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37-drc89 · 6 months

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the way things go; lee minho

❁ nothing warms your heart more than his presence.

trope: roommates to lovers.

genre: comfort, slight angst, work exhaustion, happy ending.

summary: finally understanding that your failure doesn't scare him away.

warnings: blood, mention of overprotective parent, family problems, let me know if i should put anything more in here.

word count: 3,7k.

masterlist

note: this is very much my first fic here, like, ever. i'm still green in tumblr, any links and mostly making posts look good, but i'll eventually master it. i look forward to seeing your opinions and things i can change or make better, i'll appreciate every comment. and, please remember that english is not my first language! if you see any typo or something doesn't make sense, please inform me! thank you:)

Coming back home on Friday after whole week of working your ass off really feels like a walk of shame. You feel like everyone passing by can tell how awfully you did at your workplace today. And they wouldn't be wrong, the amount of scolds your boss threw in your direction through past few days is worryingly numerous.

Whether it was missing out on paper work your boss asked you to do for him, because you were so sure the deadline was set on the day after, or accidentially knocking off of your desk whole cup of hot, sweetened tea that later on you had to scrap off of the covering, under the strict eye of the middle aged man that scared you so much. Especially with the amount of misfortune that chased after you lately, like it was glued to you.

Cringe makes its way to your face. You're shuffling your way to your apartment, not really in a hurry, feet lazily dragged after you as you didn't even have any strenght to properly lift them off the ground. You most likely look like you've been partying for at least three nights in a row, but you can't find it in yourself to care about it. Not now.

Seeing the building in which your apartment is placed have never felt so relieving and you can feel your legs giving up under your weight just at the thought of splashing on the bed and dozing off. Vision of passing out on the sidewalk doesn't seem appealing to you, so you rush yourself to the door, typing entrance code and walking into the elevator, stairs not even crossing your mind. Your tired body slumps itself against the wall as you patiently wait to get to the 6th floor, finding relief in having something to support yourself on. Finally getting to the door you can't help but feel excited, tapping your feet happily just at the thought of making up every hour of sleep you've missed this week because of your busy schedule. You slide the door open and the very first thing reaching your ears is eager meowing, three fur balls appearing at the entrance immediately. You can't help but smile, kneeling to give each of them gentle head pat before taking off the coat and shoes. This truly felt like a bliss, like you've just slid off a bag of stones off your back. Sigh leaves your mouth, heading to the kitchen you turn on the kettle as your tea craving grows with every second. Soonie appears next to you, sitting at the table just across from you. You've grown so friendly with your roommate's Minho's cats that neither you nor him have any problem with kitties occupying places people normally wouldn't let them sit on.

Then you freeze for a second.

You look at Soonie.

Soonie looks at you.

Your brows furrow and the cat goes back to whatever he was doing previously.

Fuck.

Minho is coming home today. He's been away for past five days due to his business trip, that was probably exhaustion fogging your mind enough to forget about this. He's coming back today. And your apartment looks like a bomb has been detonated right in the middle of it all. You can't risk him seeing how messy you got, Minho is always the one to put stuff at the right place, making his bed no matter in how much of a hurry he's in, always the one to do the dishes and basically make everything look perfect. You can't see him disappointed in you for such an easy thing, he'll think you don't even gather your life together. Not like you do, but it's nothing in his business, you shouldn't become another one of his problems. He's just your roommate and the only thing you share and should take care of is apartment that is now in complete mess. You can blame it on your lack of time, barely spending any time at your place recently, but that won't help in current situation.

Quick glance at the time, 4:23 pm, you reach out for your phone to scroll up the conversation with your friend to make sure how fast you have to act.

He's back in town at 5 pm. Could this possibly get any worse?

You scold yourself internally for letting this whole situation happen. But you don't have time to think about this now, and as you turn off the kettle you speedrun to the livingroom, gathering scattered clothes from all around the place. You blame it on Monday when you got up so late you didn't even have time for brushing your hair and of course, the shirt you were looking for was nowhere to be found. Out of all things, it was the one you needed that day.

Then you pick up empty cans of soda, bottles of water and cups of coffee from the table and quickly throw them into the dishwasher. You blame it on Tuesday, the night you realised you have to write that fucking paperwork you got scolded for missing on Monday. So you sat there for hours, head empty, taking breaks only when your tired tears started wetting your pages, scared that all your miserable efforts will be ruined.

Rushing to Minho's room you pick up blanket and pillows from his floor. You blame it on Wednesday, the day you were already on the edge of breaking down and giving up on your job. Even though the boy is only a roommate for you, you've grown so used to his presence you started finding peace in it. Even after the worst day you knew that someone will always be there waiting at your apartment to serve you cup of hot chocolate and bowl of ramen, to take your turn of folding laundry or just listen to how appaling your day was. But he wasn't home and it left you all to yourself which was never the best idea. So, seeking for at least tiny bit of comfort, you slept on his floor. That sounds so fucking stupid and weird when you think about it now, but just the aura Minho left in his room made you feel a bit closer to him. Reminds you of every time he invited you over to play some online games for 12 year olds or spill any tea that happened at his work. Though, you never wanted to interfere his private space, so sleeping in his bed didn't even cross your mind. Floor was just sufficient for you, and you let your tears flow that night, just as much as you needed it. You know he would understand. He might seem cold to others, but you know he would. He already unwrapped his side of him to you letting you see that truly, inside, he's softer than anyone you know; It's all for Soonie, Doongie and Dori. They really do get the best of Minho.

Going back to the kitchen, you gather empty boxes of instant ramen, snacks and every ready shop food that you could possibly find at the convenience store. You blame it on the whole week of rushing, not even having time to eat a proper meal. You can feel it down your stomach, body demanding anything that could properly feed it and give it any strenght to function as it should be functioning. Honestly, you can't recall the last time you didn't feel sick. Lump in your throat was your loyal companion since a week ago, constant urge to throw up not leaving your body even when you were falling asleep and you know you'll have to appreciate normal, nutritions food more.

You run around the apartment holding a wet towel, wiping quickly every mirror hung on the walls as you know nothing pisses Minho more than fogged glass. So you try your best to do it carefully, just like he does it. Reaching the last mirror placed in the front hall you eagerly wipe it, aware of your lack of time. Then it all happens at once.

Shitty food, lack of sleep, liters of coffee and ungodly amount of stress feel like kicking in all at once, like it's been gathering in your exhausted body for the whole week just for this one moment that you needed to be fucking careful.

Vision blurry, feet suddently tripping over itself, mind going blank just for a second, but second is enough for you to try holding yourself onto the small table placed right under the mirror and shaking it so hard when sudden thump reach your ears, followed by loud sound of shattered glass. You don't want to look. Because you're fully aware of what just happened. You don't want to look but you do. Eyes landing on the remains of now broken vase, water all over the floor, flowers that were resting inside it now cut in half and completely soaked.

And it was Minho's favourite vase. The first and the last thing he always glanced at when leaving or coming back home, admiring its beauty, pretty patterns, unique shape and the prettiest flowers inside. Flowers that he got for his 25th birthday that passed not so long ago from his dearest best friend Jisung. Flowers that he was so happy to receive, first thing he did after coming home that day was showing them to you, proudly, ranting about how they perfectly suit the room. And you ruined it all.

Your body slides slowly on the wet floor, water soaking your pants on your knees and you support yourself on the palms of your hands not to completely fall into the mess. You feel small pieces of glass ripping open your delicate skin of your hands, small streams of blood making their way to the floor, mixing with spilled water but you couldn't care less. Elbows start to shake under the weight of your body, shoulders tensing and your head falls, your own quiet sobs reaching your ears. It quickly turns into uncotrollable groans and whines, tears now flowing down your face with no end, nose already full, loose hair stick to your now completely soaked cheeks.

And you blame it on yourself. You could seek for anything to put his all on, like your boss, for making you feel useless for not even managing to do your fucking job properly and assigning you more work than anyone else in your department. Or your mother for not teaching you how to manage your time and how to function on your own, her overprotectiveness during your childhood and teenage years showing so often that you never even got any time to learn adult life before stepping into it. But you know it isn't their fault, no matter how hard you try to think that it is. You let yourself into this situation. You let yourself be in the state you're currently in. You didn't try hard enough to make yourself a decent person. There's no one you can blame but you.

Your endless cries must've muffled the sound of door cracking open, eyes reaching only feet of your roommate that was now standing at the entrance. You couldn't look up, even if you wanted to, you couldn't look Minho in the eyes. Not when he's witnessing your failure and the mess you made out of something so dear to him.

Meanwhile Minho stood there, body frozen, gazing at your tiny figure splashed on the floor, shoulders shaking. He doesn't even notice the crashed vase at first, your current state drawing all his attention immediately to you.

He doesn't give himself any time to think much longer about what's happening in his front hall right now, dropping bags he's been holding in his right hand and suitcase on his left and appearing at your side the second after, kneeling by your vulnerable body on the floor.

"Hey, hey.." Minho lightly lays his hand on your shaky back, carefully caressing it to soothe you. "Easy now, I'm here."

The only respond he gets is your dramatic, loud sob ripping out of your heavy chest. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Minho... Is the only thing you could get out of yourself, followed by another set of pretty disgusting, wet cries.

"Are you hurt? Let me see your hand, please," your roommate asked quietly not to scare you after noticing red coloured drops beside your knees. Gently, he took your harmed hands into his and studied small pieces of glass stuck in your skin. "Let's get it cleaned, okay?"

His hand makes its way to your waist and he stands up slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves that could put you in pain. He shuffles you to the bathroom and helps you sit on the toilet seat and starts preparing alcohol and wet towels.

You feel pathetic.

Not only you ruined his special item, something so important and beautiful, but now he has to take care of someone that caused all the damage. You feel helpless once again, like you couldn't do anything fucking right for once. Once.

Your caring roommate starts removing glass shatters from your wound, his tongue sticking out a bit from the corner of his mouth, fully concentrated in his task. He knows that if his hands twitch even a little bit, he might hurt you even more, and let me tell you, his hands are trembling. He can't recall a situation when he saw you in such state.

You always seem tough, tough against any misfortune that meets you. You surely talk to him when you need some shoulder to lay on, about your worse days and he's cautious enough to notice when you're exhausted. But he's never seen you at your breaking point, starting to believe you don't have any. Yet you're here, in front of him, not even being able to speak properly. He can't help but feel kind of relieved at the whole situation knowing that your hard, protective shell cracked a little bit, letting him see something he's never seen in you before. Weakness.

"This might sting a bit," Minho informs you as he presses alcohol soaked paper to your wound. Whimper leaves your mouth at the unpleasant feeling and you hang your head down. He quickly wraps bandage around your hand and clasps it between his warm palms.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about that the hall. I'll take care of it, okay?" He tries to lower himself, kneeling in front of you, so he can get a better glimpse of your puffed face. You shake your head and straighten your back, looking at him with serious expression.

"No." You sniff, "No, I broke it, I broke something so important to you and it's my fault. I'll clean it. I'll buy you a new one, the same one, I promise Minho."

His hands make their way to your back, slowly, eyes remaining on you for any sign of discomfort. When you sneakily lean into the touch, Minho pulls your body entirely towards his, clasping your weak figure into his arms and sways you left and right, wanting to feel your muscles relax in his embrace.

"What's wrong, hm? My roommate senses are tingling," his voice muffles itself by pressing his mouth against your shoulder, "Talk to me, y/n, please?"

"I had the worst week ever here, without you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You just shake your head no, holding onto his waist tighter than ever. You feel him nod. His calm aura pulls you in completely, feeling like walking into hot building during snowy, cold winter. Your cheeks warm up, pressing right below his neck, his body warmth transferring itself to you.

"It's lowkey weird." You choke out, coughing right after because of how stuffed your poor throat felt.

"What is?"

"You comforting me while I'm sitting on a toilet seat."

You manage to let out throaty chuckle to light the atmosphere up, however, you can't help the warm stream of tears flowing right after.

"Want to move it to the livingroom?" Minho pulls out of the hug slightly, setting his gaze at your red face again and your eyes make their way to the floor. You still haven't looked him in the eyes, not even once, as you're scared of the wave of guilt that will follow. As if the one you're feeling right now isn't enough. You feel like a child scared to get shouted at by their parents.

Minho crouches down in front of you and you hum in question, brows furrowed. He only gestures with his hand for you to hop onto his back, already positioning your legs on his hips. You groan but don't protest, you know how Minho is and you know fighting him is hopeless. Wrapping your arms around his next securely and glueing your chest onto his back, you melt into the warmth of his body. He stands up, feeling your breath tickling the skin behind his ear and smiling to himself, noticing how it got much steadier than it was before. He leads both of you out the bathroom and again, the sad view of Minho's favourite vase on the floor, not really looking any similar to vase anymore, hits you, shoving another wave of guilt through your nerves. You close your eyes and rest your forehead on your roommate's shoulder.

"I'm truly, so, so sorry Minho. I never meant to do this, I was just trying to make the place look presentable for you and it ended like it always does." the words left your mouth as quiet squeak, taking another deep breath before speaking again; "Yet you still have to clean the mess I did, like you always do. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve you. I failed being your perfect roommate."

"Who said I wanted a perfect roommate?" he asks as you reach your shared couch, carefully laying you on it then sitting by your side, facing you. "You think I'm mad at you, but I'm not. I've broken like five vases in my life and none of this was anything I planned, just like you."

You finally find some strenght in yourself to raise your gaze and lock it at his round, dark eyes. And he's right, no matter how intensively you look into them, you can't find even a tiny bit of anger in them, they sparked with understanding and you find yourself feeling bad at even thinking someone this precious could get so mad at you. They were so pure you could see your ugly, messed up reflection in them. Before you could start thinking about this again, his eyes squinted a little bit as corners of Minho's lips curled upwards in the most beautiful, sincere, affectionate smile you've ever seen. You only realised that his hand was placed on your trembling knee when you felt his fingers caressing it softly, sending warm shiver through your whole body.

"What about the flowers? You loved them..." You turned around to take a glimpse of the mess once again but Minho quickly grabbed your chin with only pads of his fingers and made you look back at him. "I'll take over from here, you get rest now."

Just as he was about to stand up from the couch you grabbed him by his sleeve and almost agressively pulled him right into your arms, crashing in the tightest, breath taking hug as you truly couldn't believe you had him by your side. Just when you thought you crossed his boundaries by that sudden action and started to loose your grip on him, he dragged you right back to him like he was waiting for this moment to happen. His heart pressed to yours, he definitely could tell how fast and heavy its beating right now. Both of yours eyes closed, you just enjoyed this such intimate moment, very first one since you've moved in together. Neither you or him dare to make a move in fear of ruining this beautiful scene.

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck, so quietly you're not even sure he heard it. "only you can endure me as your roommate. How are you not tired of this?" Chuckle leaves your mouth but you quickly tone it out in case he responds, Well, I am actually tired.

"Because you're the only one that can endure me, too." He pulls out of the hug, though he doesn't move too far away, being so close to your face you could feel his minty breath on your nose. "I guess it's just the way things go."

Next thing your brain processes is his perfect lips landing on yours in swift motion. Suprisingly they're not rough, not even a little bit, they're so soft you barely feel them at first. Your heart goes up your throat for a mere second, dropping back down the moment he caress your cheek gently with his warm hand, now covered in the tiniest layer of sweat caused by the adrenaline. When your body finally understands what's going on, you lean into him completely, hand going up on the back of his head, tangling into his soft, dark hair and Minho takes is as a sign to continue, now pressing his lips onto yours with more force, making sure you feel them properly. A sigh of relief leaves both of your mouths and you smile into the kiss. When you eventually just slightly pull away from each other, faces still close, you notice new emotion making its way into his eyes, overtaking the rest as he studies every part of your face carefully. It's love. His eyes are full of love. Its so intense like it just have been freed from his chest after months of hiding in the deepest corners of his heart.

There's still so much you don't know about him and there's so much he doesn't know about you, but the gate has opened now and there's no turning back. You don't know what any of this means yet, but you can think of it tomorrow. Or in a month. Or in a year.

For now it's just you and him. And that's what matters the most in the world.

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skyahri · 1 month

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One Bed |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Sasuke Uchiha, Kakashi Hatake, and Shikamaru Nara.

Summary: Classic one bed trope.

Warnings: Kissing. Bed sharing. Lead up to smut but no smut.

- - - - -

Sasuke Uchiha

It was shortly after the war.

The village was still recuperating from the loss, as was every other village, but there were still missions that needed to be fulfilled.

You were off to do some security work for the Daimyo, who had specifically requested the two of you to watch over his land while they rebuilt.

The only issue was that upon arrival, it wss revealed you'd be sharing a single room.

"You aren't the only ones to have suffered during the battle. Half of my property was destroyed!"

There wasn't much you could do, so you bit the bullet and followed one of the Ladies in Waiting to where you'll be staying.

One room? Whatever. One bed? Absolutely not.

You protested. It was inappropriate, even if you had known Sasuke for well over a decade at this point.

"We are low on resources at the moment, Y/L/N-san, Uchiha-san. It's why we have asked for your assistance in the first place."

You looked at Sasuke, who just gave you the same bored expression he always has.

You thanked the woman and began getting settled in your room. Sasuke offered to sleep on the floor, which you told him not to bother with.

You'd likely be here a few weeks, so it'd be best if you were both comfortable.

Sasuke was nice enough to let you shower first, which you'd gladly taken after two days' worth of travel.

He waited patiently for you to finish so he could prepare for bed as well. It was late, almost midnight, and he was tired.

It was awkward the first night. You'd slept uncomfortably back to back with this weird air around you.

You'd put on your most conservative pair of pajamas despite how warm the room was, and that only made things worse.

The second night wasn't much better.

But by the third night, you both grew tired of the tension. It was difficult to be fully rested when you'd slept terribly, so you formed some kind of unspoken, mutual respect for now.

You'd opted for your normal nighttime attire - a pair of shorts and thin t-shirt. You already felt better.

Sasuke, on the other hand, had been grateful for your prudish clothing. He had never said anything before, not that he had the time to, but he'd always been attracted to you.

Your revealing pajamas were not helping his comfort, so while you slept better that night, he did not.

Nor the next night.

Or the night after that.

By then, you'd become very aware of his antics. On top of being physically aware that he wasn't sleeping, you'd also become annoyed by his poor attitude.

He was already an ass as is, you really didn't need him sleep deprived on top of it.

So that night, as you lay in bed next to him, you roll onto your stomach and prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

"What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem."

"Really? Could've fooled me."

He tsked at you. Why'd you have to be so annoying?

You pushed yourself up so you'd be sitting on your knees, your hands flat on the bed so you could still lean forward to talk to him.

His eyes darted down to your chest before looking away entirely.

No way. There was absolutely no way.

"Are you... bothered by my clothes?"

"Don't be stupid." He snapped.

You tried to suppress a knowing smirk but failed.

So you leaned forward and kissed him.

Despite his surprise, he immediately responded to your kiss, going so far as to roll you over onto your back so he'd be on top of you.

"Maybe I am a bit bothered."

Kakashi Hatake

This is Kakashi’s first Kage Summit, and he asked you to be his plus one.

