people. No, he would never.

A look at Bucky rattled another zap of pain through his bones. His friend had this distinct mystery etched on his face. And when Steve shot him a questioning glare, Bucky jerked his head to the side, signaling for the blonde to follow him.

Bucky’s shoulders were stiff when Steve watched them leading the way to a private lounge area and the spring in his step slightly faltered.

When he had woken up that morning, Steve would have never guessed that the day would bring such dramatics. It was a simple mission - one he had done several times, too. And yet it could have not gone worse than today. Steve couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him, he knew that. His position as Captain didn’t allow him to let them lead his choices. But right now, with Bucky visibly agitated and Y/N clearly upset as well, that duty seemed near impossible. He cared too much for both of those people.

Bucky stopped by the window, his gaze focused outside where the rain pattered aggressively against the concrete. He swallowed thickly before his head turned to his best friend.

“I think I remember her, Steve... I remember seeing her in the base.” Bucky finally confessed, though there was a distance in his words. And despite the information doing fairly little to calm Steve’s nerves, he was glad that his friend condoned in him.

“You do?” A hopeful wave of emotions washed him over, suggesting that he might get a little more information about Y/N’s situation. And that maybe... he had been looking out for her back then. Yes, Bucky was most certainly sedated by hydra at that time, but the Winter Soldier had proven time and time again that he was not completely clouding Bucky and his sense for the good.

“I was there. I was-“ Bucky stopped as if he had suddenly said too much. A dreadful look overtook his eyes before his jaw wired shut and Steve’s hopeful feelings vanished.

“What? What is it?” He pressed, but his friend remained silent.

Panic rose in his chest with every second filling the quiet and Steve couldn’t help but feel like the words Bucky had withheld from him drew far heavier consequences than he had anticipated.

“I - I can’t tell you that, Steve. I think you should talk to her.”

Why did everyone decide they had to hide things from him today? What could have possibly been so bad?

“Anything else I should know?” Steve asked stiffly, a slight coldness overtaking his mind.

Bucky shook his head with what looked like guilt. Nonetheless, after a frustrated huff, Steve thanked Bucky and made his way to the dormitories.

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed before his chest and a worrisome look pressing on his features. But Y/N just stared blankly ahead, ignoring the boring stare from the hallway. She didn’t want him to be here. Because he was - and that Y/N was 100 percent certain of - here to tell her things she didn’t want to hear.

Their relationship had just recently reached the brooding edges of the pot. So close to overflowing into uncharted territory for the both of them. But for once in her life, Y/N had been excited about where it spilled. She wanted to feel the burning hot sensation on her skin and be dragged down into its endless abyss of warm feelings and excitement. But the information she had just dropped had taken the pot from the flame. She knew it the moment her eyes met Steve’s. They were dull, and lifeless, and sad. He had probably registered how much work she would be - would not see her as equal anymore. More of a menace than someone he could actually enjoy life with. And it broke her heart.

To say the least, there were far more parts of hers broken than her heart at this point. But Y/N didn’t know how to cope with them. For all her life, she had pushed it away. Brushed it off like it was nothing except a memory destined for her past, only allowed to creep to the surface when the dark corners of her mind leaked into the rational part of her. These times were not with people, especially not Steve - who was her captain and something more... up until now, that was.

Nonetheless, she needed a friend and Steve was the closest thing to that. Since more was probably not within her reach anytime soon, she decided to give into the nagging urge to spill every feeling on the floor before her. She looked up at him when he walked into the room and that’s when a dam of tears broke. She was ready to lay it all out bare for him. She had to, because for some reason - from one second to the other - all the things she had kept hidden for the past years felt unbearable to hold in. They seeped through her eyes in form of salty water and leaked through her nose and eventually built a big fat lump in her throat, one that was not possible to swallow. She had to get it out, along with all the other things hiding beneath.

Steve laid a warm hand on her trembling shoulder. A soft stroke pushed the last bit of reluctance from her body and prepared her to make it all go away. He was so close, but for some reason, she felt further away from him than ever before.

“You know I never stopped counting,” she whispered through ragged breaths. The nights in the dark cell encased her like a fog. Cold and moldy smells and the sound of dripping water echoed through her skull with every word she revealed to Steve.

“I thought I would lose track at one point - maybe die,” she huffed, bitterness seeping through her tone, “but they pulled me back from the dead so many times… sometimes I feel like I got stuck somewhere in between.” Not really living - not really there. But she wouldn’t say that out loud. Not again, at least. She did it once - to the Winter Soldier, when she had thought to see a glimpse of humanity seeping thought the tough exterior. But it didn’t change a thing then too.

The movement of Steve’s hand stopped but he caught himself after a beat. He probably knew what she was thinking. And he probably also thought that dying was the cowardly way out of her situation, which was why a wave of shame came over her.