You accepted with no hesitation. You were anxious to get out of the village since the war ended and going out with Kakashi was sure to make it all the more interesting.

The summit was boring. That's a good thing compared to the last summit, but it still made you want to gouge your eyes out. They discussed the status of their villages and what sort of issues they'd been running into, blah blah blah.

When it was nearing midnight and everyone was growing tired, they agreed to call it a night and resume in the morning.

Everyone went to their respective quarters, but when you got to the Leaf Village's wing, there was only a single room with a bed.

Apparently, during the rebuild, they'd slipped up and only added a single room instead of the usual two, and no one had noticed (Thanks Sasuke).

It wasn't too big of a deal. You'd known Kakashi since your Genin days and slept in the same room plenty of times.

You were a bit surprised when he actually got into bed with you though.

Despite all those sleepovers, this was the first time you'd actually slept so close together.

You stared at him. Not on purpose, just happened to be doing so while your mind was racing.

"Is this an issue? I can sleep on the floor."

You shook your head.

"You sure? You were giving me quite the look."

"I was just... wondering what you'd look like under the mask."

You lied. You couldn't tell him how you were thinking about sleeping in bed with him and it's implications.

He snorted and did something that completely caught you off guard.

He pulled down his mask.

You blushed. How could you not? All these years, and he chooses now, the most random moment, to finally reveal such a wel kept secret.

And then he does something else that yo weren't expecting.

He leans forward and kisses you. You kiss back. He pulls away after a minute.

"I've been waiting to do that since we were teenagers."

You laugh at him, then pull him in for another kiss.

Shikamaru Nara

Shikamaru, being the lazy man he is, put off booking a room to stay in for so long that there was only a single room left st the inn.

You'd scolded him, and he took it, knowing he should've done it when he'd gotten the mission report.

The room was on the smaller side and contained only a single bed and dresser.

Neither of you were interested in sleeping on the floor for the next week, so you agreed to share the bed.

Something you wouldn't have done if you'd known Shikamaru was such a... uncharacteristically chaotic sleeper.

Seriously, he moved around more at night than he did during the entire day. Maybe it's all the pent up energy.

Within an hour of him knocking out, he was already sprawled out across most of the bed, leaving you two options: sleep on the edge or lay on him.

You tried to sleep in the bit of space he hadn't taken, really, but it seemed he was basically drawn to you.

You caved, allowing whatever was going to happen to happen, too tired to fight it any longer.

When Shikamaru eventually woke up, you were on his chest, one arm thrown over him and peacefully sleeping.

He got flustered and quickly tried to get out from under you, waking you in the process.

He was able to dart away without much suspension. Or at least he thought.

The next night was the same, minus the internal battle you'd had prior.

When Shikamaru woke up to the same dilemma, he decided it was best to fall asleep after you.

That night, he'd stayed awake under the guise of a mission report update for the Hokage.

You'd simply shrugged and gone to bed.

He followed when he was sure you were asleep, making sure each of you were on your respective sides of the bed.

He was surprised when he woke up with him on top you, head on your chest as if it was the most casual thing to happen.

He'd begin to stammer about, but stopped when you'd groaned.

"Settle down, would you?"

"I was just-"

"It's not that big of a deal, Shika, just go to sleep."

He listened to you, despite not understanding what was actually going on.

In the morning, he attempted to talk to you about it, but the conversation didn't quite go as planned.

"Yeah, you're a cuddler. Not much I can do about it, so it's whatever."

From then on, it slowly became more natural for your nights to get more personal, even once you'd gotten home.

#sasuke uchiha x you #sasuke uchiha x reader #sasuke uchiha fluff #sasuke x reader #sasuke uchiha #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x you #hatake kakashi #kakashi fluff #kakashi hatake #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru x you #shikamaru nara #shikamaru #naruto x reader #naruto #naruto shippuden

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ddejavvu · 10 months

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Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 1) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 11.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my development of this series! it's three parts long, and each part will be posted one week after the one before it. that means you get chapter 2 next week, and chapter 3 two weeks from now. and after chapter 3 is released, i will post the full fic in one single post, so that it's easier to read. this series means a lot to me, it's the longest fic I've ever finished for this account, and I would really love to hear what you think of it. Thank you to the love of my life miss jade (@luveline), for being the first person to read this (!!), and for all of your wonderful feedback that cheered me on as I crossed the finish line for this series. I don't think I would have finished it if it wouldn't have been for your support, so thank you sweetpea <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

It’s 11:14 AM when you get the call. Your phone buzzes ballistically beneath your pillow, where you’d stuffed it haphazardly last night somewhere close to 4 AM. For the record, you’d only slept because your eyes hurt from being open for so long. You’re certain that, after what you’d done, you deserved to ache for eternity, but you’d succumbed to sleep when it pulled hard enough at you.

Raising the phone to your ear is a chore, especially because the number on the screen is unrecognizable, but you stretch your tired, bed-ridden limbs and hold the cool glass screen to your face. It’s jarring, and you long for the stuffy warmth of the pillow again.

“Hello?”

“Miss Y/N Mitchell?” It’s a man’s voice, deep and strong through the receiver. It’s no-nonsense, and you almost worry that you’ve misfiled your taxes, that someone from the IRS is tracking you down.

“That’s me,” You rub sleep out of your left eye, harder than necessary so that your vision is blurry when you open your eye again. You’re not very gentle with yourself these days.

“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. He’s currently a patient at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. He was brought in at 9:37 AM this morning when his jet malfunctioned mid-exercise, and he crashed into a canyon below.”

Your heart stops.

Your cheeks get hot, your hands start to tingle, and your stomach feels like it’s going to start turning cartwheels, sloshing your insides around until you vomit what little you’ve eaten.

Bradley’s dead, you think, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead.

“We were able to airlift him out, and he’s stabilized now-” Bradley’s not dead, “-but he’s still unconscious. His parents are here, as well as your father, if you’d like to join them.”

It takes a long time for you to speak. It’s almost a full minute, and the man on the other end has to call your name to get you to respond.

“Miss Mitchell?”

“I’ll be there,” You blurt, heaving a shaky breath as you seal a hand over your mouth. You part your fingers only to make sure he hears you clearly as you confirm, “He’s alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive and stable.” The man informs you, “He’ll recover, Miss Mitchell.”

Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead.

“I’ll be there,” You repeat, and for the first time in almost 36 hours, you kick the crappy motel blankets off of your legs and stand, “Thank you, sir.”

Wearing a bra again after two weeks of lazing around in bed is awful. But you’ll do it for Bradley, if only to make up for the last thing you’d said to him.

“I can’t love you anymore!” Rings in your ears, and a vision of Bradley’s hands reaching desperately for you flashes through your mind, covering up the green light ahead of you.

Someone honks behind you, a BMW. You jolt to attention, stepping on the gas and jerking into the intersection.

Easy, you chide yourself, You’re going to the hospital to visit a patient, not to be one.

You’re able to pull into the hospital’s parking lot without nearly causing any more car crashes, and you briefly wonder if you should take the coward’s way out again as you trek over the asphalt towards the hospital. You’d run two weeks ago, why not now? Why not now, when what you’d been worried about that night has actually happened?

Urged by the regret flooding your veins since fleeing, you walk on, stepping through the automatic doors of the hospital and sidling up to the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Bradley Bradshaw,” You inform the nurse there, “Uh- Lieutenant. If that… helps.”

She sends you a kind smile, filled with sympathy that you’re thankful for as you stammer and stumble your way through speaking. You’re sure you’re not the most distraught person here, and you’re guiltily thankful for that.

“Room 624,” The nurse tells you, and oh, what a sick coincidence, “Down the hall and to the left, take the elevator up and follow the arrows on the floor.”

6/24 is not only Bradley’s birthday, but your anniversary; the day you’d kissed him on the swings in his backyard with hot fudge sticking to your lips. He’d been glum about his dad missing his birthday on deployment, and, of course, your dad couldn’t be there either. Carole had done her best to brighten up her boy, but some things couldn’t be mended with gift wrap, and you all knew that.

You’d snuck out to join him that night with a sundae, offering him the serving spoon thickly coated in the chocolate. He’d accepted it with a huffy eye roll, upset that you’d managed to cheer him up even a little bit with just one spoon of ice cream.

“It sucks,” Bradley mutters around the chocolate in his mouth, the syrup sticking his words together, “I know he can’t do anything about it. But I still want him here.”

“I know,” You hum, taking a bite of ice cream for yourself, “I’m sorry, Brad. If it makes you feel any better, he’ll probably get you something, like, really good when he gets back. He’ll feel all guilty, that’s what my dad did and I got a puppy out of it.”

“We’ve already got a puppy,” Bradley gestures to the Bradshaw’s family dog, well on in years by the gray around his muzzle and his tendency to nap instead of move.

“Maybe you’ll get one that you can actually play with,” You offer Bradley another bite of the ice cream, and you only feel a little bad for making fun of Lewis. But the dog doesn’t understand your teasing, softly snoring on the porch.

“Maybe he’ll get me a car,” Bradley gushes, “A bitchin’ one, like a Bronco or something. Then we can put our surfboards in the back and go to the beach.”

“You don’t even have a license!” You elbow Bradley, laughing at his lofty dreams, “But a Bronco would be cool. You should send your dad a magazine clipping of one with your next letter and talk about how cool it is.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Bradley muses, a smear of chocolate over his lower lip that he doesn’t lick away.

You scoff, stomping on his foot where it’s planted in the grass beside your own. He jolts away with a yelp, and in doing so, jerks the swing he’s sitting on, He catches his balance and you notice the syrup on his lip, reaching out to clean it with your thumb.

“You’ve got hot fudge on your face, doofus,” You sneer, happy to return his teasing, “You eat like a toddler.”

“I’m not the one who put three cups of it on the sundae!” Bradley insists, and his lower lip catches your thumb as he speaks. Teenagers in love, you’re hyperaware of touches like that, and your breath hitches in your throat at the contact. He notices it too, staring down wide-eyed at where your thumb hovers over his lips.

“Sorry,” He blurts, and in doing so, his warm breath fans over your hand. You jerk it away, eyes on the ground as you mumble away his concerns.

“It’s fine,” You mutter in a terrible attempt to remain nonchalant, “We’re not four, it’s not like I think you’ve got cooties or something.’

Bradley takes to the teasing, glad it’s not tense anymore, “That’s not what you say when I leave my underwear on the floor.”

“‘Cause that’s gross!” You launch into a rant, “That’s, like, personal! And they’re used too,” You shudder, handing him the sundae intent on scrubbing a hand over your face, “Nasty, bro.”

Despite your casual nickname for the boy beside you, you feel like anything but bros when his hand brushes yours. He takes the ice cream from you, and his hand half-closes around your own, sending a spark shooting up your spine.

Your breath catches in your throat again and this time Bradley hears it, looking at you through his lashes with those wide brown eyes.

Neither of you move away this time, frozen just like the treat in your joint grip.

You feel extra affection for the boy next to you today, the shared grief of losing your fathers every few months bringing you closer together. It’s what compels you to lean in, tilting your swing sideways to brush your lips over his own in a painfully awkward teenage-style kiss. Before you have the time to panic about whether you did the right thing, Bradley reciprocates, pursing his lips slightly to fit them around your top one. You follow his lead and it goes much better, a chaste kiss that’s sweeter than the chocolate staining your lips.

You’re glad you’d kissed him that day, you’re glad you had the balls to take the leap that resulted in a nearly twenty year long relationship. It would have been twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-five, fifty if you hadn’t chickened out two weeks ago, but you try not to think about that in the elevator lest you make yourself sick.

You find room 624 easily, the painted arrows on the floor leading you down the hallway that the room stands in. You wonder if you should knock first, you’re not too knowledgeable on hospital etiquette, but you decide that manners can be damned, your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend is in there.

You turn the handle and step inside, and Carole looks up from Bradley’s bedside immediately. You think she’s expecting a doctor, and her desperation for finding one breaks your heart. Her teary face splits into a sad smile, and she rushes to your side to envelop you in a hug. You let her have it because she’s grieving over her son, but you’re surprised she’s not immediately angry with you for breaking up with Bradley.

“Honey,” She gushes into your shoulder, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here! Brad’s gonna be okay, they said he’s just gonna need some help breathing until he gets stable. Then they can get him healthy and ready to go again!”

“That’s great,” You hold her close, relishing the last Bradshaw hug you’ll probably ever get, “Where’s Nick and dad?”

“Oh, they went to get food,” Carole releases you, swatting her hand in the air in an affectionately teasing manner, “You know those boys, always hungry for something.”

You laugh awkwardly, watching as she settles down by Bradley’s bedside again. She looks back up at you where you’re swaying on your feet, gesturing to the chair beside her, “Well come on, girl! Get in here!” She seems much more lively now that she has company, and you hate to think of her grieving her injured son alone.

“Oh- I, uh,” You stammer, darting for the seat beside her, “I wasn’t sure if-”

“Don’t worry,” She seems to misplace your concern, “He’s okay, sweetie-pie, you won’t hurt him just by breathin’ on him.”

“Right,” You smile, though its disingenuous with tension, “Um, so it was a mid-exercise crash?”

“Mhm,” Her face dims slightly, “Apparently there was some freak accident with one of the engines, 'set off the whole thing. And that’s two crashes in one week! First it was that Javy boy, I tell you, I think they should vet those engineers better. I mean, aren’t they supposed to catch that stuff beforehand?”

“Yeah,” You feel partially numb, but you’re not sure whether it’s emotional or physical. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at Bradley so far, using his bubbly, bouncing mom as a distraction, but now that the blonde has settled beside you your eyes drift.

He could be perceived as sleeping, if the color wasn’t drained from his face. His skin is still tan but it’s duller now, golden brown fading to a sickly, colder shade of it, like there’s no life beneath it. His eyes are shut and there’s a breathing tube up his nose; you wonder how pissed he’ll be when he wakes up to find out they’ve had to trim his mustache around the thing.

“Must be a Bradshaw family tradition,” Carole breaks your concentration, laughing weakly, her voice lined with a hint of tears, “Crashing, scarin’ their girls half to death.”

You remember the day of Goose’s crash like it was yesterday. You’d only been three at the time, freshly so. But grief like that, the panic you’d observed, doesn’t go away. It can’t be forgotten, it can’t drift out of your brain like so many memories do with age. You and Bradley had sat together in the hospital with Carole and your dad, and Nick still had the crummy plane drawings you’d done for him while waiting for him to wake up.

Carole’s usage of the phrase ‘their girls’ unnerves you. She’s been exceptionally nice to you so far, especially considering that she’s fiercely protective of Bradley, and should have kicked you halfway to Mars for ditching him like you’d done. But she’s leaning towards you in her chair, and you come to the dreadful realization that she doesn’t know you’ve broken up with Bradley.

“Now, I know you wanted to keep things hush-hush,” She gushes, happy to look at your animated face instead of Bradley’s still one for a moment. She reaches over to brace her hands on your knees, leaning eagerly into your space, “But I have to know, babycakes, how did it go?”

“Hm?” You look dazedly at her, still partially staring at Bradley.

“The proposal!” She squeezes your hands, sniffling weakly with the remnants of tears past, “I know that boy was finally manning up enough to ask you, 'should'a put a ring on you years ago."

Any other time, you'd groan at Carole's opinion on your relationship. She's been urging the two of you to tie the knot for decades, but you'd felt no burning desire to go to the courthouse. You were comfortable in your life, why spend an obscene amount of money to get a piece of paper that tells you you're in love? You knew that for free, in the way that Bradley looked at you, in the way that he memorized all of your fast food orders, in the way that his hand so often found yours beneath the sheets in his sleep. Now her teasing is a sore spot, one that gapes the wound already bleeding in your chest.

"-But when I asked him how it went he said he’d ‘share the details later’. I’m sure you wanted to make some big announcement or something, but I need this right now, honey, tell me what happened.”

She’s staring at you like she always has, like you’re the sweet little girl she helped raise when your mama had chickened out. Cowardice must run in the family.

There’s such pretty hope shining in her eyes that you can’t bear to crush it, ready to spew lies about how glorious Bradley’s proposal had gone, how you’d fallen to your knees to kiss him, how you’d shouted ‘yes!’ from the rooftops. Fortunately, you don’t have to lie to her, because the door opens and your dad and Nick step through.

“Hey,” Your dad cheers, tossing you a plastic-wrapped sandwich, “There you are, honey. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up, ‘thought you’d be mad at him or something.”

“You know she was mad at me when we went down?” Goose gestures to Carole incredulously, and you can’t see behind his sunglasses but you know he’s addressing you, “I wasn’t even flying the damn thing and I got lectured!”

He lets up, goes easy on Carole, you’re sure because he’d had to comfort her earlier. You see a slightly dark, damp patch on the left side of his Hawaiian shirt as he leans in to hug you, probably her tears.

“Good to see ‘ya, kid,” Nick rubs your back, “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” You nod, voice slightly shaky as you smooth your previously-folded hands down your thighs. The movement catches Carole’s attention, and you look away before you can see her reaction to your bare ring finger.

“He’ll be fine,” Goose leans over to slap Bradley’s calf, and Carole looks like she wants to scold him for it, as if he'll die right then and there, “He’s tough just like’is daddy.”

“His daddy should go get me some tea,” Carole huffs, placing her hand over Bradley’s as if it would make up for Nick’s slap, “And take Maverick with you, I don’t want you getting lost.”

“Oh, again-?” Goose grumbles, setting his lunch on one of the plastic chairs around Bradley’s bed, “You could’a told me that before we left, honey.”

“Didn’t want it until now,” Carole insists, “Now shoo, get some for Y/N, too.”

The second the door shuts behind the two men, a stiff silence falls over the room.

Carole’s sweet voice breaks it, but it’s the last thing you want to hear, “Where’s the ring?”

You stare at the sandwich in your lap, like it’ll open face and read like a book, giving you instructions on how to lie your way through this.

“I know he asked you,” She presses on, voice pitched up with tension, “I- I gave him the ring Nick used to propose to me. That was almost a month ago. We swapped it out for a wedding band, and- and I thought Bradley could use the engagement ring for you, too. I know he asked you.”

“Carole,” You can’t bear to look her in the eyes, not the woman who’d fed you macaroni and cheese when your dad was halfway around the world in a fighter jet and tucked you in extra tight during a rainstorm so that the lightning couldn't sneak through the gaps in the blankets to get you.

“No, tell me, where is the ring?” She raises her voice, the way she used to when Bradley would leave his scooter out in the rain to rust, “Just tell me-” Her voice peters out into a weak whimper, “-tell me you didn’t say no.”

“I’m a coward,” You finally mutter as her answer, hateful and wicked, “I got scared. I wish I’d said yes, really, I- I wish I could take it back, but-”

“What did you do?” Her face crumples at your admission and she nearly shrieks, squeezing her hand tighter over Bradley’s, “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I said no!” You sob, chest heaving as you wipe away a tear from your eye heavy-handed, “I was scared, Carole. After Coyote went down,” You blearily recall the last plane crash you’d heard about, a member of Bradley’s own squadron caught in a bird strike. He’d been fine, but waiting for the news took you right back to your youth, and you’d been hit with the striking realization that it could happen to Bradley, too. It could be you in that chair, it could be your love on the line. You’d been so sick with dread that you’d backed away altogether, running away to preserve your emotions.

“I just- I didn’t want it to happen to Bradley,” You confess, “I didn’t want it to happen to me. So when he asked, I was-” You sniffle, hard, “I was so scared. I didn’t want to marry him and then lose him. For some reason this-” You suppress a sob, throat aching and chest heaving, “-dating a pilot is different than marrying one. Dating is- it’s temporary, even if you plan on it lasting forever. It’s less serious, it’s not set in stone. But marriage-” You hiccup, “-marriage is the real deal. It's like- It's like I was dating Bradley, y'know, the teenage boy who took me to homecoming because I was sad no one asked me. But- but then all of a sudden I was marrying an aviator. And that’s- that was scary! That was real. I- we’d been together for twenty years!” You gush, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “I should have known marriage wouldn’t be any different. It’s not like we ever thought we’d break up,” You sniffle weakly, “Marriage was always sort of silly to me, 'cause we just thought we'd be together forever regardless. But I never realized how real it would feel. So I- I freaked out. When he asked me, I made up some stupid excuse, and I chickened out! But-” Your chest heaves with a sob as you finally lift your eyes to Bradley, “He crashed anyway. He went down even though I said no, and it still hurts.” You cry, face scrunched in despair, “It hurts so bad, Carole, I didn’t think it would still hurt.”

“You fool,” She huffs exasperatedly, but she reaches out to clutch your hand like a lifeline. She’s holding Bradley’s with her other, and you wish for a moment that you could cut out the middleman and hold his hand on your own. You don't feel worthy to touch him anymore. “You don’t stop loving someone by leaving them, you stop loving them by moving on. Of course it still hurts, you didn't move on; you still love him. And- and leaving him didn’t stop him from getting hurt, it just meant he probably went down wishing he got to tell you he loved you this morning, so you'd know.”

The thought breaks you, Bradley ejecting with you on his mind. Evidently he hadn’t fully accepted your breakup, not if he hadn’t even told his mom about it. You wonder if he was planning on trying to get you back, if after work today he would have come over with flowers and a thousand pleas on his lips that you didn’t deserve.

“He loves you,” She continues, tears wetting her own cheeks, “And even if you did say somethin’ stupid, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell that boy that’d make him stop loving you. Apologize when he wakes up, baby, he’ll understand. He'll be hurt, no doubt. But he’s been scared before, too, believe me.”

“I will,” You gush, nodding as she squeezes your hand and Bradley’s in sync, “I will, I promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Just make it right,” She pleads, “Can’t have you two splittin’ up now, not after all this time.”

“I wish I hadn’t done it,” You weep, holding your hands to your eyes as if you can plug up the tears, “I- I just panicked! And I’ve been a wreck ever since, I- I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t-”

“Tea’s here!” The door opens, and Nick is suddenly a lot quieter as he sees you bent in half and crying, “Oh, honey.”

“C’mere,” Your dad edges around Goose, squatting by the side of your chair while Carole rubs your back. He’s always been fantastic at comforting you, which you marvel at because he was so active in his career. He wasn’t always around when you were little, but that didn’t stop him from knowing how you liked your back rubbed, your hair done, and your cookies warmed.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Your dad soothes you, wiping a tear away from your face, with the hand that isn’t rubbing your back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” Carole promises, and you know she’s talking about something else entirely, “It’s alright honey, it’ll all work out.”

Nick feels a bit useless now, standing there with two cups of tea in his hands while everyone else comforts you, but he’s quick to notice a frown work its way onto Bradley’s sleeping face.

“Brad- hey! Look,” He gestures with one cup of tea, only spilling a tiny drop, “I think he’s wakin’ up.”

All of a sudden you want to go home. You’re not sure you can do this, you don’t belong here with his grieving family. You belong in your bed, kicking yourself for your cowardice and wishing you’d done better by him.

But there’s no time to flee now, not again. This time you have to brave it, you have to watch as his big brown eyes slowly blink open, a haze of sleep and medication clouding them over.

“Agh,” He groans, hand twitching by his side, “What-?”

“Hey, Bradley.” Nick leans over the bed, tea now set aside on a tiny table, “How y’feelin’ bud? You had quite the plane crash.”

Bradley takes a moment to observe his surroundings, blinking blearily at your dad, then you, then his mom. His eyes drift back over to you and they feel like they’re lasers, boring searing holes through your chest where your heart used to be two weeks ago.

The slow and steady beeping that had been long since tuned out slowly started to increase while Bradley regained consciousness. Your dad looked warily at the machine, watching Bradley’s heart rate rise.

“I’ll get a doctor.” He ducks out, and Carole stands.

“We should go,” She grabs Nick’s hand, looking pointedly at you, “We’ll give you a minute alone with him, honey.”

Nick starts to protest about being led away, something about how ‘-he came outta my balls! I can’t see him when he wakes up in the hospital?’ but Carole’s already corralling him to the nurse’s station in search of your father. If you weren’t so fond of the woman you’d be cursing her for sticking you alone with Bradley, but you know you can’t let yourself succumb to fear again; this time you have to be a big girl.

“Baby,” Bradley rasps, turning your attention back on him. You watch him weakly, eyes apprehensive as he reaches for your hand, “C’mere.”

You hesitate, and he lets out a weak chuckle, “Come on, now. You’re not gonna kill me by holding my hand.”

“Bradley,” You sniffle, reaching out for his limp fingers on the bed, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, “I’m okay. Comes in the job description, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” You repeat, grief-stricken as you clutch at his hand desperately, “I shouldn’t have left, I- I wish I had stayed.”

“Baby,” His brows furrow and he laughs sympathetically, “They wouldn’t have let you stay, you know that. I work on a naval base, not at a chipotle. You can’t sit with me all day. Plus, there was no way you would’ve known I was gonna go down. I’m glad you weren’t there, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”

All at once, your chest burns hot, blazing with panic. Is he not going to talk to you about it? Is he going to pretend nothing happened? Is he going to refuse to acknowledge what you’d said? You stammer, “What-?”

“Mr. Bradshaw!” The doctor comes in, cheery now that his patient is awake. You turn your head, still dazed and fear-stricken at Bradley’s demeanor. “Let’s see how you’re doing here. Any chest pain?”

“A little,” Bradley shifts in his bed, wincing infinitesimally.

“Probably just some discomfort due to the broken ribs. Headache?”

“Yeah,” Bradley admits with a groan, “That I’ve got.”

The doctor scribbles something down on his chart, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Bradley strains to think, “I… don’t know. I don’t even-" He grimaces, "I don't even remember the crash, ‘just know it happened ‘cause he told me.”

Bradley raises a shaky finger to point at Nick, who’s happy to see his son gain some mobility back, even if he is worried for the boy. The three adults had filed back into the room after the doctor, and you pointedly avoid Carole’s imploring stare.

“Think hard,” The doctor commands, and you squeeze his hand like it’s a play-dough machine, like memories will ooze themselves into his brain in star shapes and heart cut-outs.

“I remember…” Bradley rasps, turning his hand beneath yours to grasp it, “Jake’s birthday party. That was-” He glances over at you, “-last night?”

“That was three weeks ago,” This time your heart rate is the one to rise, echoing dully in your ears like the soundtrack of a horror film, “Is that-” You sniffle, “Is that the last thing you can remember, B?”

His eyebrows raise and he tries taking in the information, “Yeah- uh, shit. Three weeks ago. What does that mean, doctor?”

“It sounds like you’ve developed post-traumatic amnesia.” The doctor scribbles once more on his paperwork, “The good news is, we think you have only a mild concussion. And amnesia induced by mild concussions typically lasts only up to a week or two at most. But there’s a very real chance you could remember everything in just a few minutes.”

Amnesia.

He doesn’t remember.

“What I want you to do now is to rest, and we’ll have a nurse send up something to eat. Please,” The doctor eyes Nick knowingly, “Do not feed him the funyuns you’re holding behind your back.”

“Foiled again,” Goose laughs, tossing the packet of chips onto a chair beside his own lunch, “You got it, doc.”

“Alright, glad you’re awake,” The doctor bids you goodbye, “And- a nurse will be in to run a few simple tests later. For now, just sleep and eat.”

“Will do,” Bradley tries tightening his hand around yours but you worm away from him, and it’s heartbreakingly easy to do with his limited mobility. You stand abruptly, legs shaky and heart pounding in your chest as you stumble away from his bed.

Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia.

He doesn't remember.

“Honey?” Bradley calls warily, face scrunching into a tired frown.

His eyes follow you as you back right into your chair, the plastic scraping against the floor with an ungodly screech. Now the attention is all on you, and you give into that dreaded fight or flight response you seem to always fall victim to.

“I need to use the bathroom,” You ramble, rushing for the door, “I’ll be back!”

“Y/N-” Bradley tries calling, but his voice is weak enough where you can pretend you haven’t heard it as you try to refrain from running down the hall. You don’t make it ten steps before Bradley’s door closes with a sharp click, and the voice of one Carole Bradshaw cuts through the silence of the hallway.

“Y/N Mitchell!”

She’s using the same tone she used to use when you’d get in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school, or throwing mud at a boy who was mean to Bradley. You react just like you had then, spine stiffening and limbs locking.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” She warns, stomping towards you in her half-raised heels, “Turn around, young lady.”

You follow her orders even if the nickname is outdated. She’s got her pretty eyes narrowed, and as much as it pains you to be on the receiving end of one of her seldom-used withering stares, it’s better than being in there and watching Bradley’s eyes shift when he suddenly remembers you’d been the biggest douche on planet Earth.

“Did you apologize?” She inquires, and you nod obediently.

“But- but Carole, he doesn’t remember-!”

“He will,” She promises, “And when he does, you’d better apologize again. He needs you right now, y’know? He thinks it’s three weeks ago, before you ran off and left'im. As far as he knows, you’re still his adoring girlfriend who he’s probably yearning to see right about now. So go in there,” She reaches for your hand, “Kiss that boy on the mouth,” She demands, “And stop running away!”

“What? I can’t-” You gush, trying to pull away. But she’s stronger than Bradley is at the moment, and her hand tightens around yours, “I can’t lie to him! Not about this, I- how long am I supposed to pretend?”

“As long as you can,” She insists, already pulling you back towards his room, a woman on a mission, “You march right on in there, and tell him how worried you were, and let his memories come back to him on his own time. He’s traumatized right now, he just doesn’t know it yet, and he needs you there. If you break the news to him now, it’ll only stress him out more. Go play nice, and when he comes around in a few minutes, you can have a real talk.”

“I don’t want to lie to him,” You lament, and she stops pulling you down the hall to narrow her eyes at you.

“Babydoll?” She asks sweetly, and fooled by her kindness, you hum in question, “I don’t give a shit.”

She’s never foul-mouthed, so it catches your attention. She holds your incredulous gaze, “You want him back?”

“Yes.”

“You wish you’d never left?”

“Yes.”

“Well as far as he knows, you haven’t.” She huffs, the fabric of her skirt flowing near her calves, “So get in there and be there for your boyfriend of twenty years, and when he suddenly remembers you aren’t his girlfriend anymore, Grovel. Sound like a plan?” She raises an eyebrow, and you tamp down the nerves rising in your chest. You nod cautiously, resolutely, and she loosens her grip on your hand. She still holds it to lead you back to the room, but she stops outside the door to speak one last time.

“I know you love him,” Her voice is softer now, genuinely sweet and caring, “And I also know you like to run when things get scary. And that’s understandable, but it’s not okay, not right now. You can’t stop loving someone just ‘cause you don’t wanna lose ‘em. It’ll hurt worse if you walk away.”

“I know,” You breathe shakily, squeezing her hand, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, sweetpea,” She smiles, tears still gathered in her eyes, “Now get in there and kiss my son.”

“There they are,” Your dad stands as you reenter the room, “You ladies have a nice bathroom break?”

“‘Had the time of our lives,” Carole nods, letting you take the seat closest to Bradley’s head. Your feet feel burdened with lead weights as you step towards his bedside, and he watches you with worried eyes. You’re sure he knows you weren’t really going to the bathroom, not with the way you’d fled, but you’re glad he’s choosing to pretend for your sake. He seems worried, though, and you curse yourself for making this about you.

“Y/N,” He reaches out for you as soon as you’re in reach, his voice still hoarse. His hand squeezes yours instantly, and you feel for the panic he's probably experiencing. He deserves a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, and it should be someone better than you.

“Bradley,” You murmur back, trying to stop your lips from trembling, “I- can I kiss you?”

Carole’s voice rings in your ears, and you don’t have to turn around to know she’s smiling at the two of you. Bradley pauses, then his worried eyes soften and he nods weakly against the pillow.

“Oh,” Nick teases as you brace your hand on Bradley’s bed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his lips, “Lovebirds!”

The kiss is nothing but awkward. It’s hesitant on your end, because you can’t believe you get to do it again. You’d really believed the goodbye kiss you’d shared with Bradley before he picked up dinner for the two of you would be your last one, so fitting your lips over his in the hospital seems like something otherworldly. You’re careful, too, because you don’t want to hurt him, not that you think you could ever smooch him to death. He doesn’t reciprocate much, he can’t, but the familiar prickle of his mustache against your lip is a welcome feeling that makes your heart feel light again, if only for a few seconds.

When you pull away, it’s gone. Because you have to look him in the eyes, the same ones you’d forced tears out of two weeks ago, and pretend like none of it happened at all.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” You gush, voice cracking, and it feels right starting off with the truth. You can get to the lies later, the ugly little abominations you’re cooking up so that he preserves as much mental energy as possible while on bedrest. You know Carole’s right, you know he needs to heal as much as he can before you make it worse with the news, but lying feels so wrong. He’ll find out sooner or later, and what if he really was done with you? What if he hadn’t told his mom so that no family drama erupted, what if it wasn’t because he was going to try to get you back? What if he hated you, and what if he hates you even more when he knows you’re lying through your teeth to him?

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He promises, his fingers curling slowly and carefully around your own, "Are you? You ran off, I was worried."

"I'm fine," You insist, waving away his concern with a shake of your head.

He doesn't seem satisfied with your answer; he can read you like a book. But he accepts your answer, and you admire him for not wanting to pry in front of everyone. He changes the subject, glancing briefly around the hospital room, “Baby my- my phone, can I have my phone?”

“It’s here,” Your dad hands it to him, and Carole watches your eyes widen infinitesimally. What if Bradley sees his text conversations? What if he sees that you haven’t talked in half a month? What if he finds messages from someone on a dating app he’d used, a rebound-in-the-making?

What if he’s changed his background? What if he wants an answer as to why it’s probably some picturesque sunset, a jet plane cutting through the clouds above. Or maybe it’s of Lewis, he’d recently had photos restored of the dog.

What if he notices your contact name is changed to something like ‘Do not answer’? What if he realizes he’s blocked you? What if all of your pictures together are deleted off of his phone, and he wonders why?

There’s a thousand things that could go wrong.

“Coyote called,” Bradley rasps, upon first sight of his screen. Then, “Hangman. Twice. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, I- I should send out a message.”

“I will!” You lunge for your own phone, digging in your back pocket with suspicious urgency, “Uh, I’ll let everyone know, you just- just rest.”

“Okay,” Bradley hesitates for only a second, letting his grip go loose around his phone so that it falls back to the bed.

He seems content to let you do it, if only a little deterred by your insistence. But you’ll play the part of the fussy girlfriend, not wanting her injured love to work harder than he has to.

Nick and Pete take the time that you’re creating a group thread to question Bradley more on his memories, and every answer he gives sets your heart on edge. Your fingers feel numb as you type out ‘Rooster’s stable now, he has a mild concussion and a few broken ribs, but the doctors say he’ll recover fully. His memories are a little hazy from the past few weeks but apparently those will be back soon. I’ll send you any updates we get.’

Before anyone even has a chance to reply, you set the thread on silent. You can’t bear even getting a notification that the message can’t be sent, because you’re sure Bradley’s team aren’t too fond of you right now, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d blocked you in solidarity for their friend. But Bradley hadn’t even told his mom, would he have told his team? Would he even need to? Or would they notice the circles beneath his eyes worsening, the stubble adorning his cheeks from a lack of motivation to do anything productive? Or, maybe even worse, would they have seen him with another girl hanging off of his arm at a bar? Would they have caught him out to lunch with a woman and figured it out themselves?

“Hey,” Bradley rasps, effectively breaking your zoned-out worry spiral. Your eyes don’t lose their intensity but they focus on his pale face, and he offers you a weak smile, “Anyone respond?”

“Always the attention seeker,” Nick laughs, creating a distraction so perfect that you don’t bother checking the text to answer Bradley. “Should we tell ‘em to bring flowers too, Brad?”

“Shut up,” Bradley’s voice is far too quiet to be menacing, but it’s the type of teasing he always engages in with his old man, “When you were in the hospital you said I had to draw you one picture a day or you’d think I didn’t love you.”

“And I only got fifteen out of eighteen,” If Goose is capable of a withering stare, it’s what’s directed at Bradley now, “I can’t believe I bought a Bronco for a kid who doesn’t love me.”

“Alright, you two,” Carole swats at her husband’s arm, “Cut it out, don’t overwhelm him.”

“His heart’s beatin’ real fast,” Nick snickers, “But that’s probably ‘cause Miss Mitchell is doting all over him.”

The attention’s back on you, and it means Bradley’s waiting to hear your response. You dry swallow after sending Nick a good-natured eye-roll, trying to act like your heart isn’t beating ten times faster than Bradley’s.

Miraculously, nothing awful awaits you in the group chat. There’s no error messages, no scolding, no pledges of hatred for you, and it makes you think that you really might be able to get away with this for a while. Carole won’t tell, and that doctor said Bradley might not retain his memories for weeks. It’s like everyone has hit undo on what might be your biggest mistake in life, and you don’t know how to take the opportunity.

“Bob says he hopes you recover soon,” You push the panicked fog out of your head, reading in a low voice, “Hangman says he’s gonna give you flying lessons when you get back so that you,” You snort softly, “Get the hang of it, and to that, he is receiving a barrage of middle finger emojis.”

Rooster lets out a laugh, one that’s genuine and thick from his chest. It’s unlike his voice has been so far, it’s not fractured or achy, and the sound warms your heart. Some of the sickly despair that’s been coating your heart like globs of poison dries up, and you almost feel normal again when you slide your hand into his. He holds your back, and it’s like nothing’s ever happened.

You have your Bradley back; the only question is for how long.

Lunch is a sorry state of affairs for Bradley. His tray consists of chicken and gravy that runs into his mashed potatoes, and the jello they give him has a layer of cherry red liquid pooling overtop. You and Carole take turns spoon-feeding the man, giving each other a chance to mow through your sandwiches between bites.

Your dad watches out for the doctors while you sneak Bradley some of your sandwich. It’s cafeteria turkey, and honestly you’d rather go for the chicken on his plate, but he hums gratefully at the spread of mayonnaise and mustard on the bread.

“Thanks, babydoll.” He croons, a smear of mashed potatoes in his mustache that you wipe away with watery eyes at the nickname. He puckers his lips to kiss at your thumb and it’s like you’re at home on his birthday, feeding him in bed and stealing kisses between bites.