“You know what’s funny? I’ve tried so hard to keep this a secret in order to have people like the real me and now... I feel like the only way I have any chance with the people I love is by giving this all away.” And it was true. Y/N felt like the last thing keeping her connected to Steve and the others was her cooperating and coming clean. She would be the prettied avenger, the one they always felt like they had to look out for - and she hated that because, really, the last thing Y/N wanted was to be babied - but if it was the last chance of keeping even a piece of them within her reach, she would have no choice but to take the deal. She would never be seen as an equal again. Always the inferior that never got over her trauma but if it meant staying with her family, she would be just that. Even if it was not even half of what she had made herself to be.

Steve’s eyes softened but at the same time, they filled with worry. His shoulders looked like they urged him to speak but his mouth closed as soon as it opened. And the last shimmer of hope vanished from Y/N’s consciousness. She wasn’t ready to let him go into pure friendship again, not when they had been dancing around the edge of something more for so long now. And she realized that now. So much, in fact, that she decided it would be better to just shut the whole thing off before the situation played out the way it was doomed to. Maybe that way she had a little more time to dwell in her fantasies.

With that thought in mind, she licked up the last pieces of pride she had and patted her hand on Steve’s knee.

“Don’t worry about it, Captain. Thank you for checking in but I’m okay.” She said steadily, though she couldn’t help but notice the slump in the man’s shoulders beside her when she led him to the door.

❁ ❁ ❁

Captain, she had called him Captain. Steve exhaled on his way to his room. For some reason, he was devastated by that even more than the events that had taken place just half an hour prior. She didn’t trust him. She never trusted him enough, for that matter, to tell him about her past. A past he very well shared and understood better than any other person on the team - well, except Bucky... and Wanda.

He had wanted to tell her that she was okay now. That she should not let her past define her. That he would never in a million years even consider neglecting her because of it. But he couldn’t. For some reason, he had been still beside her like a stupid puppet.

Tears brimmed in his eyes when he defeatedly sunk onto his bed. He wanted to stay rational. He wanted to think it through before burning up into flames, but his heart was pounding like a sledgehammer and his brain was running a mile a minute in opposite directions. There was no possibility to think straight.

His body felt torn between the two most powerful organs within him and they were fighting like there was no tomorrow. He wanted to punch the wall and lay the softest kiss on Y/N’s lips at the same time. It was infuriating.

For the first time in a long time, Steve had no idea what to do, or how to behave. There were no rules in the territory he and Y/N had created for themselves. There were times when he could come up behind her and press her into his chest and others when he wouldn’t even dare look at her. Right now, neither of these were an option, unfortunately.

Of course, deep down Steve knew that he had to talk to her again. Make sure she knew where their differences lay and clearly state what he had been thinking about the whole situation. But his heart was screaming so loud into his head that that thought never reached his ears.

It was strange, Steve was never the one to lose control over his emotions like this. But this situation felt as though it deserved every last drop of the feelings he had to offer. It was because of Y/N, of course. She tumbled up his feelings every time she looked at him. And to say that the look she had given him in the meeting room had shattered all his perceptions regarding her and her wellbeing was an understatement. He had been worried about her before. But never like this. Never in a way that had both his and her identity questioned.

For some reason, he could deal with death threats and vital injuries - it was sadly a normal routine in his line of work - but the added emotions that came with everything concerning Y/N ordered a whole new level of consciousness to his duties. He no longer felt the need to care for his team and make sure they got out of and through missions unharmed because it was his job, he now had to care for them because his heart was involved if anything were to happen to any of them. And he had to care more about himself, too because there were people who would get hurt if he were to. Y/N did that - she had sucked him into her warm and welcoming self and Steve had embraced it with all his being.

Now, he saw how dangerous that was. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. Getting closer to her was the best thing that had happened to Steve in a long time. He was happier and more energetic.

It dawned on him, then, that he had to tell her that. No matter how rage fed his brain or love blinded his heart was in the moment. Y/N deserved to know. Much like he had deserved to know about her secret much sooner. This thought sent another wave of frustration through his body. Steve tried to push it away, but it lay heavy on his heart when he stepped into the hallway, trying to suppress the nervousness brooding up within him.

❁ ❁ ❁

Y/N twitched up when the door slammed into the wall. When it bounced back from the gray concrete, there was a sizable hole visible where it jammed. But as her ears picked up on something else, that’s when her eyes wandered past the door to the heaving man within its frame. Steve’s eyes were dull, his shoulders hunched but his heart was beating at a rapid speed. He must’ve heard it in his head from the pressure with which it traveled over to Y/N.

Thumb, Thumb.

Steady and yet rapidly pounding. And for some odd reason, it had a soothing aspect on the woman. But before Y/N could register and ask what was going on, Steve stepped into the room. He was hesitant but still carried himself with a familiar confidence she’d only ever seen from him.

“I’m sorry,” he straightened up, “...for the door, I- I dint think it would open that easily.”

“It’s okay.” Y/N was still seated on her bed - hadn’t moved a muscle since Steve left.