Bradley’s eyes start to droop halfway through his watery jello, and your dad stands, brushing sandwich crumbs off of his jeans.

“Alright, buddy,” He squeezes Bradley’s foot reassuringly, “I’ll head out. Probably best to let you sleep. Get some rest, and make her give us updates,” He narrows his eyes at you, accusatory, “I know you’ll be too wrapped up in him to remember we exist, but take some time away from his lips to tell me if he’s still breathing out of ‘em, m’kay?”

“Don’t be makin’ out too much, “Nick goads, standing when Carole grabs his hand and does herself, “His heart rate’ll skyrocket and the nurse is gonna think he’s havin’ a heart attack!”

‘Yes, yes, they love each other very much,” Carole hums, leaning down to kiss Bradley’s forehead. He leans into it but his hand stays in yours, and you gladly accept the same gesture from the woman on your cheek, “Let’s leave him be, okay? Brad, I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” She promises, “Your dad and Pete have some work to do in the backyard, but they’ll join us after lunch.”

The men don’t seem to have known about this yard work until now, and they share equally exasperated groans.

“And I’ll be here,” You throw in, meeting Carole’s appreciative gaze, “I’ll stay until they throw me out.”

“You could always handcuff yourself to the bed,” Your dad hums, and you pointedly ignore Goose’s comment about the pair of handcuffs you ‘probably keep in your nightstand.’ It gets him a sharp smack upside the head from your dad, and you’re sure Nick will choose a better audience next time.

“We love you,” Carole promises, squeezing Bradley’s arm as he bids her goodbye, “We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!”

“Love you,” Bradley hums, voice less gruff than before now that he’s used it again, “See you tomorrow.”

The entire time he’s been awake, he hasn’t let go of your hand. He turns to you with those sleepy eyes of his, big and brown and begging for a kiss. You lean in before you can stop yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

His heart rate picks up.

You laugh against his mouth at the increased beeping, and he’s barely sheepish as he nudges his nose against your own. You feel like you’re loving on borrowed time, like any second now he’ll be slammed with the memory of you breaking his heart, stomping all over it like it hadn’t been yours for the past 20 years - maybe all of your life.

“I love you,” He murmurs, squeezing your hand, “Y/N, I- I love you so much. I don’t remember anything,” He’s slurring his words slightly with fatigue, and you kiss the corner of his mouth as he speaks, “But I know you could have lost me forever, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to handle.”

He has no idea how true his words are. Of course, you’d nearly lost his life to the crash. But two weeks earlier, you’d lost his touch, his voice, his gaze, his love, and you’re grateful the tears that line your eyes look natural.

“Mhm,” You nod, sniffling, “It was- it was hard, Brad.” You admit, thinking back to the night you’d left. You’d checked into a shitty motel for the night, and you’d cried yourself sick in the shower. Even after your stomach was emptied you couldn’t bring yourself to eat for two days afterwards, and you’d only given into the mini fridge after nearly passing out. Your days were long and spent regretting your decision, wondering if you’d ever be happy without him by your side, and worrying that he might be able to.

“I just keep wanting to do it over,” You gush, feeling his hand tighten around your own as you sob, “I- I wanted to take it back, to-” You swallow a sob, remembering your lines, “-to stop you from going to work. If I’d just made you stay…” Your face crumples with a gush of tears you aren’t able to hold back, and you give up on speaking for now.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Bradley hums, kissing the space between your nose and your cheek. It’s all he can reach from the way you’re sobbing into his pillow, and you’re thankful for the comfort you might not be able to get soon.

“You couldn’t have changed anything,” He promises, and you nestle your head into his own to absorb his soothing voice, “My plane was still the one with the defect, baby. I would have gone down tomorrow if not today. ‘S only a matter of time.”

A wave of sickness washes over you at his choice of words, and you nod, trying to regain a grip. You lift yourself up from the pillow, neck aching as you crane it to kiss his chin. He smiles at you, his eyes so genuine and sweet that it makes you want to lose your lunch; it’s an expression you don’t deserve anymore, even if you long for it. It’s only a matter of time before he remembers everything, and you don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t want you anymore.

“You’re tired,” You hum, and he nods against the pillow, “Sleep, baby. You need rest.” You sniffle, wiping away a tear from your eye more forcefully than you need to. You try to lean back in your chair but Bradley stiffens, and feel him tighten his grip on your hand.

“Please don’t leave me,” He begs, and more of that nausea comes rolling in. They’re the exact words he’d whimpered just next to your ear two weeks ago, keeping the door closed with one hand while the other wound around your waist. Then, you’d wormed your way out of his grip, ripping the door open despite his efforts to stop you and running off to your car. Now though, you meet his eyes, scared and desperate and lost, and you nod, scooting forwards to lay your head on his chest.

“I’ll stay,” You promise, and he raises a hand to brace it against your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm, and he strokes a thumb over your face, “I’ll stay, Bradley, I promise.”

The nap that you take on Bradley’s chest is the best sleep you’ve had since you left. Being in his embrace once more practically erases your undereye circles, and it takes you a few seconds after you wake up to remember that anything is out of the ordinary in the first place. Then it all comes flooding back, and you cycle through each stage of grief respectively while still slumped onto the bed. Then you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you realize that Bradley’s nurse has shaken you awake.

“Hi,” The man smiles down at you, “Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you didn’t want to wake up.”

“Oh,” You laugh hesitantly, slipping out from beneath Bradley’s hand and wiping away a slight glob of drool that had accumulated around the corner of your mouth, “No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?”

“Dinnertime,” Another nurse chimes from by the door, carrying another tray of meat and potatoes for Bradley, “Around six-thirty, Miss Mitchell.”

“You’re welcome to eat here with him,” The first nurse informs you, “But you’ll have to get something from the cafeteria, or order in. And visiting hours end at eight,” He levels you with a sympathetic smile, “But if you’ve got one bite left I won’t kick you out.”

“Thank you,” You chuckle wearily, your voice barely thickened with tears, “I appreciate that. Bradley,” You hum, squeezing his hand and stroking your free one through his hair, “Wake up, baby. They brought you some dinner.”

He comes to groggy, and you don’t blame him. He blinks a few times, then recognition washes over his face as he remembers why he’s there, and hopefully nothing else.

The nurses get busy with moving his bed, pressing buttons on the little remote strapped to the side until he’s inclined enough to eat his meal. The tray hooks into the sides of the bed so that he doesn’t have to hold anything, but you take his fork for him anyways, leaving his hands completely free.

“Thank you,” You nod gratefully at the nurses when they retreat for the door, a smear of mashed potatoes already gathered on the utensil in your hand. Bradley’s happy to let you feed him, humming at the taste of the beef they’ve given him.

“Better than the chicken,” He hums, his voice gaining back a bit of its grating quality from earlier. He’s usually rough-voiced after a nap, so you don’t worry too much about it. Typically you indulge in his raspy morning voice, but now it seems insensitive.

“Good,” You croon, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy onto a bite of the beef, “And it doesn’t bother your stomach?”

“What’s there to upset it, salt?” He grumbles around a mouthful, “Barely tastes like anything.”

“Sorry, Brad,” You hum, stroking a stray strand of caramel colored hair back into place, “I’m not supposed to feed you anything else, though.”

“I know,” He relents, lips puckering to kiss your wrist instead of wrapping around the spoon in your hand, “Not your fault, baby. But,” He rears back to takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully while you wait for his next sentence, “Can you bring me cookies tomorrow?”

You laugh, trying to keep it quiet in the slowly darkening hospital room. There’s no one around, and the door is closed, but his voice isn’t loud and you don’t want to overpower him.

“I just said I wasn’t allowed to feed you anything else,” You roll your eyes affectionately, a teasing gesture you thought you’d never be able to do with the man anymore, “What makes you think I’d bring you cookies?”

“Um, ‘cause you love me?” Bradley drawls, voice finally rising to a healthy volume. Maybe it’s the food in his stomach, or maybe it’s a switch that was suddenly flipped in his chest, but he sounds like himself again.

His words sober your fantasy intoxication, and you smile sadly at him where he lays in his bed. You set the fork down to lay your hand over his cheek, your palm soaking in the warmth of his skin that’s newly returned.

“I do love you,” You promise, leaning in to kiss him. You have to lean over his plate to do so, and you’ll worry later about any potential gravy stains on your shirt. You go slow and gentle, worried that he’ll push you away for reasons he doesn’t remember yet. But he doesn’t. In fact, when you pull away to give him some air, he catches your wrist in a surprising display of agility for his weakened muscles, and you freeze in place.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, mustache shifting slightly with his apology, “I can’t stop thinking about you getting that call. I never-” His voice cracks, “I never wanted you to go through that.”

“Me neither,” You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, the same that are shining in Bradley’s, “But you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault, and what matters is that you’re okay now. I have you back, Bradley, I- I didn’t lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” He vows, and your lips sting with the force of your bite to repress a sob.

He lifts his head from his pillow, the first time he’s done it since waking up. He kisses your temple as you try not to cry, lips dotting staccato kisses against your skin as you tremble slightly.

“I promise, baby,” He hums softly into your skin as his hand comes up to hug you, “You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” You cry, your fist gripping his hospital gown desperately. You want to believe him but it’s not even really Bradley talking, it’s three-weeks-ago Bradley that doesn’t remember you walking out of his life for self-preservation. It’s Bradley that doesn’t know the worst of you yet, but who could remember at any moment and cast you away.

“You won’t, I promise.” He coos, stroking up and down your back. You feel silly, accepting comfort from a hospital patient who went down in a fighter jet less than 24 hours ago, but you feel even sillier that it's the same man you’d torn to shreds days prior. But he’s comforting you, he’s rubbing your back, he’s kissing your face, and he’s promising you that you’ll never lose him, so you let him, because you love hearing him lie, even if he doesn't know he's doing it.

“You promise?” You look up at him with watery eyes that blur out his face, but you see him nod. It’s unfair to ask, not when he doesn’t have the knowledge to truly promise. He cranes his neck forwards to bump noses with you, letting you cry against his skin.

“I do, honey.” He nods, holding you close like you’d never left at all, “I promise.”

Going from crying into each other’s embraces back to eating bland mashed potatoes is hard, but you ease Bradley into it with a bite of granola bar you’d found in your purse. He’s grateful for something with flavor, and you’re glad to finally be rid of the half-eaten snack.

“Oatmeal raisin cookies, please,” Bradley begs as he chews the snack, going as far as to bat his pretty lashes at you, brown eyes shiny with hope.

You scoff, wiping a tear away from your face with a fond, albeit trembling smile, “Okay, Brad. Oatmeal raisin.”

“You’re the best,’ He hums, grinning with a mouthful of oats and chocolate. You check your phone to find that you’ve only got twenty minutes left until visiting hours are over, and your eyes dim as you glance back up at him.

“I have to go soon,” You lament, “Visiting hours are over in twenty.”

His face fades from its pretty smile, some of the newfound color draining from his skin once more. You’re sure he’ll have a nightmare tonight, something about jet crashes and dying alone, and you hate leaving him here so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, baby,” You sniffle, squeezing his hand, “They open back up at 8 tomorrow, so as soon as I make those cookies I’ll be back, I promise.”

“I know,” He nods, raising your intertwined hands to kiss at your wrist, “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

“I’d stay overnight if I could.”

“I’d sneak you into my bed,” Bradley grins sadly, “S’alright, baby, just get a good night’s sleep. You deserve it after today.”

“You too,” You squeeze his hand, smiling sweetly at him, “And if you have a nightmare, text me, and I’ll crawl through the window, ‘promise.”

He laughs again, and now that he’s got most of his strength back it’s a normal sound. It’s not weak, it’s not subdued, it’s perfect. It’s Bradley.

“I’d like to see you try,” He teases, and you wipe a smear of chocolate off of his lower lip, remembering the first time you’d ever done that with a fond smile.

“I’m on the sixth floor.” He reminds you, and you shrug, sucking the chocolate off of your finger.

“Meh,” You crumble up the granola bar wrapper in your fist, “I could scale that easy.”

“Oh, really? Yeah, I bet you could,” Bradley chuckles, “You’re Spider-Man, suddenly? Sticking to walls? I must have forgotten your transformation.”

“Yeah, you did,” You grin with a laugh, “Actually, while I rushed over here to see you, a truck full of radioactive spiders crashed, and I got bitten by one. You’ve missed a lot, Brad.”

“Right,” Bradley’s brows raise, eyes alight with amusement, “Those radioactive spider trucks are a real nuisance, I hear.”

Giggling sweetly with him feels normal. The kind of normal you crave, the kind that isn’t settled for, but yearned for. And you’re clinging to it, pushing the truth out of your mind and playing the part perfectly.

A knock on the door interrupts your gigglefest and you turn in time to see the nurse from before entering, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“I’m supposed to kick you out,” He jokes, holding Bradley’s chart, “And you’re free to sleep whenever, Mr. Bradshaw, we don’t need to conduct any more tests tonight. You’re just here to be monitored."

“Alright,” Bradley nods and you stand, still clasping his hand in yours. The doctor busies himself with straightening up the chairs around the bed, and you take the privacy he so kindly grants you.

“Sleep good,” You recite your pre-bedtime deployment sendoff to Bradley, the phrase having gathered dust in the back of your head since his last overseas assignment, “Sweet dreams, and call me when you can.”

“I will,” Bradley leans up to kiss you, going for your lips, then your cheek, then your chin, “You too, baby. Get some rest. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” You beam down at him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, “You’re okay, Brad.”

"See you tomorrow!" He calls as you leave, and you turn to nod.

"See you tomorrow, baby." You promise once more, hand on the door handle, "Goodnight."

“Sleep well, Mr. Bradshaw,” The nurse bids Bradley goodbye with a smile and a nod as you trail out behind him, and at the click of the door behind the two of you, it’s like you’re the recovering amnesia patient. Now that Bradley’s not there anymore, not smiling at you, not telling you he loves you, it’s like you can’t be sure of anything, like you’re still that imposter you’d been when you’d first stepped in. You come to the sickening realization, only after the fact, that you'd loved lying to Bradley, and it makes you feel worse. Your reverie is shattered, and the nurse beside you notices your shaky breathing as you trail down the hallway.

“Miss, are you okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and you nod.

“Yeah, just-” You smooth your hands down your pants, your palms sweaty, “It’s a lot. Being in there, seeing him like- like that. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”

“No one is,” The nurse smiles sympathetically at you, leading you to an elevator, “But he’s right, Miss Mitchell. He’ll be alright. And hopefully, his memories will restore themselves overnight. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up remembering it all.”

You’re sure that was meant to soothe you, but it’s only sent more nausea rolling through your body. You nod, forcing a smile as the doors shut between you, “Thank you, Nurse.”

Once the doors shut, you want to burst into tears. You don’t want the reception desk to see that, though, so you rush through the motions of leaving, practically running to your car. Once you’re safely inside the floodgates open, and you’re surprised you don’t trigger the horn from how hard you’re sobbing against the steering wheel.

You try to channel Bradley’s voice, ‘I promise baby, you won't lose me.’ but it makes things worse, it piles guilt on top of your sickness and makes you want to run away again. Because he’d promised you that he’d never leave you, not that he’d ever let you come back if you’d left him. And that’s what you’re worried about now.

Running away hadn’t stopped anything bad from happening, it just made you feel worse when bad things did happen. Thankful for your second chance, you swear to yourself in the stuffy silence of your car that you’ll do anything to fix this, and that you’re not going to fuck this up again because you’re scared. Love is scary, giving yourself completely to another person is scary, but Bradley’s always been good at soothing your fears, and there’s no one you’d rather give yourself to.

You steel yourself as you prepare to drive back to your motel, but second-guess it when you remember that Bradley has his phone with him. You have each other shared on Find My Friends, and he doesn’t normally check it unless he’s worried about your safety, but you’re paranoid that he’ll find your pin at a crappy motel and know something is wrong. So you punch in Bradley’s address instead, the one you used to share with him, still labeled as ‘home’, and set off.

The drive looks familiar in no time, and it reminds you of how much you’d missed it. The big oak tree on your neighbor’s lawn, the flag perpetually at half-mast because the man across the street fell while adjusting it and never fixed it, the tricycle on the sidewalk beside your front door that the toddler next door always seemed to leave on your walkway. You check the mail and feel something stabbing at your chest when your name is on one of the letters, and your house key is cold with disuse as you slide it into the slot.

You hesitate when the doorknob turns beneath your fingers. Walking into Bradley’s space will tell you exactly how he feels about what happened between you. There’s either going to be empty bottles strewn everywhere with pictures laying around covered in tear stains, or there’s going to be a hot pink bra in his bed, and a new woman’s makeup kit in his bathroom. Hell, maybe she’ll even still be there, maybe you’re about to walk in on your replacement.

But the promise you’d made to yourself in the car wasn’t for show, and you turn the knob after taking a deep breath, stepping into the darkened home.

You call out an uncertain ‘hello?’ into the place, waiting with bated breath for a woman’s voice to respond. But it never does, and you flick the light on beside the door.

You’d been right with one of your guesses.

It’s messy. Not exactly the outwardly disastrous type of messy you’d imagined earlier, but knowing all of the little things about Bradley means that you know he’s let himself go over the past two weeks. His running shoes are gathering dust by the door, which seems to suggest that he’s been lazing in bed just like you have. The living room is pristine, the pillows all arranged the way you set it up that Bradley doesn’t care to replicate, and you wonder if he’s sat on the couch at all the entire time since you’ve been gone. There’s no grocery list on the fridge and upon further inspection, the appliance is close to empty, one lonely beer left alongside ketchup, mustard, and a rotting head of lettuce. Unless he was eating the worst burgers known to man, you don’t think he’s been eating anything from the kitchen. Your heart aches for Bradley; you hope he’s been ordering food in.

Walking through the space is like revisiting a crime scene as the killer. Everything here is because of you, the pictures stripped from the walls are gone because of you, the lonely toothbrush in the dual holder is because of you, the neatly made side of the bed with its messy counterpart is because of you.

You realize that it’s your side that’s slept on, Bradley’s still tucked neatly in place, unused. You spot a red covering over your pillow, reaching for it and finding it to be an old t-shirt of yours that Bradley had raided your dresser drawers for. It’s one he’d bought you at a tourist trap on your vacation a few years ago, and it was your favorite to lounge in. You notice a dark spot on the fabric and only then realize that you’re crying, that it’s a tear that had fallen from your eye. Then it’s like everything hits you all at once, and you sink onto the mattress clutching the pillow. It smells like Bradley, and you know he’s been clinging to it every night, a thought that solidifies your sneaking suspicion that you might be the worst person on the planet.

You curl up and cry there, you don’t know for how long. All you can do is sob, soak your pillow with tears that you thought you were out of, clutch the bedsheets like they’ll reveal Bradley, hidden underneath and eager for a cuddle. This bed feels as empty as the motel’s had, maybe even emptier, because you’ve never slept in it away from Bradley. When he’s on deployment you always have a sweatshirt of his and a picture of him tucked under the pillow, but you know it won’t be there now. Now you’re alone, really alone.

Your eyes droop and you know you need sleep, especially if you’re going to wake up early to make Bradley cookies in time for visiting hours to start. But you can’t bring yourself to sleep without the picture of him under his pillow, so you stumble out of bed to fetch it from your box of memories.

Your fingers close around the slightly wrinkled photo, a shot of you in a gown and Bradley in a suit. It’s one you’d taken yourself at your graduation, high school turned college sweethearts. He had wanted admission into the Naval Academy, but in order to spend more time with you, you’d enrolled together at a university. It’s your favorite photo to have with you, and you reach out to Bradley’s pillow to slide it underneath. Upon lifting the pillow, you find a stack of pictures already there. Each one of you, most with Bradley pictured in them too. They only make you cry harder, and you recognize some as the inserts of the picture frames that had been taken down from the hallway.

It looks like Bradley hoarded photos of you, and some are stiff and stained with tears. The sight is something out of a movie, a dramatic indication of the inner turmoil of its main character. You see a shot of your silhouettes together, faces darkened by the sun streaming in behind you. You’re kissing on the beach, and without paying much mind to the structural integrity of the photo, you clutch it to your chest.

You’re a wreck. You just want your Bradley back, but your Bradley isn’t yours anymore. You want three-weeks-ago Bradley back, the one who you didn’t run away from. But he’ll probably have his memories back by tomorrow, and there’s no telling if he’d even want you to visit again. Looking at the sorry state of his apartment, you know he misses you, but whether he wants you back is another question altogether. All you can do is wait and worry, and worry you do. As you sob and heave in the bed, your brain shuts down, and eventually you drift into a dreamless, unpleasant sleep, nose still buried in your shirt that smells like Bradley.

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runningfrom2am · 2 months

Text

cold nights // part twenty-three

summary: you were back in the capitol, and you would be damned if you didn't try your hardest to make it worthwhile.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 5.1k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: yayyyy s3 is here!! this has SO much potential and there is so much i want to do with this from here but i believe this will be the last season!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

You had the train car all to yourselves. Few peacekeepers were allowed to leave in the wake of the murders, and for that you were thankful. You were able to let Tybalt out to explore the car, but he mostly stayed on your lap.

You felt guilty about taking him, you didn't even want to ask until your mother insisted, and Coryo wouldn't deny you bringing him. You thought about maybe taking him to a vet when you arrived. There were hardly any in Twelve, none of which made time for domestic animals that weren't livestock of some kind. You had to assume that in the Capitol that was a completely different story, so maybe this would be good for him.

It was dark by now, and Coryo was fast asleep on the bench next to you, head pressed to the window. You suspect he hadn't slept at all the night before.

"Sejanus." You whisper. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah." He replies quietly, sitting across from you at the small table.

"Are you okay?" Your question is met with a few beats of silence.

"I was meant to go with them." He whispers. "I didn't want to go back there."

"The Capitol?" You ask. "Why not?"

"It's not my home." He answers simply. You can hardly see his face in the dark, but you can tell he's sad. Grieving the life he could have had.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Sejanus?" You whisper, leaning forward to try and see him.

"Hm?"

"Was Lennox going too?"

"No." You can see the shadow of him shaking his head in the dark. "He was only going to bring some supplies for us out to the cabin at the lake and leave them for us to pick up on our way."

You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. He couldn't have left. You knew you couldn't bear it- and your parents would not cope well losing another child. You thought he wouldn't do that, but you weren't confident enough to say for certain. You'd much rather have a rebel for a brother than never see him again. Though, to you, helping friends was hardly an act of rebellion.

"What... what are you going to take?" You ask, hoping to change the topic. It was nice to have him talking again. "At the university, I mean."

"Medicine. I'd like to be a doctor, I think. I want to help people, maybe out in the Districts."

"Of course." You grin. "That's so like you. Your patients will be very lucky people."

"It'll never be enough." He shakes his head and you frown. "I can't help everyone. And everyone outside the Capitol needs it so bad. Did you know my father is the head of munitions in District Two? I'll never be able to make up for the pain my name has caused. Never."

"Well..." You look down at the cat curled up next to you. "You saved Tybs. I can't even tell you how much that means to me. Everything you do will mean so much to people. Even if it's just one person, I think that is more than enough. To try is more than enough."

You see the ghost of a smile twitch on his lips. "Thanks, Y/N. You're gonna do good things, too."

"How unhappy is he who cannot forgive himself."

Sejanus sighs. "Extremely."

A few hours later, it was your turn to sleep. At least, to try. It was hard to get comfortable, curled up on one of the benches with a bag of your clothes as a pillow and Tybalt insisting on sleeping on top of you.

You were just drifting off, you could hardly keep your eyes open, when quickly a nightmare jolts you awake. Bang! The sound of a gunshot- in your dream state you know it's the bullet that found a home in Cole Harlem. The next 'bang' was the sound of your head hitting the table next to you when you shoot back up, unintentionally scaring your cat off of your side.

You hiss, placing a hand on the side of your head and rubbing it through the pain. "Ow..."

"Y/N? Are you okay?" You hear Coryo ask quietly, followed by footsteps across the centre aisle of the train car.

"Mhm." You hum, trying to squint to see him in the poor lighting. It must be almost morning- there's a blue wash beginning to paint over everything onboard, including his form as he's crouched down next to you.

"Let me see..." He says softly, hands already lifted ready to touch you. To see if he can help.

You move a little closer, dropping your hand so he can gently cradle your face in his larger ones, using a finger to turn your head to the side as he examines the bump on your temple.

It's impossible for him to see in this lighting, but if there was blood he would be able to tell. "Just a bump." He whispers. "You'll be alright."

You just nod slightly under his grip, eyes searching for his in the dark. Neither of you want to move. Being this close to you, having you come home with him is a gift he wouldn't dare miss by blinking too slowly or letting his hold on you drift.

"Nightmare?" He asks quietly and you just nod again. Without a word, you're moving back on the bench to the window and he is sliding into the spot next to you. "Do you think you'll be able to get back to sleep?"

"No." You answer softly, giving a slight shake of your head.

"Can I ask what it was about?" He asks. "Tigris always told me talking about it helps."

You chew your lip, looking away from him and down at the empty table. "Cole."

Coryo tenses next to you, his jaw clicking from the small movement. "I... I am sorry." He doesn't know what to say besides that- and he feels like telling you that dirtbag deserved it would do little to help the situation.

"Can I tell you a secret?" You whisper, voice mostly steady.

He nods, watching you expectantly. You take a deep breath. "I'm glad he's dead."

You must be a changed woman. It was hardly like you to say something like that- let alone feel it, but keeping it in would just keep you up at night. Coryo wouldn't hate you for it, you're sure.

He looks at you, head tilted while he confirms with himself that you did, in fact, just say the words he heard. You were the most gentle soul in Panem, he was sure, so what on earth could he have done to you to make you say something like that? Now he was more sure than ever that he did deserve it. "What did he do to you?" His gaze softens as it finds yours, and you slightly shake your head.

"It's... kind of a long story." You whisper.

"I have all the time in the world for you."

He sees the ghost of a smile tug at your lips, and you look down at your lap to process your thoughts. "He just... doesn't, didn't know how to take no for an answer." You try to explain it briefly, but the way Coryo's eyes widen makes you backtrack. "I mean, no. I'm sorry. He didn't hurt me. Well, he did, but not in the way that that sounded like." You take a deep breath. "He asked me if I would like to go on a date with him, and I said no, thank you, because I knew him and I knew he had a temper and I didn't think we would work. So, he would wait outside my school and follow me home everyday. He kept asking, I kept saying no, but he didn't listen. It only made him more mad."

It was a rare occasion that you felt so numb talking about someone who had died. "Then, about three months before the games, I guess he couldn't take the rejection anymore and he dragged me away and... I don't know how to describe it... beat me up. I suppose." You laugh dryly, only noticeable to Coryo because he was watching. "Lennox found us, really got into it with him and then had to literally carry me home with his own black eye and bleeding nose."

He nods slightly in understanding, holding himself together from throwing a fist through the window. He was right. That piece of human garbage did deserve it. Now he had every right to be glad he was dead, and so do you. It makes sense to him now, of course you'd only be pleased with a murder if it was someone who had hurt your brother- the fact that he had hurt you the way he did had nothing to do with it.

"You have every right to be happy." He tells you. "Shit, to be honest now I'm wishing I shot him myself."

"Coryo..." You sigh, frowning at him.

"Too far?" He laughs, and you can't help but join him.

"Yes!"

"'Kay, sorry, love. I'll keep it to myself." He raises his hands defensively, cocking his head to the side.

You're quiet for a moment. It's torturous for you both. "He's the reason I went in after you." Your voice is lowered now, noticeably. "He said that I had to go out on that date with him after you left, otherwise I shouldn't be shocked if my Pa ends up executed for treason."

Coryo swallows, staring at you in absolute shock. It just kept getting worse.

"I was terrified, I didn't know what to do, I couldn't be alone anymore. You would have left the next morning and I would have been with him. And I knew he wouldn't have let me talk to you ever again, and I was so scared you would hate me and you'd never know that I didn't have a choice."

"I could never hate you." He says, taking the calculated risk of reaching out to touch your hair, rolling the ends of the soft strands between his fingers. "It'd break my heart, but I wouldn't hate you."

"That's almost worse." You laugh quietly, eyes locked on his hand at your side.

"I'm glad you're coming with us. I don't know how I could live without you." He glances down at your lips, only a shadow in the dark as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Morning without you is a dwindled dawn." You agree, and that's all he can handle before he has to kiss you again.

He's so gentle when he holds your jaw in his hand and presses his lips to yours that you aren't sure if there really was a static shock that accompanied it or if that was just your body reacting to his skin on your own.

"I love you, Y/N/N." You almost swallow his words, smiling against his lips. "You know that, right?"

"I love you too, Coryo."

You tried to get as much sleep as possible over the two day ride, waking when the sun rises and you could feel the heat on your skin. You could see the tall buildings that made up the city in the distance.

People say that a ride back always feels faster, because you're familiar with the path; that your mind chooses to forget the uneventful sections. You believe it. The ride home had felt like it took an eternity, but this time it felt too fast. You were nervous; scared, more than excited. Even though this is supposed to be a good thing.

If Coryo had just asked if you would like to go with him, what would you have said? No matter how many hours you put into the question, you really don't know. Not until Cole threatened your family, anyways. You would have had to turn him down, then. Regardless, you were never given the privilege of a choice.

This isn't about him. You have to remind yourself. This is about saving your family, in more ways than one.

Maybe it really was a good thing that Cole was shot. You curse yourself for even thinking such a thing, but with him alive the only possible outcome was him having your father killed. You could only be the perfect girlfriend for so long- you knew him, one mistake from you and he would make true on his word. Then you would have to marry him in order to have another income. Your winnings from the games would only take you so far on your own.

You're not sure if it's the swaying of the train that's really making you sick.

You would get your answer an hour later when your train crossed the bridge over the river, and the Capitol was in full, glorious view.

You could physically feel the blood draining from your face as you stare out the window, unable to look away. You looked like a deer in headlights.

"Y/N/N?" Coryo hums, placing a hand on your leg. "You okay?"

You nod slightly, but you're hardly processing what's happening around you.

He frowns, leaning forward to be able to get a closer look at your face. You look like you're about to vomit or faint or both. "Look." He smiles, patting your leg and pointing out the window. "That tall building there, you see it?" You nod slowly, watching where he's pointing. "Up on the top floor there's a restaurant with big floor to ceiling windows that overlook the river and the mountains. It's beautiful." He's never been there, but he's heard it's incredible.

"And over there, that smaller, longer building is a mall." He tells you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and sliding closer as you continue to follow his hand. "On the outside there's this ice cream shop that makes the most amazing flavours. Literally anything you can imagine." He chuckles slightly. "I'll take you there."

You smile slightly, and the colour begins to return to your face with a slight rosiness in your cheeks.

"After the tunnel we'll pass the university." He grins. "It's a really nice campus, you'll love it there. They have a massive library."

You close your eyes as the train plunges into the darkness of the tunnel, nodding slightly.

"What would you like to do? We can go anywhere."

"I... today I'd just like to go home." You answer quietly.

"Of course, love. But another day, sometime in the future."

You think for a moment. "Is there a vet here?" You ask and he nods.

"I'd like to take Tybs to get looked at. He's not sick, or anything... but he's never been to the vet before so I'd just like to make sure he's in good health." You explain.

"Yeah, we can definitely do that." Coryo agrees. "And there's this bookstore that's three stories tall, you'll love it." He adds.

"Can I meet your cousin?"

"Yes, love. Of course. She'll live with us, you'll be the best of friends." Coryo explains, squeezing your shoulder. He hadn't yet considered you meeting his family, he didn't even have the chance to tell them you were coming. It would be fine, he knew that. They had the room and the funds to support another person now, that wasn't even a question. Tigris had been dying to meet you, wanting to know every detail about you before the games and especially in his phone calls home while he was in Twelve.

He realized suddenly that maybe he should be worried about his Grandma'am. He knew she had a prejudice against people in the Districts, she had voiced as much during his mentorship. She had even influenced a similar attitude in him his whole life- but you were different. You weren't like them, and she would have to learn that, but that didn't make him any less nervous about what she might say to you until then.

"I'm excited." You tell him, forcing yourself to only think about the good things to come.

Your hands are shaking as you pull into the station. You can already see it's a different one than you were pulled from last time, the first place you met Coryo. You grab your bags, holding the one containing Tybalt close to your chest as the door opens and you walk out. He wasn't too fond of getting back inside after having the freedom of roaming the train car, but you were grateful he was not a very temperamental cat.

Mostly, the station was deserted. There were a few peacekeepers here and there, but you still felt as though all eyes were on you.

You didn't notice when your friends were greeted by their waiting family members, still looking around and processing your surroundings.

"Y/N/N?" Coryo's voice brings you back to reality, and you realize you hadn't taken a single step away from the train yet. "Come here."

You smile as you walk over, eyeing who you assume to be his cousin.

"Hello, there." You grin, giving a slight wave but still holding tightly onto your cat.

"Y/N." Tigris smiles, her blonde hair draped over her shoulders in meticulously styled curls. "It's so amazing to meet you! I'm Tigris, Coryo's cousin."

"Yes, you as well." You nod, trying to mask your nervousness with a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm amazing, I am just so pleased you're here. What a great surprise!" She claps, and you take in her outfit. You've never seen such fine materials, outside maybe the silk scarf Coryo gave you that is now tucked in the old suitcase sitting next to his feet. You wonder if she made the clothes she was wearing, remembering he said she was a designer.

"Coryo has told me so much about you. I've been excited to meet you."

"I really wanted to come see you before the games but I couldn't get away from work, I'm so sorry this is the first time we're meeting." She says and you swallow, nodding slightly in response. "Will you be staying with us?"

"If... if that's okay." You say, looking to Coryo who nods.

"Of course that's okay." He answers on her behalf, but she nods in agreement.

"Yes, you're always welcome. We're so happy to have you."

"Thank you." You breathe a silent sigh of relief.

"We should get going, yeah?" Tigris says and you nod, adjusting your hold on the bag in your arms.

They start to walk, already talking about all the excitement of the trip when you get a tap on your shoulder. You jump slightly, turning and pulling your bag closer to your chest.

"Sorry, dear. I didn't mean to startle you." The woman smiling sadly at you must be Sejanus's Ma. He's standing with her, so it was the only assumption you could make.

"It's okay." You reply quietly, smiling at her politely.

"Y/N, this is my Ma." Sejanus introduces you, confirming your suspicions.

"Nice to meet you." You smile, and she brings her hands up to place on your shoulders, gently rubbing them.

"It's so good to meet you, dear." You feel so greatly comforted by her already. "Sejanus told me you would be staying for a while."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You call me Ma." She quickly corrects you, and you match her smile. You could cry- the burning behind your eyes is telling you that you just might. "We know damn well how hard this transition is, so if you need anything at all at any time, you call us. Okay? We'll help you however we can. With anything."

You smile at them, tears filling your eyes. "Thank you." You sniff, and she pulls you into a hug.

Graciously, and awkwardly with Tybalt still between you, you accept. You never want her to let go.

"Of course, dear. You'll always have a home away from home with us if you need it."

"I can no other answer make, but thanks, and thanks." You say, tears flowing now. You never seem to stop crying- but for the first time in a long time, it was from real happiness.

"Twelfth Night." Ma says as she pulls away, still holding your arms.

You laugh slightly, biting into your bottom lip and nodding. "Yes! You've read it?"

"I brushed up after Coriolanus came around asking for Romeo and Juliet." Ma shrugs, letting you go and letting Sejanus give you a hug as well.

"Coryo has our number. Call anytime, I mean it." He tells you and you nod against his shoulder. "But I'll see you soon, okay? We'll hangout all the time."

"All the time." You agree as he lets you go. "I don't want to keep them waiting, so..."

"Yes, of course. It was so good to meet you." Ma smiles.

"You as well, Ma. I'll see you soon I am certain." You wave goodbye and catch up to Coryo and Tigris, who stopped just a little ways away to wait for you. "Sorry..."

Tigris wipes the worried expression off her face. Coryo probably just had to explain why you were there. "Don't worry about it! Ready to go?"

"Yes." You grin, quickly wiping your eyes. "Lead the way."

There are so many things that you hadn't considered on the train ride. Such as, where was the nearest post office? Or how is Tybs going to handle being indoors constantly? You'll have to get him a litter box- you've never had one before since he was mostly an outdoor cat, and would he need toys now that there probably wouldn't be mice or birds for him to hunt?

Also, there was the immediately obvious fact that the stares you were getting were endless. People even stopped you asking for pictures on the way back- Coryo had to tell them no. Several times. It wasn't any longer than a twenty minute walk.

Everyone seemed so excited to see you, to talk to you. Or, talk at you, rather. It was uncomfortable, but it was so different than what you were used to at home. Especially after the games, people tended to literally cross the street to avoid talking to you. Here, it was the opposite. You were some kind of celebrity. You knew Capitol people liked the games, but you didn't know it was like this. You tried to be polite, but being celebrated for something so awful is hard to swallow. You almost preferred the shame that came with being avoided.

"Is it normally like that?" You ask quietly as you walk into the lobby of a tall building, the floors and pillars lined with white marble. You had never seen anything like it.

"I'm not sure." Coryo answers honestly. "You are the first Victor to ever come back, but like I said, people loved you. Thousands of people watched just for you. That's why I won the Plinth Prize- you boosted the viewership beyond what's ever been seen before."

"Oh." You answer simply, following them into a set of silver sliding doors in the wall.

"When we get up I'll make you something to eat, you guys must be starving." Tigris says as the mechanical doors slide shut again, and you tilt your head.

"Uhm... I-" Your question is halted by a steady shake of the small room you're in, and it feels like you're moving.

Coryo looks over at you and your wide eyes, furrowing his brow. "What's wrong?"

"Are we moving?" You ask, looking around. You're surrounded by mirrors, only seeing endless reflections of the three of you.

Tigris covers her mouth to hide her smile, and Coryo laughs. "Yes, love." The two of them look at each other briefly. "This is an elevator, in a second the doors will open and we'll be at our apartment."

"Oh, wow." You laugh slightly, in a small amount of shock.

"I didn't even think that you might not know what it is, I'm sorry." Coryo chuckles, gently rubbing circles onto your back as the doors slide open again and just like he told you, you were somewhere new.