“Y/N...” His voice was heavy with sadness, though she didn’t dare look at him. There was no going back. He would be saying what she had been dreading from the second she confessed. She didn’t also need to watch the disappointment in his eyes when he told her that itwas over - whatever it was. “I know what happened to you can’t be changed.” He sat down beside her, though there was a significant distance between the two Avengers now. “And I can only imagine how hard today has been for you. I don’t think I would be as strong as you are keeping this for yourself for so long. But you don’t have to shut us out. Please don’t shut me out, Y/N. We can help you, we can be there for you. Just... please. I don’t know how to-” he inhaled deeply but his speech didn’t continue like she had expected it to.

Y/N just sat there, her fingernails suddenly the most interesting thing to ever exist, even though there was a distressed man sitting inches away from her. Whatever he had said, because frankly, the words had swayed by her like a breeze, sounded like heartbreak to her - for her. There was pretty clear that Steve didn’t see a future for them. And if Steve thought this - the person she had grown closest to over the years - she could only imagine what the rest of the team was thinking.

Tears burned in Y/N’s eyes and when the first one fell in her lap, she closed her eyes in pain. “You pitied me..,” she whispered, the burning in her throat threatening to swallow her whole, “You felt bad for me... you of all people, you decided I need comforting.”

Steve sent a confused look at her once her eyes met his. He was looking through her gaze as if the answer to his questions lay beneath them.

“Of course I do.” He spoke calmly but irritated. Y/N shut her eyes again, trying to ignore the confirming string of pain wash over her. Somehow hearing him say it out loud was worse than she imagined.

“It shouldn’t even concern you, Steve. I’ve managed very well on my own over the past years. There is no reason for anyone to pity me-”

“Not pity,” he interrupted, “concern, yes. Pride, worry, fear... I feel all of those things for you. But not Pity.”

“But why.” The words were barely audible through the stream of tears that had broken loose by now. Y/N couldn’t possibly comprehend why Steve would say that. Because she didn’t see how Steve could see anything but her past from now on. She had struggled to do so herself at first. It had taken years to finally become herself again, even if that self bore a terrible secret for everyone else.

“Because I admire your strength. And I care about you.” His hand hovered over hers, but he didn't dare touch her just yet. “I care about you more than I probably should.” He closed his eyes and retracted his hand when he saw the dread in her eyes. “And I try to ignore it, I really do but then you come at me with that smile and with your wit, and I... I can’t stop my heart from racing.”

“I know I can hear it.” She was whispering again, feeling like an intruder for listening in on something as personal as his heartbeat.

Steve looked at her with an indescribable look on his face. “I hear yours, too, you know? But for some reason, it’s telling me other things than your eyes are.”

“What are my eyes telling you?”

Steve’s fingers grazed her chin, moving upward until his thumb stroked the skin on her cheek. “That you are afraid of something. That you are waiting for something bad to happen... but I don’t know what.” Y/N nodded in awe - somehow this man could read her better than she could herself, which was scary and comforting at the same time.

“And what is my heart telling you?” She took his hand and placed it upon her chest, where a steady rhythm pushed through her skin.

“The same thing I’ve been trying to say.” His heartbeat was steady and sure as well. It was fast, yes, but not in a bad way. There was an unfamiliar glimmer in his eyes when they softened upon her love-dazed face. Maybe her intrusive thoughts had blinded her after all...

“And what-”

Suddenly, his soft lips pressed to hers. A warm and tingling feeling traveled over Y/N’s body as her arms almost automatically reached up to his shoulders. Steve pulled her closer by her waist, deepening the kiss with the lean of his head. He was warm and he felt like the hug she had subconsciously craved ever since staring at that white number ’15’ in the base hours ago. All the tension drained from her like a waterfall. Steve pulled the fear from her body with every stroke of his tongue against hers. And for the first time in a while, Y/N felt as though everything had fallen into place. She was right where she belonged. The squeeze of Steve’s fingers reminded her of that.

When they pulled apart, breathless and floating, she tightened the grip on his collar.

“But- I thought...” Y/N breathed out shakily. Her forehead was firmly pressed against Steve’s and her lips were grazing his with every word she whispered, sending waves of shivers down her spine.

“What? That I’d sign you off as a charity case?” Steve locked his eyes on hers for the hundredth time. There was so much emotion in them. “I would never underestimate you. I know you are stronger than half the people on this team... well mentally that is.”

“Stop,” she chuckled before pressing her face into his chest. Steve kissed the top of her head as his hand began to soothingly stroke up and down her back, leaving a warm trail of comfort in its wake.

“I really like you, Y/N... and if you’d let me, I would like to take you out sometime.”

Y/N smiled. It seemed silly how worried she had been about his feelings now. Considering hers were just as strong for the man in her arms, there had not been a reason to believe it was different for him. Though the edges of self-consciousness nipped at her brain every now and then. Those were the monsters pushing intrusive thoughts into her heart - convincing her of things, for which there was no indignation. She would learn it with time - that her past didn’t define her. It did to some extent, but it would never become her entire identity. And until she could tell herself that alone, she would have Steve to help her remember.