"That's okay, I just have a lot to learn apparently." You giggle, shaking your head as you step out of the so-called "elevator". You look back inside it as the doors slide shut. "So, how does it work?"

"Honestly, I am not entirely sure of the mechanics of it but there's a motor up top, and when you press that button it lifts to you and then lowers to where you want to go." He explains as Tigris pulls out her key to unlock the door. "It didn't work for over ten years, so it's kind of new to me too."

He's trying to make you feel less embarrassed, and that makes you smile at him. "I see. That's neat."

"It is, isn't it?" Coryo grins. He was in absolute awe of you everyday, but now that he's realized that there are so many things you don't know, even as the smartest person he's ever met, and that he wants to show you absolutely everything. Had you even tried ice cream before? What else would be new to you? There were certainly no cars besides peacekeeper trucks in Twelve, not that he had seen anyways, so it must have been jarring for you to see civilian vehicles on the walk back. He should have asked.

As adorable that it was that there were things you had never seen before, it almost worried him in a way he hadn't considered before. You would need him around a lot- not that he minded one bit. He had liked that about the games, he knew where you were while you were caged up at the zoo and he could leave and come back with the comfort of knowing you would be there waiting for him.

His thoughts are interrupted when Tigris gets the door open, shouting for their grandma'am. He takes a deep breath, smiling as he holds the door for you. It is good to be home.

"We have company!" Tigris calls out as you walk in, and you look around focussed on keeping your mouth shut as not to physically gawk at their home. Their apartment was beautiful, with a somewhat open concept and halls that spun off in all directions from the main foyer.

"Oh, lovely! We haven't had company in ages. You should get the tea on, dear." You hear his grandmothers voice before you see her, sparing a glance at Coryo. If he's nervous, he doesn't look it.

She looks like the sweetest old lady, her white hair matching the shade of her silk robe and slippers. "Oh, Coryo!" She smiles, heading straight to him and giving him a hug. "How we have missed you..."

"I missed you too, grandma'am." He sighs, gentle as he hugs her back. When he lets her go, it seems like she has noticed you for the first time.

The excited smile on her face fades instantaneously as she looks you up and down. "Who's this?"

"This is Y/N. You remember I told you about her, right?"

"I do." She nods, a sour look on her face as she stares at you.

"Hello, you must be Coriolanus's grandmother, it is so lovely to finally meet you." You smile, readjusting your bag so you can hold it in one arm in order to extend your hand to her to shake. She doesn't take it. "You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Snow." You continue when she doesn't answer you, holding your smile and trying not to seem terrified. It was like the lead-up to the games all over again.

"What's in her bag?" She asks Coryo when she sees it move, ignoring you altogether as you awkwardly drop your hand.

"That's Tybalt, her cat. He's the softest thing, you'll love him." He smiles, an apologetic look in his eyes as he glances over at you. This is exactly what he was afraid of.

"A cat?" His grandmother gasps, taking a step back with a hand to her chest. For a moment, you were scared she was about to have a heart attack.

"Grandma'am, you love cats!" Tigris says, stepping back in from the kitchen with a kettle in hand. "Y/N, come join us in the sitting room. I'm just getting some snacks together."

"Not feral ones!" She replies, appalled.

"Oh, he's not feral, Ma'am." You assure her. "Unless you're a mouse or a bird, he's the gentlest animal alive."

"Coriolanus Snow how dare you bring these... these strays into our home!" Now she's talking like you aren't even there, and you can't help but laugh nervously.

You look away, anywhere but at either of them. Maybe you would be calling Sejanus and his Ma for somewhere to stay by the end of the afternoon.

"They aren't strays." He defends you quickly, frowning. Okay, this was what he was afraid of.

"Here, come sit, Y/N." Tigris says quietly, placing the kettle back down and guiding you out of the room with hands on your shoulders. "I am so, so sorry." She whispers as you walk away.

"It's quite alright." You insist. "She didn't know I was coming, it was all so short notice. I completely understand." She didn't even know you were staying yet.

The sound of Coryo talking down his grandmother faded into muffled sounds as Tigris closes the door to what looks to be a bedroom. "No, no it's not right." Tigris frowns, shaking her head. "I don't want to make excuses for her but the war and the dark days were so hard on her, a lot of the blame was placed on the people from the Districts. She lost both her children and she never really came back from that."

"No, I do understand." You smile sadly. "I'm so sorry you and your family went through that. It must have been so difficult."

"The war was awful for everyone." Tigris shakes her head. "Please, don't apologize to us. No one came out of that unharmed."

"Do you mind if I let Tybalt out?" You ask, eager to change the subject.

"Please." Tigris grins, clearly just as relieved that you weren't horribly offended by their grandmothers behaviour. "I'm excited to meet him."

You smile, crouching down and opening up the carrier for him to hop out. He does so promptly, taking advantage of the opportunity.

"He's so cute!" Tigris squeaks, crouching down to pet him. He was a little jarred at first by new surroundings, but he quickly accepted them when she began petting him. "It'll be so nice to have a fluffy friend here."

"Thank you for being okay with me bringing him." You smile, taking the time to look around the room yourself. Everything looked hardly touched, all sparkly and new with corner windows lighting up the space beautifully.

"Our home is your home." She smiles, standing up again and Tybalt is quick to run over to you, rubbing up against your legs. "That applies to both of you. Grandma'am will come around."

"Thank you." You smile. "The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience."

When she smiles, you can see outside of the blonde hair how her and Coryo are related. "You truly are something else."

"Oh, I hope that's a good thing..." You laugh.

"Yes, absolutely." She laughs. "I'll go get that tea going again and get the guest room all set up for you. The bathroom is right across the hall if you need it, and Coryo will come get you when grandma'am has relaxed a bit."

"Thank you." You say again, watching your cat hop up onto the desk against the back wall.

She gives you a quick hug. "Welcome home." She says softly, shutting the door behind her as she leaves.

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okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

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midnight-pluto · 5 months

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Hi! <3 could you please write a mutual pining only one bed fic for a gn!reader and Nico di Angelo

MOVE OVER — nico di a.

TROPES: mutual pining, only one bed, fluff, crack-ish

UNIVERSE: riordanverse

PAIRING(S): nico di angelo x gn!reader

WARNING(S): mentions of injuries, takes place after the giant war, i slipped incorrect quote in here for funsies, also because im slightly high

A/N: mattresses don’t count as beds

THE INFIRMARY WAS bound to be filled to the brim after todays events. Even with the help of the Roman Apollo kids, it was still practically double the amount of kids injured making them bring out mattresses for all of them to be taken care of.

You were one of the many kids to get hurt during the battle, a gash on your thigh along with minor cuts and scrapes was bound to get you landed there. It was unfortunate that you ended up on the mattress on the ground but you understood.

There were others in deeper trouble.

Something you were glad that happened is that your mattress was the one closest to the window with only one bed next to you, and on that bed is someone you’d like to call you’re friend. However, you’re unsure if he would dub you the same.

Nico di Angelo — son of Hades. From what you understood, he had known of the existence of both the Greeks and Romans, yet chose to not let them know of each other. That was one of the many things you admired about him.

The way he always manages to show up in just enough time and helps turn the tide in his favor, or the way he was able to bare the fact that he was treated as an outcast just for his parent and not make the rumors true. He was someone who you truly respected.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Totally.

Nico was laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was instructed by Will to sleep but couldn’t find it in himself to close his eyes for more than two minutes. He kept on glancing towards your figure laying soundlessly on the mattress on the ground.

You were one of the only ones to still smile at him whenever he passed by after the Titan War glory wore off. You were one of the only ones to not actively avoid him. One of the ones that didn’t send weary glances in his direction. You were someone who he truly respected.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Totally.

As the hour’s drifted past with nothing but murmurs and grunts filling the room Nico had drifted off to sleep along with it.

However, when he slept you awoke. Flashbacks from the past events and wars coming to haunt your dreams. Looking up only to see Nico’s back, only then do you make your move.

AS NICO BLINKED himself awake, he felt another presence in the bed. His hair was being played with was all he knew of, but it wasn’t a feeling he was opposed to. Tempted to relax once again, he fought off the urge and turned to face the other side of the bed for his eyes to only widen in surprise.

“Morning,” you smile, moving your hand away from his hair, “How’d you sleep last night?”

“What the hell,” Nico whisper shouted as to not alarm some of the sleeping patients, “What’re you doing in my bed? You were supposed to sleep on the air mattress on the floor.”

“I had a nightmare.”

“And you deciding sleeping on my bed was a solution to that problem,” he deadpanned, sitting up to face you and the pillow resting on your lap.

“Listen, I needed to feel comfortable and I was getting this weird power dynamic vibe from me sleeping in the ground and you sleeping up there,” you say, pointing to mattress on the floor and patting the sheets of the bed.

“Ah yes! How high and mighty I am up on my not even twin XL,” he deadpans, observing his and the rest of the beds in the infirmary.

“That is not what I meant—“

“Silence in the presence of your king,” Nico dramatically turned away with his eyes closed, leaning on one hand while the other was holding up its index finger as if to shush you, “Who sleeps at a lofty twelve and a half inches above the ground!”

Sighing with an amused smile on your face, not getting to see this side of him all that often, “Listen, I am not ashamed. I slept comfortably when I got up into your bed and I’m sure you did too.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You know what, I wanna know,” you lean your back against the headboard, “How’d you sleep last night?”

Sighing, he answers, “That was the best I’ve slept in a while.”

Gasping, you whisper, “The king slept comfortably with a peasant in his bed!”

“I did not consent to this—“

“But my liege our love is forbidden,” you joke, laughing softly at his flushed ears and deadpan expression.

A/N: did I want to add more detail? yes. would it be just slightly out of place? yes

#rin’s 200 follower event [🧸]#rin’s shots 🤎#pjo x you #pjo x reader #pjo fanfic #pjo fluff #only one bed #nico di angelo #nico di angelo x reader #nico x reader

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lonleydweller · 3 months

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Well aware of requests, but I would love your favourite slasher yandere hcs!

🥀Yandere Norman Bates hcs🥀

THANK YOU THANK YOU ANON!! ^^ So excited to get a slasher request!! Sorry if this seems rushed I was just super excited to write it

!Warnings!: yandere trope, spoilers for pyscho, stalking, murder, kidnapping, mentions of reader possibly dying

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● You're more than likely just another person passing through, staying the night, wanting nothing more than to sleep and be gone in the morning, off to your destination. Having gotten lost off the main road, after all, no one stops by anymore unless they've done that.

● He greets you with the same friendliness he gives most of his guests, ushering you in, offering you food. Quickly becoming enamored with you as soon as you walk in. Obsession festering from a simple small chat.

● At first your fate seemed like it would end up like the rest of the people Norman's shown interest in, dead by the hands of his "mother".

● However in this case by some miracle after bickering and pleading with himself, he manages to convince his other personality to not kill you. That you're different than the rest! Who knows, maybe even mother will start taking a liking to you.

● You're given room one, right next to the front desk if you need anything, walls so thin you can knock on the wall if you need anything. Thin enough to poke a peephole through. With you none the wiser.

● Then there's issue of you leaving.. he can't have that can he? It's unlikely he'd never see you again. The only person his mother approved of. The only chance at any kind of connection that wouldn't immediately end up as a body in the swamp. No, no, he can't let you leave.

● He'll make you stay, wether it be by begging, by slashing your tires, by locking you up in his home, or keeping what remains of you in his basement with the delusion that you're still there.

● If he dosen't take the most extreme option, you'll wake trapped up in the guest room of his home. With Norman doting over you, frantically trying explain and rationalize his actions to you as you scream and cry to be let go.

● He understands to a degree, but at the same time he dosen't. He dosen't understand entirely what he's doing is wrong, but he isn't oblivious either.

● As for example he's shown in the film to show some remorse about Marion's death, before quickly cleaning it up and hiding the evidence. He's aware it's wrong to some degree.

● He knows that the law and general populous would view what he's doing to you as wrong, but he excuses it in his mind. He needs you here. Its better for both of you this way. In his mind you just need time to adjust and you'll be fine. He just needs to be patient. That's what he tells himself.

● An escape wouldn't nesscarily be easy either. Not many people stop the motel, let alone Norman's house. There's no places nearby within walking or running distance. Then of course you have norman wacthing over you like a hawk, one that will swoop down and stop your plans, unlike the lifeless stuffed birds that decorate his parlor.

● You'll haft to walk on eggshells, while Norman tries his best, swearing he won't hurt you, who says his mother side won't get fed up with you? What stops him from killing you in a last dicth effort to make you stay? He wouldn't even see the difference. As long as he has your body, has the delusion in his head, you're still alive to him.

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#writers on tumblr #dweller's writing #yandere #cw: yandere #tw: yandere #yandere slashers #slashers x reader #slasher #yandere norman bates #Norman bates #1960s pyscho #pyscho 1960s #Norman bates x reader

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lieutenantfloyd · 2 years

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Heyyyy!!! Since you're writing Maze Runner stories now I wanted to make a request. So it's a Minho TMR x female reader were Minho gets hurt somehow and the reader fixes him up and it's all cute and kinda hot. THANK YOUUUU

Promise Me This - Minho x Reader

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Reader, the keeper of the medjacks, is having a completely uneventful day. That is until Minho returns from the maze battered, bloody, and refusing to be treated by anyone but reader.

Warnings: Mentions of injury/blood/bandages, hurt/comfort trope, mentions of y/n, and some angst followed by fluff and a little bit of spice.

Note: This ended up kinda angsty, but I hope the comfort makes up for the hurt :)

Read on AO3

Sitting at a small table in the med-jack hut, you lazily organized and reorganized the various baskets of medical supplies. Being the primary medic for a group of well over 50 teenage boys kept you on your toes, but today had been slow and quiet. Sliding the basket of gauze back into place for what felt like the millionth time, you let your shoulders slump. Running your hands over your face you couldn't ignore the sleepiness pulling at your eyelids. The sun had already started its descent towards the west walls, but you hadn't treated a single person. By some miracle, even your most frequent patients; the builders, slicers, and track hoes; had maintained being completely injury-free. You pushed your chair back and walked out of the hut and into the bright mid-day sun. Stretching, you hoped the sunshine and fresh air would wake you. A short walk later you decided to abandon your original plans and instead stride over to the hammocks for a rare but much-needed mid-day nap. - Your slumber had been entirely peaceful until you awoke suddenly. It took your sleep-riddled brain a minute to catch up to what was happening that caused you to wake so jarringly. Hearing the sound of boots against the earth and distant shouts, you mumbled a curse beneath your breath. So much for a slow and quiet day. Making your way out of the hammock and into the open area of the glade, you tried to piece together what was happening. Your fellow gladers were scattered around the north doors, the air vibrating with panic. Despite the chaos, three voices, one sounding pained, were cutting clear above everyone else's. You couldn't make out the words from your distance but something told you to hurry up and get over there. Your walk turned into a sprint as drops of adrenaline started pumping through you. Pushing your way to the front of the group, your heart dropped into your stomach. Like always, the runners, your runner, had returned just before sunset. Except this time Minho looked like hell. His clothes were filthy and ripped while his exposed skin was covered in an assortment of cuts and already-formed bruises. Worst of all he was incoherent and frantic, evading Newt and Thomas's desperate attempts to calm their best friend down. Your body froze while your brain screamed for you to run to him. Luckily, a rather out-of-breath Newt caught sight of you and breathed a relieved "Finally!" before leaving Thomas to bargain with Minho. Newt hurriedly made his way over to you and wasted no time catching you up on things. "There you are! Two runners dragged Minho back half conscious. We tried to get Clint and Jeff to look him over, but then he woke up and had us chasing him around the entire shucking glade. He's been yelling for you ever since." Without another word, Newt dragged you into the open area Thomas and Minho were occupying. Upon Newt's return, Thomas said something to Minho that vaguely sounded like "See? I told you she was coming." before he stood and moved next to you. "Something happened out there but he won't... or can't... tell us what," Thomas warned quietly before walking off over to where Newt stood off to the side. But you couldn't quite hear him over the sound of your heart breaking as Minho's eyes met yours. In less than a second, Minho was on his feet and rushing towards you. His crazed look changed to one of total peace as his gaze locked on you. You paced forward and met him halfway, pulling him into your arms. You stayed strong while he all but melted into your touch. Minutes later, you begrudgingly forced yourself to pull away, scanning his face for injuries while your thumbs brushed over his cheekbones. Thankfully, Thomas, Newt, and a few other of your friends took the time you spent calming Minho down to disperse the crowd, allowing you to shuffle Minho into the nearby med-hut without a problem. - Fifteen minutes later, he sat on the table with you standing between his legs while you bandaged him up. His shoulders slumped and his arms hung loosely around your waist. Exhaustion had fully taken him over. As long as you knew Minho, getting him to put on as much of a bandaid was harder than anything else you'd ever done. Yet here he sat perfectly still while you fussed over his wounds. Dabbing an alcohol-dipped cotton ball over his last untreated cut, you tried to swallow down the worry building inside you. "What happened out there?" You asked before your mind could stop you. The look in his eyes grew distant as a stiff silence filled the air. Making quick work of applying the last bandage, you reach your hand up and gently stroked the short dark hair at the back of his neck. Seconds stretched into minutes as his mind recounted whatever he'd encountered in the maze. "It was just supposed to be a normal run. Just like always-" he started, his voice barely above a whisper. "-and the grievers they... t-they..." His voice trailed off as a protective rage exploded in your chest. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here." you cooed, allowing him to take a deep breath before you continued. "How can I help you? What can I do for you?" "I just... I just..." Before your mind even registered what was happening, his lips were against yours. Your heart simultaneously raced and stopped completely. Kissing Minho was always electrifying, but this was different. This kiss was heavy, feverish, and protective. Sinking into the kiss fully, your hands traveled up his sides and around his shoulders. Careful to avoid the areas you'd just bandaged. His previously relaxed hold on your waist turned into his hands working their way under your shirt to grasp and kneed at your hips firmly. His tongue forced its way into your mouth. The action gaining a soft moan from both of you. This only adds fuel to his fire. Pulling you impossibly closer to him, your hands move down and across his ribs. That's when feel him wince. "Shit, I'm sorry," you whisper to him.

You pull away, causing Minho to emit a low whine. He rests his forehead against yours breathlessly. Thoughts hazy with a cornucopia of feelings but his grip on you never falters. “I'm just a little sore. That's all.” He replies unconvincingly. Your expression sours and he sighs. “y/n, you and I both know It’ll take a whole lot more this to get rid of me. I'm fine. Really." When you hesitate to respond, He wastes no time pulling you back towards him, this time into a near bone-crushing hug. Securing one of his arms around your waist, the other moves to allow his hand to rub your back slowly in reassurance. As much as you fight it, you can't help melting under his strong yet gentle touch. Your head drops onto his shoulder and he smiles. The position now allowing him to place a kiss on your cheek before he leans further into your embrace. “I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers against your soft skin.

"...promise?" you challenge timidly. "Promise."

#minho #tmr minho #minho tmr x reader #minho x reader #tmr fic #tmr x reader #the maze runner #the maze runner x reader #minho the maze runner #top gun #top gun maverick

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shirakow · 1 month

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Thinking about how . . . ! Rody Lamoree would be as a bf !

He seems like the type who'd have childhood friends to lovers as a trope. It just reeks of Rody Lamoree, try and deny it.

Matching clothes, all day everyday if you let him! He'd try his best to match your pretty ones with his homemade ones. I imagine he learnt sewing just to make clothes of his own when he couldn't buy them. One of your favorite sweaters was made by him, and you wear it every time you sleep.

Despite being lazy, Rody would go out of his way to go on trips with you, whether it be shopping, to hiking, or to even go midnight walking! He's right there sweetheart.

The type to reply with "You're prettier" when you say a certain actor/actress looks pretty. Definitely says that when you guys are watching fireworks too! He's so in love it just hurts.

He likes to tickle you when you're sad or just cuddle you when you're grumpy. He doesn't push you to talk or anything, he lets you open up at your own pace, and he's always patient when it comes to you.

Extremely clingy, would not and cannot let you go in the mornings. Likes to just spoon you and hug you like you're his pillow, it reminds him that he's yours.

Oh, you were staring at a mannequin's pretty clothes? Don't worry babe, he's gonna be working overtime for the next few days! You were craving something to eat? You got it love, he's taking you to that fancy restaurant at his next pay!

It's canon that he tries to spoil his lover, to the point where he just completely forgets about his happiness to prioritize his significant other's own. Even if it sounds romantic, it's incredibly self-sabotaging for Rody, which is also the cause of his frequent nightmares.

Rody believes that if he can't buy his lover anything immediately means they would automatically leave him. He's attached, and he can't just let you go, and that's not in the obsessive possessive way, but rather, in the I don't have anyone else kinda way.

Frequently thinks about marriage, but remembers that he can't really provide you the basic needs you expect of a boyfriend, what more if he were to be your husband? Overthinks about being not good enough, but forgets all about it when he sees you smiling.

#dead plate #rody lamoree #dead plate rody #rody #dp rody #dead olate rody lamoree #dead plate x reader #rody lamoree x reader #rody x reader #rody x you #rody x gender neutral reader #rody x male reader #rody x female reader #rody lamoree x you #studio investigrave #. . . 𝘀𝗵𝗶.𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 ?

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rainsoakedphoenix · 9 months

Text

sincere gestures

pairing: f!reader x matt sturniolo - turned - f!reader x chris sturniolo

wc: ~1k

summary: matt makes no real effort to celebrate his girlfriend's birthday, so chris comes along and shows her she deserves better

warnings: little angst; matt is kind of an ass; lil fluff at the end; very little swearing

note: i'm writing this as a matt girl so please don't come for me; i don't usually care at all for the "leave him and go after his brother" trope but this is based on a dream i had a few nights ago and i just thought it would be interesting; if it makes anyone uncomfortable though i will certainly delete it---and for anyone reading my matt fic on wattpad and have been patiently waiting for an update IM GOING THERE NEXT

part 1 // part 2

Today is your birthday.

You were hanging out with your boyfriend Matt, who had texted you that morning to tell you he had a few things planned for your special day. Only once you arrived at his house, it didn't feel like your special day; it felt more like his.

You had tried not to let it show that you were disappointed; after all, you were glad to just be spending time with him and it was the thought that counted, right? But if he even noticed the way you masked your discomfort, he made no attempt to ask about your feelings.

You were currently sitting on the floor of his living room while Matt and two of his friends were sitting on the couch, eyes trained on the TV in front of them. He had invited two of his friends over as a surprise to you, knowing that they weren't really your friends. You barely even knew them, had only met them once or twice at a party. You brushed off the thought of not being able to spend any time alone together or at least with mutual friends, not wanting to make a fuss as you kept reminding yourself it's the thought that counts.

He had asked them to bring food over for dinner, and you tried to keep a thankful smile on your face as you realized it was one of your least favorite meals.

Matt knew that. Or at least you thought he did. But you tried your best to keep a positive attitude. You wouldn't let your day be ruined by such seemingly small things; at least he remembered your birthday at all, you told yourself.

Your relationship with Matt hasn't always been like this. When you first got together, he was as sweet and attentive as can be. Recently though, things had changed and you weren't sure why, or when. What you did know though was that you cried yourself to sleep some nights over him. Each attempt on your part to talk through things was met with rolled eyes, annoyed sighs, and cold shoulders.

Trying your best to focus on the TV, you felt your phone vibrate. You looked at your screen to be met with a few texts from Chris.

happy birthday i'm on my way back home to see you

You smiled at your phone, sending him a quick "thank you <3, see you soon" text.

Your loss of attention and care from Matt had you thinking of his brother on one of your sleepless nights. You felt guilty for feeling this way, what with the fact you're taken and the guy you're not crushing on is your boyfriend's brother. But you couldn't help it; you weren't sure what was going on with Matt, but he refuses to talk to you about it. You had decided you would break up with him today as soon as you could get him alone, whether he wanted to talk or not.

It wasn't too much longer after that when Chris burst through the front door. You heard feet pounding up the stairs and you all turned your attention in the direction of them as Chris came into view. His eyes immediately found yours and he took a few steps over to where you were before tackling you to the ground in a hug, causing you to giggle as you attempted to hug him back, however it proved difficult since you were pinned to the floor.

"Chris," Matt spoke lowly, "get off of her." Chris looked up at the sound of his name, his smile slowly fading as he finally noticed the seating arrangements. He spared another glance at you, before looking back at his brother.

"Why is she sitting on the floor?"

"It's where she wanted to sit, I guess." Matt shrugged his shoulders with a slight shake of his head.

"You guess?" Chris questioned, eyebrows raised. "She's your girlfriend Matt, and it's her birthday. Kinda rude you couldn't make space for her to at least sit with you."

"Chris, it's okay-" you started, but he shook his head, staring disappointingly at Matthew before taking a breath and crinkling his face.

"And what the fuck did you guys eat? It smells terrible." He turned to make his way into the kitchen, inspecting the leftovers that were still sitting on the stove. You awkwardly sat on the floor, sparing a quick glance with Matt and his friends, the former of which looked confused while Matt just glared in his brother's direction.

Chris stomped back into the living room, stopping next to you long enough to hold his hand out for you. You hesitantly reached your hand out to grab his and stood up, and Chris gently started leading you to the stairs.

"I'm taking her out." Chris started down the stairs, not even glancing at his brother.

"Whatever," Matt finally spoke up again with a roll of his eyes.

Even though you should've expected his reaction, and did, you felt your heart break further as you walked out of the house with Chris.

But the curly haired boy easily made you forget. For the rest of the day, he made sure your smile never left your face. He brought you to your favorite clothing store and let you pick out an outfit you've had your eye on for a while. He took you out to your favorite restaurant so you could eat something you actually enjoyed, dressed in your new clothes. He shared jokes with you to make you laugh, and took photos with you in a photo booth with the brightest smile on his face when you dragged him in.

He showed you your birthday is supposed to be special. He showed you that you're special; and you should know it.

He knew your relationship with Matt was over; he knew you haven't been able to talk to him about it yet. Which is why when he took you back to his house, he gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek and reassured you he was right there if you needed him.

"Thank you for today, Chris." You smiled at him, placing your hand on his over the center console. "Best day I've ever had."

His face flushed, but he smiled back at you with the same smile he looked at you with all day.

"You deserve the best."

#rainsoakedphoenix #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo

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pillow-anime-talk · 2 years

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okasan.

request: hello! since your request are opened, can i request kagaya ubuyashiki with a s/o who the pillars view her as a mother figure? thank you.

# tags: headcanon; current marriage relationship; soft romance; slice of life; family picture; kid!fic; mother figure; everybody loves reader; mostly fluff; also a bit of angst; sfw

includes: female reader ft. kagaya ubuyashiki & all pillars {kny}

author’s note: i LOVE such requests (i.e. mother figure trope and family!au). thank you too! please, enjoy it!

↘ Kagaya and you have known each other since childhood, since always; your parents introduced you to each other and you developed friendship first and then love. It was natural, sincere, beautiful. You supported you – currently – husband in every decision he made, no matter how dangerous and insane it was. In the meantime, you were enjoying your little... or rather huge family.

↘ You had your amazing biological children; the eldest of them named Hinaki and Nichika, the only son and future head of your bloodline Kiriya, and also two youngest daughters, Kuina and Kanata. All five descendants were your greatest happiness and joy. You loved each of your kids equally, and at the same time tried to be the best mother for them.

↘ Nevertheless, your family grew slowly during your relationship with Kagaya. During recruiting new Pillars, you got to know more and more of your husband’s combatants; in the end, you surrounded by nine wonderful and irreplaceable people.

↘ Each of them respected you as much as their parents or loved ones; always greeted you with a low bow, always wished you a beautiful day, always admired you and your gentle body movements or your calm tone of voice. Every day you had a chance to meet at least one of them, which made your day even better – after all, each of them was different from the other, thanks to which everyone gave you a lot of felicity and new, positive emotions. Just like your biological ones.

↘ All Pillars had a difficult family situation; some of them lost their mothers or both parents, some didn’t know them at all, and others didn’t want to know them. Therefore, during your relationship with 97th leader, everyone began to see you as an ideal mother and a role model.

↘ Shinobu and Mitsuri could talk to you about women’s matters/problems, they asked you for advice in love, on bringing up their future children, and sometimes they visited your house just to see you. They were extremely polite, always bringing you good news about their Tsugukos or the three boys who defending demon sister. You always smiled at their words and wished them good luck on their next missions, and they – as if enchanted – swore that they would come back to your Mansion.

↘ You were a quiet, beautiful haven for Obanai and Muichiro. With you, they simply felt well, calm and pleased. The mere sight of you and the warm tea you offered to them, made all large wounds heal faster. Obanai loved hearing your stories, and Muichiro would occasionally sleep next to your legs, restoring his physical and mental strength. It didn’t bother you. You considered them family members and reminded them of it every time.

↘ Gyomei was the oldest and strongest, but you both knew deep in your heart that he’s indescribably delicate and needs understanding in many ways. You felt a special bond with him – perhaps because he was blind like your husband. In this case, you loved to hear his stories and, if time allowed, you were very eager to pray with him, asking for the safety of the rest of the Hashira, your husband and your five babies.

↘ Sanemi and Kyojirou were... just flamboyant. They improved your mood all the time and although they had a lot to say, they always waited patiently for your permission. Of course, you always gave it to them asking for more funny stories and jokes. Additionally, they both liked to praise you very much; your looks, your intelligence, the brilliantly served cookies on the table, and even the new kimono you were wearing (they were delighted to hear that Oyakata-sama had bought it for you). They felt confident with you, and at the same time remained modest and respectful you. At the end of the meeting you always asked for another one.

↘ Tengen came to you very often with his wives. The four of them always asked for your blessing and advice – after all, the women were expecting their own children and each of them promised to give them names beginning with the first letter of your own first name. You loved seeing their enchantment and their growing tummies. You always touched them through the fabric of their clothes and they blushed like crazy, feeling that their children would be as wonderful as you are. On the other hand, when Tengen came alone, he would always bring you a bouquet of fresh flowers or a basket full of dishes that his wives made. You were also willing to visit them by yourself, if you had time.

↘ Giyuu, unlike the others, didn’t come to you very often; he was a bit embarrassed and thought it insolent to visit you in your own property. He thought he was not worthy of it. Therefore, instead of visiting your home, you wrote letters with each other. After a few long messages, you would invite the water boy over to you, assuring you that you would be happy about it. Only then did he dare to come to you without ever looking into your eyes. Fortunately, your calm voice and the assurance that this was also okay for you made Giyuu look up and smile softly at the sight of your own, wide smile.

↘ Hearing and feeling your amazing relation with all nine, your husband felt warmth in his heart. He has always known that you are a good woman; full of tenderness and love for another human being. To family members, but also to – in fact – strangers. To animals, plants and even inanimate things.

↘ Everyone was grateful for the fact that they could rest by your side and feel the warmth of the family once again.

↘ No wonder that at some point Inosuke, Tanjirou, Zenitsu, Nezuko, Genya, Senjurou and the girls from Butterfly Mansion started visiting you as well and telling you about their missions, trainings, problems and dreams.

↘ You were the mother to the entire Demon Slayer Corps.

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ghost-whump · 5 months

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Hello hello!! <3 When you have the opportunity, and if this prompt sparks inspiration, could you write a scenario or a scene in which the whumpee is afraid of their friends/caretakers and is actively trying to escape, meanwhile the caretakers are genuinely trying to help their friend but they're making it really hard by not cooperating? Cause of said fear could be due to brainwashing, trauma, or general confusion...? Or perhaps the whumpee is a dangerous individual and the sadistic whumper had deliberately set them up to be found by the caretakers, knowing that they would trigger whumpee into harming/eliminating them?

...that's way, way too specific, isn't it?

oh sweet anon you have activated one of my favorite tropes of all time. unfortunately i’m not too happy with this one (probably from just not having a clear idea for what i wanted) but i still would like to post it! i hope you enjoy anyway <3

You’re Not Real

CW: hospital setting (though not particularly hospital whump), in-recovery, restraints, implied past drugging, delirious whumpee, self inflicted injuries, Let me know if I’m missing anything!

“Whumpee!”

Caretaker rose from their chair, where they’d stationed themselves next to Whumpee’s bed. For the last seven hours — since Whumpee had been mysteriously returned by some mysterious captor, battered and delirious — the terrified patient had not stopped fighting.

The hospital staff had at first tried to restrain them to the bed. That only agitated Whumpee further, giving way to a bout of trying to bite and plead and struggle harder, hard enough to cause the bruises on their wrists to worsen.

Now, after somehow managing to escape their padded restraints, Whumpee scrambled off the bed. Their IV and breathing tube fell to the floor before Caretaker could even fully stand.

“Whumpee,” They approached slowly, hands in the air, “Calm down, please? I won’t hurt you, it’s okay.”

Whumpee furiously shook their head, scrambling backwards. Teeth bared like an animal, Whumpee pressed their back into the farthest corner they could get.

Caretaker momentarily considered calling a nurse into the room, but eventually decided against it. Officials would only panic Whumpee more. Another step forward. Caretaker spoke, “See? I’m not going to hurt you. I’m your friend, Whumpee. It��s Caretaker.”

“No!” Whumpee shouted. They gripped their hair and tugged, staring up with wild, crazed eyes. “No! Go away!”

“Whumpee-”

“Go away! You’re—You’re not real! Go away!” They continued to shout, surprising not alerting hospital staff outside the room. “P-Please! I don’t want to see Caretaker! I don’t, I don’t, I don’t!”

“…You- You don’t?” Caretaker started to lower their hands. Whumpee said they weren’t real.

Whumpee pounded on their temples with the palms of their hands. “Get out of my head! Stop—Stop making me see- Get out, get out, getoutgetoutgetout!” Furiously, Whumpee babbled incoherent nonsense. But only when they started bashing their head on the wall behind them did Caretaker finally come to.

They began bashing the button to call nurses to the room, a few flooding in almost instantly. The staff quickly and efficiently restrained Whumpee once again, preventing them from hurting themselves further.

Once the ordeal was over, and Whumpee passed out from exhaustion, the weight of what had happened finally hit Caretaker. They grabbed onto the remaining nurse’s sleeve, looking up at them, furrowed.

Cautiously, “Has Whumpee been… drug tested?”

The nurse nodded, “Yes. The toxicology report was clear. They could have been drugged in the past, but nothing is in their system now.” She explained, then paused with a skeptical look, “Why?”

“It’s—It’s just… Earlier, when they were fighting, they said I wasn’t real. They were begging someone to get out of their head, like—like they thought they were hallucinating or something.”

Nodding slowly once again, the nurse looked back at their clipboard, then up at Whumpee’s sleeping form. “I’ll see what I can do.” A determined look fell over her face, “If they wake up again, call us in right away.”

Then, without another word, the nurse was gone.

Caretaker fell back into the chair. God, Whumpee, what have you gotten yourself into?

thank you for reading, even if it’s not my best work! there may be more errors than usual, since this was written very quickly.

if anyone’s interested, i’d very much like to keep exploring this topic!!

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

#my stuff #whump scenario #whump tropes #whump #whumpee #caretaker #hospital whump #recovery whump #whump writing #defiant whumpee

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minervadashwood · 1 year

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Daryl Dixon x PlusSize!Reader - oneshot

Lucky Charm

Summary: Some people in your group get the flu. Winter is coming on strong, and Daryl does his best to keep the group safe and you warm. Reader is: plus-size, good at first aid, and in love with Daryl (aren't we all?). Tropes: Bed-sharing, first kiss, confessions, unfounded jealousy, fluff Warnings: Sickness (flu), walkers, dead turkey, hunger, Glenn with really bad timing. Notes: This was originally part of Scars and Stitches, but it didn't fit the timeline for that. I think this works well as a standalone story. So I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4,600

=====

Carl was the first one to get sick. You didn’t think much of it; kids get sick easily. But then Rick started sniffling and running a fever. Still, your group kept going.

Next day, Lori was coughing almost nonstop, and you all had to find some place to settle for a few days. Glenn and Daryl managed to locate a small house down a dirt road, some cheaply made thing with only a few windows, and most of them so tiny it’d be hard to fit through. You picked the lock, then Glenn and Maggie cleared the house.

Once everyone was inside, the sick ones were quarantined in the two bedrooms: Lori in one, with Rick and Carl in the other. Hershel explained the quarantine rules, and then everyone got to work. With Maggie, you nailed whatever you could find over the windows, leaving small lookout points on each side of the house. Meanwhile, Glenn and Daryl set up jury rigged walker alarms in the form of cans and fishing line. Hershel saw to his patients, and Beth began boiling water over the fire Daryl had made in the small fireplace of the main room. Then, she managed to find 3 cans of green beans in the cabinets. Among the ten of you that was all you had to eat that day.

When Carol’s nose started running that night, she was put to bed with Lori.

Daryl was out the next day, from dawn to dusk. When he got back, you helped him make a couple of broths from roots and pine needles, all the food he was able to find. The sick got fed first, and what was left was shared among the rest of you.

On the bright side, you had plenty of water from a stream behind the house, and Daryl said there were no signs of walkers within half a mile radius.

You, Glenn, Maggie, and Daryl were the only ones who weren’t sick and could also take down walkers, so watch shifts were established among the four of you. Rick kept insisting on helping out, but Hershel was strict with the quarantine.

Days went by in a haze of routine. You kept watch when it was your turn and did your best to ignore how hungry you were. There was no use talking about it; all of you were going through the same thing.

On the morning of the fourth day, you sat on your sleeping bag daydreaming of spaghetti piled high with meatballs when Daryl started putting on his jacket and vest.

“Heading out?” you said.

Daryl gave you a small nod and put his crossbow over his shoulder.

“Wait up.” You got to your feet, but as you stood, the room spun. You threw a hand behind you, steadied yourself against the wall, and took a few deep breaths.

Daryl grabbed you by the bicep of your free arm. ��You sick?” He blinked at you through his shaggy hair, grip tight but not painful. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was scared. But nothing scared Daryl Dixon.

“Not sick. Hungry. Like everyone else.”

He narrowed his eyes and took a step closer.