“I would love to, Steve.”

Steve pulled back and held her by her shoulders before leaning in again. A content smile etched on his lips before they sealed to hers again, capturing her in another searing kiss.

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

The Invisible Woman Chapter Two: Mark Me Down As Scared and Horny

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x female!reader

TW:allusions to violence, so much pining

Summary: Jake thinks he might have met his match and much to everyone's surprise, it doesn't seem to bother him.

Word Count:1.6k

The next couple of days, you and Jake text back and forth, mostly joking around. He hasn't worked up the nerve to ask you out yet and he's been catching shit from Bradley and Phoenix non-stop. They're loving the idea of a woman so powerful and intimidating that even Jake Seresin, certified womanizer, is thrown off his game.

Quite frankly, they can't wait to meet you. Luck is on their side because as soon as they waltz into the Hard Deck, they see you standing at the bar. You pick up on their presence immediately and when Jake is a few feet from you, leading the pack, you smirk to yourself.

"Hey, flyboy. I take it these are your pilot friends?" You quip and Bradley's eyebrows shoot up.

He leans down to Phoenix and whispers. "How did she know we were here without looking?"

You turn to face them and quickly scan over the group before responding. "My whole job is to know where people are without looking." You respond and his face slightly blanches when he realizes you heard him.

He clears his throat and stumbles over his words. "Yes, ma'am." He finally says and Phoenix barks out a loud laugh.

She is enjoying every second of this. You've barely spoken and you have Jake and Bradley shaking in their boots.

She sticks her hand out and you take it, giving it a firm shake. "I'm Phoenix." She introduces herself and you smile.

"Ozzy." You answer and Jake's mouth drops open.

"Ozzy?" He asks confused and you glance over at him.

"My nickname. Started out as One Shot, then people started shortening it to OS which became Oz and finally Ozzy." You explain and he makes an “oh” with his mouth.

"Why are you called One Shot?" The taller pilot asks and you take a sip of beer before answering.

"Because I never miss."

Jake swears you're going to be the death of him. Somehow he's both terrified and turned on, and no woman has ever elicited that reaction from him.

"You're so fucking cool." He mutters and you chuckle.

"Are you going to introduce me?" You tease and he quickly recovers from staring at you.

"Oh, yeah. That's Rooster, my best friend Coyote, the quiet one is Bob and I’m Hangman. Or Jake." He tells you and you commit the names to memory. You have a feeling you'll be seeing a lot of them.

"Nice to meet all of you."

You immediately like Bob. He's like you. He doesn't talk much, instead sitting back and observing. He always seems aware of his surroundings and is most likely extremely intuitive. In another life, he would have made a good SEAL.

You watch them expectantly, almost laughing at the way they all seem to shift nervously under your gaze. Well, except Phoenix. She seems fascinated more than anything.

"You said it's your job to know where people are, but how'd you know who it was?" She asks, genuinely intrigued and you shoot her a small smile.

"I could smell Jake's cologne and I recognized the cadence of his footsteps." You reply honestly and everyone looks even more interested than before. A silence falls over the group and you stand up.

"I'm going to go the bathroom." You say before stopping to speak over your shoulder. "You don't have to look so scared, by the way. I don't bite unless you ask me to."

Jake shakes his head, completely under your spell. Your quick wit and genuine kindness despite being lethal is intoxicating and he can't get enough.

The group makes their way over to the pool tables and starts a game, getting lost in a heated competition. It's not until a few minutes later when Bradley lets out a short scream that everyone's heads snap to look in his direction.

You're standing directly next to him, trying desperately not to laugh in his face. "You scared the shit out of me! How long have you been there?" He asks exasperated and you finally let out a cackle.

"A few minutes." You tell him casually and his eyes widen.

"But no one saw you. Half of us were facing toward you!" He exclaims and you quirk an eyebrow.

"Again, you're describing my entire job."

Bradley huffs and moves to the other side of the table, now standing next to Jake. "She's scary as fuck." He mumbles and Jake nods, utterly entranced. "I know, I love it."

You take the pool cue from Jake and make the shot for him. Three balls go flying into separate pockets and you hand it back to him with a smug smile.

"Sorry, I couldn't stand watching you get your ass kicked by Sasquatch over there." You tease and Jake's heart hammers in his chest. You're a literal dream, and he has to pinch himself to believe that you're real.

You're a complete badass, you're stunning, you're funny and quick on your toes, and you can play pool. If he doesn't marry you he'll be kicking himself in the ass until the day they bury him.

You fit in with the squad easily, making fast friends with Bob and Phoenix. He watches as you laugh with the two of them and smiles to himself.

He can see this being his life, easily. You're strong and sure of yourself, but never cocky. He's never met someone so humble, and he thinks he could learn a thing or two from you.

He walks up to you when the game is over and smiles as he listens in.

"So wait, you have sixty-five? That's fucking insane." Phoenix states in disbelief, glancing up at Jake. "She makes you look like a pussy."