“Just stood up too fast,” you explained. “Not the first time I’ve gone hungry. I’m fine.”

He stared at you doubtfully for another moment before releasing you. “I’ll be back soon. May be something out there I ain’t found yet.”

“I figured. I’m going with you.”

“No you ain—”

“What if you get sick, too?” you interrupted. “You’ve been running yourself ragged. Going out most of the day foraging then back here to keep watch half the night.”

He stared at you.

You gazed past him to keep from meeting his eyes. “Don’t know what I’d–-what we’d do if something happened to you.” You took a deep breath and forced yourself to look at him. “I can be as quiet as you, so stop this loner bullshit and teach me. That way I can look for food in case something happens to you.”

“Must be my good luck charm,” Daryl murmured, pulling the crossbow bolt out of the turkey’s skull.

You never thought you’d salivate over feathers and wrinkled turkey feet, but every single part of that bird had your mouth watering..

“Just saw it out of the corner of my eye,” you explained. “Women have better peripheral vision than men. But men have better depth perception.”

Daryl held the turkey up by the neck. “Must have been eatin’ good. Got to be more somewhere we ain’t looked.”

“Tomorrow?” you asked, thoughts going to gravy and bone soup and chunks of juicy, dark meat.

He nodded and lowered the bird. “Got your knife?”

You pulled your knife from its holster and held it out to him.

He shook his head. “Still want to learn, don’t ya?”

Revulsion was nothing compared to your hunger and need to be useful. You nodded, taking the knife in hand, its familiar handle giving you a sudden burst of determination.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Daryl said, and he taught you to clean a turkey.

That night, everyone was the happiest they’d been in a while. Carefully rationed, the turkey would last you a few days more, and there was the hope of more beyond that now that Daryl knew a better place to hunt.

Maggie and Glenn insisted on sharing the night watch, so after supper, you were snuggled in your sleeping bag, content and hopeful and proud that everyone in your group had eaten that day.

Some time later, Daryl crawled into his own bed a couple of feet from yours. You couldn’t help turning to face him, your joy and excitement keeping you from sleep.

“Today was a good day,” you told him.

He gave you the briefest of nods as he settled, laying on his back, arms under his head, eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“Thanks for taking me with you. It felt good. Being useful for a change.”

“Who said you ain’t useful?”

“I’m not strong like you or Maggie, and Hershel actually knows what he’s doing. Just wanted to help, is all. So thanks.”

He didn’t say anything else–not that you expected him to–so you snuggled deeper into your bed, ready for sleep.

Beside you, Daryl shifted, getting comfortable. “You did,” he said, his voice low. “Help, I mean.”

Eyes opening slightly, you realized he was facing you, his crossbow and knife the only things separating your two beds.

“Thanks,” you said.

“It was nice. Havin’ you out there today. You can come next time, too.”

You couldn’t suppress your joy. “Really!?”

Daryl chuckled at you, “Yeah.”

“Thanks, Daryl.”

He flashed you the smallest of smiles. “Welcome. Now get some sleep.”

You woke up in the middle of the night, shivering from the cold. It was freezing in here.

Through bleary eyes, you looked across the room and saw Beth, with a handkerchief covering her mouth and nose, carrying a few blankets to the bedrooms. Hershel came out a moment later, headed in your direction.

Sitting up, you rubbed the tiredness from your eyes. “Beth sick?”

“No,” Hershel said. “But we’ve got a cold snap, and Rick and them need the extra blankets. Time for us to snuggle up and share.”

Nodding in understanding and ignoring your painfully cold toes and fingertips, you pulled out the extra blanket you had lining your sleeping bag and handed it to him.

Hershel took it, as well as two more from Daryl. “Beth and I will put our two sleeping bags together. Might be a good idea for you two to do the same.” Hershel adjusted the handkerchief over his mouth and went to check on his patients.

Wouldn’t it have made more sense for Hershel and Daryl to share?

Weary, you sighed. You didn’t have it in you to debate with the stubbornness of Hershel Greene, no matter the butterflies in your belly or anxiety in your chest.

Next to you, Daryl was already unzipping his sleeping bag all the way, huffing and grunting as he spread it face-up on the floor.

You stood, scurrying out of his way and gave your own bed a few small kicks to move it over. Still half asleep, you tried to accept this was really happening. Picking up your knife from under your pillow, you went to your pack for an extra pair of socks. By the time you returned, your sleeping bag was spread out, facedown on Daryl’s. He zipped up the far side, the bottom, and half of the near side. Then he started pulling jackets, flannel shirts and sweatshirts from his pack and laying them on top of the new bed.

Your new bed. That you would share. With Daryl.

Of course this made sense. Beth was still a kid, after all, and probably would want to stay close to her dad. Although never in the same bed or sleeping bag, you and Daryl usually slept beside each other. In fact, ever since your group had left the farm, sleeping next to Daryl felt as natural as waking up in the morning. It was part of your day like anything else.

For a month now, maybe more, you’d been trying not to think what that meant. That at the end of the world you’d met someone who made you feel the way Lizzie did for Darcy or Min felt for Cal. That it was for someone who was as loyal, dependable, and perfect as Daryl.

Forcing yourself to look away from him, you found your coat, jacket, and a couple of button downs, then helped Daryl pile them on top of the other clothes.

While you couldn’t imagine a world without Daryl, you also couldn’t imagine one in which he felt the same about you. Any affection he had for you was surely born out of his innate protectiveness and growing loyalty to the group.

You shook the fantasy of loving Daryl from your mind and moved your pillow to rest beside his, placing your knife under it.

Your knife. You remembered that afternoon on the farm, the laughter and teasing looks everyone gave you the next day. That time Maggie asked if you had any condoms left, having assumed Daryl was sleeping with you. Because of the way he was always staring.

Impossible.

You studied him, broad shoulders and strong back, muscular arms and dexterous hands.

He was too good for you in every way imaginable. You wouldn’t fool yourself into hoping for what would never happen. Best to keep a clear head.

“Good thinking with the coats and stuff,” you told him.

He glanced at you, but continued to study the bed. “I’ll take over watch from Maggie. You don’t gotta share with me.”

Without thinking, you took his forearm, wrapping your hand gently around it. “Daryl, you haven’t slept one night through in almost a week. It’s fine.” You paused, realization like a punch in the gut. “Unless you don’t want to share with me?”

He squinted at you, the muscle of his forearm suddenly tense. You let go.

“Why wouldn’t I want to share with you?” he asked

You gestured at your general existence, hoping he understood.

Without indicating one way or the other, he held up the open corner of the bed. “Get in.”

You crawled in between the sleeping bags, situating yourself as close to the far side as possible.

A moment later, the solid, comforting presence of Daryl was next to you, his broad shoulders taking up more room than you expected, his legs almost touching yours under the heavy weight of the sleeping bag and clothes.

“Ya alright?” He asked.

You exhaled a shaky breath. So close. Any resolve of not wanting him shattered with him so near. How easy it would be to touch him, to put your hand on his chest, to trace the line of his jaw, to let him kiss you.

“I’m good,” you lied.

Both of you were silent when Beth and Hershel returned, and you closed your eyes against the yearning threatening to claw its way out of you. Listening to the two of them settle in, you realized Daryl was motionless beside you, probably already asleep.

You turned to face away from him, dipping your nose under the covers to keep it warm.

Just when you’d resolved to start counting sheep, Daryl moved beside you.

“Thought you knew how I felt about ya,” he said, his voice a near inaudible rumble. “Carol said you didn’t, but yer smart. Figured you had me pegged.”

You rolled over, a mixture of hope and disbelief warring within you. Were you hearing him right?

“The way you feel about me?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

“Daryl,” you said, desperate for him to explain. “Say something. Please.”

The silence stretched on, oppressive and suffocating, until he finally whispered, “Thought you knew and just didn’t want me.”

The brokenness in his voice touched something deep within. “You were wrong,” you said, your heart in your throat. “Daryl, you were so wrong.”

You felt the lightest of touches on your jaw, first a trembling fingertip, then the full roughness of his calloused palm was cupping your cheek.

Eyes fluttering closed, you melted at his touch. Cold extremities forgotten, all you felt was his hand on you.

Daryl’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his hold on you firm and steady.

You reached for him, bold and needful. You threaded your fingers in his hair and cradled his head, wanting to hold him like the treasure he was.

Daryl pulled you to him; the softness of your body met the hardness of his. He kissed you, slow at first, and then he was demanding, clutching at you with his hands, drinking from you with his mouth. You held on for dear life, fingertips searching for any bit of exposed skin: his neck, the small of his back beneath his vest and shirt.

It felt so good to kiss him, like you’d been waiting all your life to breathe him in and lap at the fountain of his lips. He slid a leg between yours, pulling you impossibly nearer to him.

And there it was, the spark all the poets had written about, that Arthurian knights had died for. Your core shook with a desperate longing you’d never felt for another person, and as Daryl worked hard at your mouth, you found yourself wanting him to kiss you everywhere else, too.

The front door slammed open.

“DARYL!”

Glenn stood panicked in the doorway. In less than a few seconds, Daryl had extricated himself from your legs and arms, had pulled on his boots and crossbow, and was now on his way to the door.

“Where? How many?” he demanded.

“Not walkers,” Glenn explained, panting heavily. “People. Four or five, I don’t know. They took Maggie.”

Beth burst into tears.

“On foot?” Daryl asked.

Glenn nodded. “I can show you where they went.”

Daryl was almost out the door before suddenly turning around.

You were putting your knife on your belt, grabbing the nearest handgun, and scrambling to find your hiking boots.

“You ain’t goin’,” he said.

“But I–”

He grabbed your wrist and grunted at you. “You need to stay here and protect the others.”

Stunned that he trusted you to protect anyone, you nodded. And with one last look at you, he disappeared out the door.

Pressing a palm to the closed door, you willed yourself to focus on taking care of everyone and not letting yourself imagine the people you loved being murdered by strangers.

You took a quick inventory of the available weapons and ammo while Hershel consoled Beth. You decided the handgun was all you needed. If things got worse than that, you didn’t stand a chance, anyway.

Before your mind could travel farther down that dark path, you carefully loaded a shotgun, and set it next to Hershel. He had to be worried about Maggie, but he was doing his best to stay calm for Beth. You put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Daryl will get her back. Don’t worry.”

To your surprise, Hershel covered your hand with his own. “Thank you,” he said, with a small smile. “Dixon acts like a crazed wolf, but he’s good people. You both are.”

Unable to accept Hershel’s praise–-he gave it out so rarely-–you bowed your head in acknowledgement, touched by his words.

“I’ll keep close to the house and run back in if I see anything.”

“Good girl,” Hershel said, and turned his attention back to Beth.

On the walk back to the house, Daryl trailed behind Glenn and Maggie, remembering your taste and touch. First time in his life that it felt good to be wrong.

The stupid fucks who had taken Maggie were only after a woman to help some man’s wife give birth.

But it was over now, dawn was breaking, and he thought of you in bed next to him, soft and lush and so very warm.

Maggie squealed. “They were doin’ what?” She was full of giggles, smiling at Glenn, who cast a nervous glance back at Daryl.

“Mag-gie,” Glenn said.

Maggie stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face Daryl. “You mean, first good thing to happen in three months and I miss it? You couldn’t have waited until I got back, Daryl Dixon? You’ve been waitin’ so long already.”

He wanted to tell Maggie to fuck off, but he knew you wouldn’t like that. “You wanna double date?” he said. “Ain’t happenin’.”

Glenn took Maggie’s hand and urged her to keep walking, mouthing “sorry” over his shoulder.

The moment Glenn faced forward again, Daryl allowed himself a small smile.

When Daryl got back to the house, you weren’t where he left you, but Carl was. The kid opened the door, revolver in hand, stupid hat sitting crooked on his head. Once inside, Daryl saw Hershel and Beth by each of the windows, keeping careful watch out of the peepholes.

Fuck.

Beth leaped up from her post and ran into her sister, wrapping her arms around Maggie in a big hug.

“Where is she?” Daryl demanded.

Beth looked at him from the corner of her eye. “It was walkers. Just a couple, she said, but she went out to check if any more were nearby.” Beth offered him a sad smile. “She was really brave.”

Panic hit him, hard and fast, and Daryl found it suddenly hard to breathe. He ran outside to the fresh air and away from Beth’s pitying gaze.

Next thing he knew, the door swung open and Rick was beside him. Rick slapped a hand on his back.

“Good. Now that you’re back we can go after her and get on the road.”

Daryl scowled at him. “She ain’t dead?”

Rick furrowed his brow in confusion. “She went to see where those first two came from. Left about half an hour ago. Figured we could catch up and give her a hand.”

Daryl almost sank to his knees in relief, but he just nodded and went to find you.

He found you about an hour later, hands and jacket speckled with walker blood as you squatted on the forest floor, studying the dirt. Before Daryl could run to you and pull you tightly against him, you stood and gave Rick a big, warm smile.

Despite the sharp sting of rejection, Daryl instantly noticed something was off. Your eyes were a bit sunken and there was a sallow look to your cheeks.

“You look like you’re doing better,” you said to Rick.

Rick nodded, “But doesn’t look like you are.”

You shook your head. “Little under the weather, but I don’t think I’m bit. You can check to make sure.”

With a small nod, Rick holstered his revolver and began checking you for bites. His hands were going under your coat, up your sleeves, and around your legs.

Daryl growled low in his chest. Despite your doubts, he knew you weren’t bit. You’d never put anyone at risk, especially Carol and the kids. There was no need for Rick to touch you like that, to put his hands places only Daryl’s should be.

When Rick finished checking you over, he put an arm around your waist. “Let’s go back and get you cleaned up.”

You nodded at him, and Daryl resisted pulling you away from Rick’s possessive hold. As the two of you walked past him, you flashed him a quick smile, but said nothing as you let Rick be the one to lead you back to safety.

At the house, Daryl paced around the perimeter a few times, trying to calm down. The fourth lap had him even more heated, so he went inside, needing to keep an eye on you even if you wouldn’t speak to him.

Inside, Carol and Lori were up, too, making the main room crowded and stifling with activity. Everyone was packing up; Rick was eager to get on the road.

Daryl didn’t like the look of you as you put away the extra food and started folding his clothes. Unable to control himself any longer, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the nearest bedroom.

Once there, he held tight to your arm and looked you up and down. “You’re sick,” he said.

With your free hand, you touched your forehead. “I probably am.”

Daryl’s nostrils flared in frustration. “Then why is everybody actin’ like you ain’t?”

You wrested your arm away from him. “Because more walkers will find this place soon, and that other group already knows we’re here. Because this isn’t a safe place for Lori to have her baby. Rick thinks it’s best if we move on.”

Daryl had begun to trust Rick more and more in the past few months, but now jealousy and rage were calling all of that into question.

Daryl wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you, but he kept his distance. He wouldn’t let you play him for a fool.

“You doin’ all this for Rick, then?” he asked. “He gets up and about and suddenly you don’t want me no more?”

You took a step back, gawking at Daryl like he’d lost his mind.

“Answer me!” he demanded, images of Rick touching you plaguing him from one second and into the next.

“Rick is like my brother. I love him, but what I feel for him is nothing like what I feel for you.”

That was all Daryl needed to hear. He grabbed you by the shoulders, hauled you to him, and kissed you hard.

After a few seconds of his mouth on yours, you pulled away, and Daryl had to let you go.

“Daryl, you’re going to get sick, too if you keep doing that,” you said, clutching at his vest and resting your head on his chest. “Don’t make me worry about getting you sick.”

Worry? About him? No one in his life had worried about him, and he couldn’t see why anyone ever would. But you were sincere, with your touch and your words and the way you looked up at him. A tiny flicker of hope flared deep within. If you cared a fraction of what he cared for you, then maybe you did worry about him. Just a little.

You took a step back. “I didn’t want to make a big show when I saw you out there. I don’t know how you feel about everyone knowing, so I wasn’t going to tell them without talking it over with you.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “Besides, I don’t know what you want from this. From me.”

Everything. He wanted everything.

There were footsteps in the hall, and Daryl turned to find Rick standing in the doorway.

“Everything okay in here? We heard some yelling.”

Yelling? Daryl hadn’t been yelling, had he?

You jumped away from Daryl and turned to Rick. “We’re good. Little misunderstanding is all,” you said.

Daryl faced Rick, but kept his gaze on the floor. “Hershel say it was safe for her to keep goin’?” He grabbed you by the hand. “‘Cause if it ain’t, we’re stayin’. Y’all go on if ya want. I’ll look after her.”

Rick smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “I know you would, buddy. But Hershel said she looks worse than she is. Probably from not eating enough. He got a good sense of the virus from looking after all of us. If she keeps taking the acetaphil—atta-metacin---”

“Acetaminophen,” you supplied. “Tylenol.”

Rick nodded, “Yep. So long as she keeps taking that and gets enough to eat, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Right. Soon as you two are ready,” Rick said and left the room.

Without looking at you, Daryl said, “Glenn saw us. He told Maggie. ‘m sure everyone else knows by now.” He glanced at you, taking in your soft eyes and parted lips. He wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

Forcing himself to look away, Daryl whispered. “Don’t care about them knowin’ or not knowin’.” He had to stop and strengthen himself against the insecurity ripping him apart. “I’m not askin’ for more than you already give me. But if you’re goin’ to let me kiss you and hold you, I don’t want nobody else touchin’ you like that.”

Too scared to look at you, he stared at the floor.

Daryl’s hand was trembling slightly in yours, and it infuriated you that he wouldn’t meet your gaze. This was Daryl, after all. Who’d looked men right in the eyes and shot them dead, who’d launched himself at a group of walkers armed with nothing but a hunting knife. One time not even that.

There was so much about him you still didn’t know or understand. Even now you only had a small glimpse of the man he was, and, despite his recent openness, you sensed more happening in that head of his than he would ever let on.

You leaned against him once more, breathing in the scent of the earth and leather, relishing it while you still could.

You took his chin in hand and forced him to look at you. “If you think I want anyone else kissing me, you have lost your damn mind. I have been pining after you—and only you—since what feels like the dawn of time.”

He blinked at you. After taking a moment to process what you said, he nodded.

Relieved, you let go and took a few steps away from him. “Now, I need something from you. Until I’m better, I want you to stay away from me. You are the best of us at finding food, and you’ll be healthier if I stay with Carol and Rick’s family.”

Daryl squinted. “What’s that goin’ to change? I already kissed ya last night and again today. I’m goin’ to get what you got anyway.”

“Viral load is still a variable,” you tried to explain. “It’s like walkers. One or two, not a big deal. Three, four, five? A bit dangerous. More than that? It just gets worse and worse. Viruses are the same way. The less exposure you have, the easier for your immune system to fight it off. I won’t have you risking more than you need to just for me. Okay?”

Daryl nodded, then said, “Alright.”

You exhaled, relieved.

“But,” he said, brushing hair out of his face and looking you in the eyes. “Once you’re better, nothing else is goin’ to keep me from bein’ with you. Wasted enough time already.”

Daryl left the room, and you had to take a moment to catch your breath.

How long had Daryl been feeling this way about you? Mind clouded by your mild fever and Daryl’s parting words, you left the room and got ready to hit the road.

======

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