If it was any other circumstance the statement would get under his skin and piss him off. But he can't even argue with her, she's right. Instead, he just laughs along and nods. "Yeah, but I'm okay with that."

Your eyes twinkle as you look at him and his stomach does a flip. Your angelic voice rings out and he nearly falls to his knees when you come to his defense.

"Well," You begin. "That's not really fair. It's two completely different things, you can't really compare them. Two air-to-air kills are impressive in their own right."

Still, Phoenix persists. "Yeah, but you also went through SEAL school. That's insanely difficult, and you're the only woman."

"True," You shrug, shooting a wink at Jake. "But becoming a pilot isn't exactly easy. Besides, isn't he the only active-duty pilot with confirmed kills? Seems we both excel in our fields."

Phoenix's jaw goes slack and she turns to stare at Jake. "She's too good for you." She decides and again, he can't even argue.

"Oh, I'm sure of it." He smiles and you lean back in your seat.

"Speaking of, I was wondering if you want to go out sometime." You ask and Jake nearly chokes.

"Wait, you're asking me out?" He questions, completely taken aback. No woman has ever made the first move on him. Then again, no woman has ever kept his interest for this long so it's safe to say you're special.

Your nose scrunches up in response and Jake nearly collapses. It's the cutest thing he's ever seen and he wants to kiss it.

"Well, you don't seem to have the confidence so I figured I'd do it myself." You reply and Phoenix coughs to cover a giggle.

"Wh-you- I’m confident." He stutters defensively and the unimpressed look you give him makes him want you even more.

"If you don't ask her out, I will." Phoenix taunts and Jake sends her a glare before softening and looking back at you. You have an expectant look on your face and he can tell by the mischief in your eyes that you baited him on purpose.

"Fine. Can I take you on a date?" He asks and you press your finger to your chin, pretending to be deep in thought.

"No." You answer and Jake feels heat rush to his face.

"But you just-" he begins to stammer and he stops when he sees the playful smile on your face. "You're fucking with me." He realizes and your smile grows.

"I'm sorry. It's just so fun to see you flustered." You pretend to apologize and he squints his eyes. "I would love to go on a date with you, Jake."

You have so much power over him already, and he can't imagine what actually dating you would be like. He knows for sure that you'd keep him on his toes.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven. Dress casual." He tells you, turning on his heel and walking to the dart boards before you can respond.

You watch him walk away and Phoenix nudges your shoulder. "How do you do that?" She asks and you frown.

"Do what?"

She rolls her eyes and nods her head toward Jake. "I've known Jake for years. I have never once seen him blush or be at a loss for words. No one has ever been able to get him to shut up, let alone get him to agree that someone else is better than him."

You watch the blonde man as he throws a dart blind and shrug. "I don't know. I'm just being myself." You tell her and she huffs.

"Well, stick around. You might be the one person that can make Hangman tolerable." She tells you and it makes you feel warm and fuzzy to know you have an effect on him.

"I'm planning on it."

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girls-alias · 5 months

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Dean's Dream P8

Title: Dean's Dream Part 8 Words: 3,688 [Didn't realise how long this chapter was but I hope you enjoy 😁💟] Relations: Dean Winchester X reader. TW: Strong language

Part 7

Y/N's POV:

None of my memory before my coma came back, I learnt to accept that Dean was only a figment of my imagination. Years ago when I had gone looking for Dean I returned home, spoke with my therapist and worked hard to heal. My therapist seemed relieved that I now shared his belief that Dean wasn't real but seemed sad as he recognised that all I had been fighting for was gone. I had a rocky recovery, often mourning the anniversary as it passed me by.

It's been 4 years now. I still think of him, I still think I see him in crowds but it isn't as frequent as it used to be. I isolated myself from the world, even a short walk to the shop was upsetting to me as seeing happy couples or thinking I see Dean shakes me to my core. I haven't had the strength to say his name out loud since I came back from Salt Lake City and doubt I ever will. My soul is empty and no matter how hard I fight, I know there is no one cheering me on or smiling that I'm still here. I'm a shell of a person and doubt I will ever truly be happy because my happiness wasn't real.

I sat in my apartment crying for the billionth time, hugging my pillow tight to my chest. Closing my eyes as I picture Dean hugging and comforting me like I always did. Knowing he'd never truly be here.

Dean's POV:

Life feels like a blur. Once Sam and I left Salt Lake City, I isolated myself a little, finding comfort in being alone and imagining she was real. I would often find myself talking in an empty room, imagining she was with me but as soon as I was distracted, she was gone. The breakdowns it caused only hurt more because like in the dream she felt real.

Even after 4 years, Sam is still worried about me. We barely talked about her and it took me a while to get back to my normal life. I was never fully healed as every time I went back and was alone it reminded me that the perfect woman wasn't waiting for me. She wasn't real and I need to learn to accept it. There was a time, on a hunt, when we saved a girl from a burning building and she said Y/N was still inside. I rushed in, looked everywhere and it messed me up. I was burnt, I inhaled smoke and found that she wasn't my Y/N. It ruined me as it reminded me that my Y/N isn't mine and she isn't real. I'll never find her and she'll never be in my arms.

She made me a better man, I never kissed anyone after her, never even thought anything sexual for anyone but her. Sam thinks it's not good to still miss her but has used it to our advantage at times. His most painful one was when we got caught by a group of demons, we had fought as best as we could but were defeated. I gave up so deeply that I didn't even make sarcastic comments or insults. They had beaten us until we were barely conscious, blood and bruises covering us as we sat tied to the chairs.

"Dean, they threatening her," Sam tried.

"What?" I asked confused thinking it was some code I couldn't decipher. The group of demons looked at Sam confused.

"If they kill you, Y/N dies too. They're going to kill her," I filled with rage. I know he's just trying to get my fight back but he doesn't have to hurt me in the process.

"Y/N, huh?" A demon asked approaching me with a smirk. "Oh, Dean's in love. Don't worry, Sam right. I'm going to find her, I am going to pull her nails, her teeth, her hair out. She'll scream for your help but you'll already be dead." The demon smirked. I clenched my jaw and fists. I blacked out from the rage poisoning my veins.

The darkness cleared as I stood, beneath me were all the demon's bodies. I must have gone crazy with my anger as Sam looked terrified. I didn't know I had the strength to even stand never mind fight the group of them and win. I'd untied Sam, punching him in the stomach for manipulating my emotions.

Y/N's POV:

I sighed putting my headphones on, it was time to leave again and I was taking the necessary steps to allow me the strength to leave the house. I walked to therapy, head low, hood up as I made my way there, I ignored the world around me. Once in his office, he smiled reassuringly.

"How've you been this week?" Noah asked, opening his file to start taking notes. I sighed as I slumped back in my seat.

"Same as always," My tone flat, like usual. Noah nodded as he wrote in the file.

"So, no memories." He spoke to himself as he wrote. We'd given up hope that the memories would come back but always asked on the off chance. "How many times have you thought you'd seen Dean this week?" He asked looking at me deeply. I sighed, my eyes closing from the pain squeezing my heart and throat making it hard to speak.

"4," I admitted, he nodded, watching me. Waiting for me to explain.

We were just wrapping up our 2-hour session when Noah walked me to the door. "Oh, have you decided where you're going on your trip?" He asked nonchalantly. I shrugged. "Do you think Salt Lake City?" He asked, shocking me. We haven't mentioned Salt Lake since I got back. Why bring it up now?

"I hadn't thought of it, why?" I asked but he shrugged.

"Just thought you might have fun. I'll see you in two weeks," He added. I walked out confused. I started walking home wondering why on Earth he had thought that. I put my headphones on as I walked, my eyes staying low.

Dean's POV:

I pulled up to the diner Sam and I were going for lunch as a break from the case. I was in a world of my own as Sam talked about the case. My mind only went to Y/N as I wondered about going back to Salt Lake City. I don't know why but I felt a strong urge to go back and check if she was there on the off chance.

"Are you even listening?" Sam asked grabbing my attention. I looked up at him as he stared expectantly. I rolled my eyes at him but froze. Y/N! Looking out the diner window, and over Sam's shoulder I saw her walking past. I had seen her hundreds of times but this felt different, the sun was reflecting on her face, her hair softly blowing in the wind.

"Do you see her?" I asked Sam quickly, not taking my eyes off her in case she disappeared. Sam turned around and shrugged. She's fake. Just my imagination hurting me again. Sam turned back looking a little confused only confirming that she wasn't real.

"The hot girl?" He asked, I quickly looked at him, eyes wide before rushing up from my seat. "Dean?" Sam called after me as I hurried through the diner, dodging people as I rushed to the door. I swung it open, running after her. She's real. She has to be real.

"Y/N," I shouted, probably louder than I should have but she didn't react. I stopped in my tracks, it mustn't be her. I sighed as I watched the back of her hair, tears filling my eyes as I was once again reminded she wasn't real. She stopped at the edge of the path. She looked to the left, checking there were no cars. I saw she had headphones on and still looked like her. I gasped, resuming to run after her. What do I even say to her? What if she has no idea who I am? I just have to introduce myself, if she doesn't know me that's fine. If she's single I'll just flirt and she might fall in love with me.

Y/N's POV:

I checked the road, I know I don't have anything to live for but jumping in front of a car seems excessive. I waited as cars passed, rolling my eyes as I just wanted to be home. Crying into my pillow and thinking of Dean. I jumped slightly when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I took an earphone out as I turned around. Something must have fallen out of my pocket or something. I turned to see a very hopeful-looking Dean. The air in my lungs left. I was frozen in place.

He smiled, admiring me. Is it Dean or does he just look like him? I was in a coma, there's no way he was in the dream with me.

"Hi," He finally said. From his starstruck expression, It seemed like he knew me. I smiled softly, admiring the green eyes I had forgotten the details of over time. God, they're even better than I remember. I bit my lip as I watched him. Maybe I should say something. What do I say?!

Third-person POV:

Dean admired her, seeing her in front of him was surreal to him. He had imagined, he had dreamed and hallucinated she was real but here she was and he couldn't believe it. Neither could she.

"I don't want to sound crazy so, hi, I'm -"

"Dean?" She questioned, although she hadn't said his name in 3 years it still slipped from her tongue like silk. Her eyes filled as she recognised saying his name healed her heart a little. It was all the confirmation he needed to know she was real, she was in the dream and she loved him. He smiled a wide grin as he looked at her. She smiled brightly, recognising it was really his name and he was there.

He wasn't sure what to do now, he had dreamed of meeting her but now he felt nervous knowing she might be different from her dream. 4 years have passed, maybe she moved on. He wanted to do something, offer to spend time with her but he doesn't know what to do.

"Are you single?" She asked, he looked at her a little confused.

"Yeah," He responded a little confusion showing in his tone.

"Good," She smiled. Her hands moved to him, quickly. Her hands are on the back of his neck as she pulls him in. Their lips connect in a passionate kiss. Dean's hands found her waist, pulling her deeper into him, deepening the kiss. She smiled against his lips, Dean soon doing the same. Finally, in each other's arms, hearts healed. The kiss felt the same as all those years ago, the love still there, the way they kissed the same way but this time was different because they had waited so long and both believed it would never happen again. Dean's hand moved to her cheek, holding her as if she might disappear again. They continued the kiss even as Sam approached them, confusion riddling with his expression.

From Sam's perspective it looked as though Dean had simply wanted the hot girl as she passed the diner, now that he's followed him he expected to see him flirting, trying to get her number. And yet, Dean is making out with a seemingly stranger. He wondered if losing Y/N had finally made him go mad.

"Hello?" Sam exclaimed, unsure of what to say. Dean knew instantly it was Sam and he should probably pull away from the kiss to introduce them but he's waited 4 years for this and didn't want it to ever end. Not after his heart was so broken before. She pulled away, much to Dean's dismay. She smiled at him before turning to Sam. Her mouth dropped open as she rushed to hug him.

"Sammy!" She exclaimed excitedly. Her best friend is finally here. She missed having him to talk to, he always listened without judgment and was great at giving advice. Sam looked at Dean confused as she hugged him, he hugged back to be polite once he noticed Dean's eyes admiring her as he smiled brighter than he'd ever seen him smile before. The wheels in his head turned slowly but once he realised he pulled away to look at her. He cupped her face in his hands, looking her over. His mind was swamped with how she could be real or if she was a deceitful monster. She smiled brightly, chuckling slightly.

"Wow, don't kiss my girlfriend," Dean commented, getting closer to move Sam's hands from her face. Dean and she shared a telling smile at his words. Dean wrapped his arms over her shoulder, keeping her close to him as he kissed the top of her head.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. I assume you don't know me but we were best friends," She introduced holding her hand out to him. Sam smiled, shaking her hand.

"We didn't think you were real, I saved Dean but you weren't there," He explained, confusing her slightly. Her eyebrows furrowed softly as she looked at him. "The Djinn, that's how you were in the dream, how did you get out?" He asked, now convinced she wasn't real just some kind of shapeshifter or demon. She has to be.

"I was in a coma for 3 months, that's how I was dreaming of Dean. What do you mean Gin?" She asked, Dean glared at Sam as he had made the encounter awkward and probably confusing to her.

"Go back to the diner, we'll be there soon," Dean instructed to Sam as if warning him that if he stayed he would hurt him. Sam hesitated. When he didn't move Dean rolled his eyes. "Just get her the same as me, we'll be there soon," Sam thought it was a bad idea. It's probably a monster or demon messing with Dean's emotions.

"We need to do the tests," Sam said quietly to Dean as if she couldn't hear him but she did and was confused. Tests? She thought. Dean groaned, tipping his head back, done with Sam.

"We'll do them in the diner, walk away," Dean instructed warningly. Sam hesitated but made his way back to the diner.

Y/N looked at Dean confused but he smiled and she couldn't stop herself from smiling back. He guided her to a bench where they sat close to each other. Dean faced her as he held her hand in his lap. She waited patiently for him to explain.

"You're understanding and I shouldn't doubt you wouldn't believe me but you just have to let me explain okay?" He asked, she worried slightly but nodded knowing he was the same Dean she would have trusted with her life. He smiled at her movement, squeezing her hand slightly to calm his nerves. Knowing she was real was enough to give him the strength to explain. "Sam and I, in this world. We hunt monsters," He hesitated as she looked at him confused. Waiting patiently for him to explain, he smiled knowing she was willing to listen. "Monsters, demons, angels, they're all real and Sammy and I save people from them. The Djinn, Sam mentioned. They abducted me and they have the power to put you in your dream life, my life with you, but Sam saved me and I woke up. I searched for you but I couldn't find you and I even tried to get abducted again to see you but I couldn't," He explained, holding her hands close as he feared she would pull them away and leave again.

He watched as her eyes wandered around, thinking. She was clearly confused and startled by the information and Dean grew anxious as he waited for her response. She nodded softly, processing it.

"So you were put in your dream life by a monster?" She asked slowly, Dean gulped, eyes filling as he feared she would call him crazy. His breath quickened as he nodded, not able to say a word. His heart preparing to break. "Okay," She added, nodding and smiling softly. He was confused, startled almost at her response. His eyebrows furrowed as he admired her. She chuckled softly. She moved her right hand from his, his disappointment written across his face but her hand moved to his cheek, filling him with hope and love. "Dean, I was in a coma and dreamed of our lives together, I spent 3 years thinking I made you up and thinking I was insane. Knowing you're real and you were in the dream too is also crazy so it only makes sense that crazy things caused it." She explained, rubbing her thumb on his cheek slightly as he instantly felt eased. He sighed, smiling brightly. Leaning in to kiss her. She smiled into the kiss, her hand moving from his cheek to the back of his neck as his hands moved to her hips.

He lifted her from her seat, sitting her on his lap so she was straddling him. She giggled against his lips. "We're in public," She explained leaning back to smile at him but his bright smile never wavered.

"I don't care. I finally found you, they can look all they want," He explained before his hand moved to her cheek, pulling her in and back on his lips. She smiled as she kissed him. They sat making out for a while before Dean pulled away. She looked at him confused but he chuckled, tucking some hair behind her ear as he admired her. "I'm getting too excited," He explained making her giggle as she realised his meaning. She nodded, moving to get off of his lap but his hands anchored her back down. She giggled as she looked at him confused. "Give it a minute," He commented making her laugh as she blushed. He smiled, taking the time to admire her. "Why didn't you believe I was real for only 3 years and not 4?" He asked curiously. She smiled just from hearing his voice.

"I woke up after we kissed and believed you were real. Even when everyone was telling me it was a dream. 1 year after I woke up I went to Salt Lake City to look for you. I waited outside the house we had, Sam's wasn't there anymore and went to a cafe and finally believed you weren't real," She explained sadly. Dean perked up at her words chuckling softly.

"May 3rd?" He asked making her chuckle.

"Yeah, you woke up at the same time?" She asked but he smiled.

"I woke up after the kiss as well. I did the same thing. We must have missed each other," He explained not realising how close they had been to meeting all those years ago. They smiled, sharing another kiss before they stood. They walked hand in hand back to the diner.

"I love you," Dean confessed as he stopped at the door. She smiled brightly.

"I love you too," She admitted with a soft chuckle. He kissed her again feeling like he needed to kiss her enough to make up so much lost time. She smiled against his lips finally feeling that she had her reason to live again.

They walked into the diner, returning to Sam as his spine straightened at their presence. She smiled warmly as she slid into the booth, Dean soon following her and holding a hand on her thigh needing physical contact at all times. He held the top of his hand as she smiled at Sam. Sam looked at them slightly confused.

"We can do the tests if you want?" She questioned, he smiled softly before going into his bag.

"You tell her?" Sam asked, Dean smirked as he looked at her admiringly.

"Yep, just as understanding as before," He commented making her smile as she blushed. He kissed her sweetly but she pulled away quicker than he wanted.

"You won't remember but we had rules about PDA in front of Sam," She commented but Dean groaned, his head tipping back but smile never fading.

"You don't mind do you, Sammy?" He asked, prompting Sam to agree but Sam's face didn't confirm it. She chuckled as she shook her head.

"You've waited 4 years, you can wait till we're alone," She commented but Dean smirked.

"Oh, you want to be alone with me," Dean teased making her laugh. She playfully rolled her eyes as Dean smirked.

Sam did the tests finding she was clean and real. He instantly calmed, wanting to know everything she remembered about the dream as they ate once their food arrived. He admired how Dean watched her, how they seemed to quickly fall into a routine and comfort. He slid his drink to her, and she picked out the lime and placed the pickles from her burger on his plate, both acting as though this was normal even though in reality they had just met. Sam's smile never faded as he watched the scene.

Once they had finished eating Dean draped his arm over her shoulder, holding her close as he admired her telling the story of Sam's birthday, Dean giving input on his perspective as he was present at the time. She smiled brightly as he spoke, admiring him, memorising all she had forgotten.

Neither knew love would be this simple or happy. Both realising the wait was worth it and souls returned as their closeness brought the joy in and sorrow out. Sam couldn't have imagined how Dean would be around her, never seeing his brother in love before made it seem even more surreal to him. Dean often stole short but sweet kisses, his smile never leaving his lips. She held her hand on his thigh as he drew patterns on her shoulder. She rested close to him, happy for the first time since she woke up.

Masterlist

#fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean #dean winchester x reader

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